Months ago, I was in a support group. I found myself recommending a body cam from Amazon to someone who lived in San Francisco. She was experiencing Asian discrimination in her neighborhood and felt unsafe. I actually got the idea from a friend who is a Trans Man living on Long Island.
It reminded me of questions I have surrounding hate, besides why. Specifically Asian Hate. Do I pass for white? Am I Asian enough to be harassed? Do I admit my nationality, or do I play it down? At the end of the day, what do I stand for?
I was looking through Google for old protest signs in the Philippines for family research and came upon some that were alarming. “Work no Filipinos or we’ll destroy your crop and you too” and “Get rid of all Filipinos or we’ll burn this town down”. Those were the nice ones I found. I was surprised that there was a white riot against Filipinos over the course of January 19 to the 23rd 1930. It took place in Watsonville, located in a valley with bountiful farmland.
The riot started at a dance hall and ended in the murder of 22-year-old Fermin Tobera. No one was charged.
This riot is something that is lost to history. In my high school history book, there is a forgettable paragraph about the Philippines and nothing else. Fellow students asked me if they really ate Magellan. If my privates were sideways or not since my mom was Italian. Often people spoke to me in Spanish, thinking the Philippines was somewhere in Central or South America.
The riots in Watsonville surprised me until I realized it was the lead-up to World War II. Anyone Asian was perhaps just a threat? It seemed strange to me despite that. Filipinos in Asian circles are thought to be ‘not Asian enough’ since we are mixed with the French, the Spaniards and the Chinese, and more. Other Asian nations are traditionally ethnocentric.
It brings me back to my question, am I Asian enough to speak on Asian hate in the first place?
My father had an overnight job stocking shelves in a dollar store. It was in a strip mall where there was also a dedicated ladies’ gym. My dad’s manager never showed and my dad decided to wait as long as he could. The gym ladies started trickling in and took notice of my dad in his car. Evidently, someone called the police to report my father as a suspicious man in the parking lot. Once the cop showed up and my father explained that he worked there and that the key holder never showed, the cop was apologetic.
Allow me to explain, my father is mixed with French but he does have traditionally slanted eyes, darker-toned skin, and straight-as-a-pin dark hair. Many people confuse him with being Latin American or even light-skinned Black nationality. My father was racially ambiguous in American eyes.
Another time there was a confrontation between my father and a new butcher in the meat section at a supermarket where I worked. The butcher didn’t know who my father was. Not that it mattered. This person just wanted to pick on my father because he thought he couldn’t retaliate. The butcher was under the impression that my father didn’t speak English.
Unfortunately, I have a lot of these stories.
Hate has gotten more hands-on. People in the news don’t seem to have any fear of retribution for putting their hands on another person. Mobs have returned. But the question remains, am I white enough to pass? Can I be safe? Does my nose give my Filipino heritage away? Should I go Blonde again?
Being fearful is not a solution. Blending in is not a solution either. Am I too removed to be affected? Or am I too close up to see what I’m looking at now?
I don’t have a packaged-up solution or conclusion today. These are my musings on how hate is evolving today. Please participate in the comments and let me know your thoughts.
