Among snowflakes and playground banter, cafeteria talk, and instruction, I had my first experiences of coming to terms with my brown skin. From a young age, I was bombarded with the “ideal”: the ideal beauty standard, ideal friends, personality; ideal everything. But I was never like the “ideal.” I did not look like my blonde Barbies, nor did I resemble the girl in Justice catalogs. To this day, my teachers hesitate to even say my name at times, worrying that they will butcher its pronunciation and offend me and my culture.
One moment that stuck with me was in middle school, the year of the 2016 presidential election. The stakes were high, the Saturday Night Live viewership higher, and middle schoolers across the political spectrum sang the songs of the Democratic or the Republican party in every class. The election was almost a subject of our entertainment.
Among that winter’s snowflakes and playground banter, my eyes opened up to the sheer racial ignorance of my peers. Sure, I had a predominantly White friend group. Sure, I was one of three Asian-American girls to break into the upper echelons of the middle school social hierarchy. Sure, I’d heard the nasty comments many of my peers made about the “curry smell” of other Desi students, and when I would confront them and say, “well I’m Indian too,” I was met with the glorious response, “well you’re not like them, you’re like us.”
I was never exposed to people who understood my culture. On that day, I was the victim of a different beast altogether – careless and casual racism. On the bus ride home from school in that cold and dreary winter, I engaged in a discussion with a few of my friends. One – a first-generation German-American – began to crack some wise jokes about deportation —the subject of many middle school giggles. I remember him saying, “You’ll get deported too” straight to my face.
And the embarrassment, the humiliation, and the utter disgust I felt with myself in that moment was unbearable. I was fuming. I am no different than you, I remember thinking, but because I did not share my friend’s blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin, somehow this joke was funny.
I was born in America, raised in America, a proud holder of an American passport, a faithful pledger-of-allegiance to red, white, and blue, a dutiful citizen, an informed citizen, yet this joke was justified by ignorance and skin color. Ignorance is not bliss.
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Like millions of Asian-Americans today, casual racism has made its way to the upper echelons of the school environment, the workplace, and even the virtual world. President Donald Trump’s use of the term “Kung-Flu” in reference to the Coronavirus has only exacerbated anti-Asian sentiments in this country. Racism, as an ideology, has moved the front of millions of American minds in light of the Black Lives Matter movement. It is necessary for us, as a society, to protect minorities in a legal sense, a point that has been well-articulated by civil rights leaders across the nation. Additionally, it is necessary for us, as a culture, to confront our insensitivity and become a more understanding community.
My second point of addressing our insensitivity can not be mandated. Promoting a more racially-aware populace may even be a neglected goal altogether in this country. However, I am firm in the belief that children should not have to feel embarrassment, shame, or disgust because of the incompetence and ignorance of their surroundings.
Ignorance is not bliss for those who are victims of casual racist undertones in everyday life. We can do better by teaching more. It is wholly possible for those of us who choose the righteous path to work towards a better America.
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“And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do it because Conscience tells him it is right…”
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Dr. Martin Luthur King Jr.
“Our Last Night.” Amazon, www.amazon.com/Ignorance-Is-Bliss/dp/B08F2T5MLV.