I have a confession to make. Occasionally, I suspect I’m invited to write because I can effectively embody the persona of an angry Asian American woman. An insidious whisper creeps into my thoughts, seducing me with its toxic lies. I begin to question whether I’m just a token Asian contributor, conveniently checking off diversity boxes. What a delightful bonus for them that I’m not even slightly submissive or timid.
Truthfully, part of me relishes the idea of being compensated for stirring the pot. While I don’t appreciate threats against my safety or my family’s, I would be lying if I claimed I wasn’t somewhat pleased by the outrage I evoke in sensitive white men online. If these toxic individuals want me to reside rent-free in their minds, poking fun at their fragility, who am I to disagree? They’ve made their choices, and I’ve made mine.
Here’s the reality: despite what some might think, I’m not inherently an angry person — nor do I want to be. I don’t wish to be mad all the time. I find anger to be a useful tool, but ultimately, I prefer to seek joy (and spread the positivity of K-pop group BTS). Yet — and this is quite the irony — I am genuinely very angry.
There’s an overwhelming amount of negativity perpetuated, particularly by white individuals. Like, can you please stop working so hard for white supremacy, my mediocre friends? From the unoriginal trio of Kate, Annie, and Bianca appropriating and commercializing mahjong while disrespecting Chinese culture, to the white guy on TikTok with the now-deactivated username “citizenattorney1” suggesting white men should seek Asian women from overseas because Asian American women are “mean,” to the surge in anti-Asian hate crimes fueled by COVID-19, there’s ample reason for Asian Americans to be furious.
I am enraged that white supremacists act with impunity, supported even by the President of the United States. I am exasperated that white supremacy infiltrates every aspect of my life, particularly how white women have caused turmoil in many communities I belong to, while women of color bear the mental, physical, and emotional brunt.
We are the scapegoats, blamed for stirring drama when we call out the inherent white supremacy that fuels the entitlement allowing these white women to take from us and gaslight us. We’re the ones receiving heart-pounding DMs — often from our own racial community — accusing us of anti-whiteness and creating spaces that exclude white individuals.
How can any reasonable person — Asian or not — not feel angry? Furthermore, on top of the absurdity from white individuals, I’m furious that while Asian Americans are often seen as foreign and exotic, too many of us allow ourselves to be used as a tool to justify anti-Blackness. It infuriates me that Asian Americans can be outraged by anti-Asian racism (rightfully so), yet remain silent amidst anti-Black racism. I’m appalled that 31% of Asian Americans voted for Trump in 2020, up from 18% in 2016. It’s disheartening that so many Asian Americans prefer to align with white individuals rather than actively pursue justice and equality.
I am undeniably angry, as it’s the only fitting response in such a world. Yet, even my anger gets weaponized against me. It gets twisted and co-opted. “They only hired you because you’re a lightning rod for controversy,” my fears whisper. “If you stop being angry, they won’t find you valuable anymore.”
While I suppose I should be grateful the stereotype of Asian American women is one of calmness, I resent that even in expressing dissent, the tendrils of white supremacy distort my identity for their own gain. This is what a lack of representation does to individuals — it’s why women and people of color often experience imposter syndrome. Among its many evils, racism robs us of our full humanity.
It doesn’t matter how many people express admiration for my work. It doesn’t matter when women reach out to thank me for making them feel less alone. It doesn’t matter that my friends associate me with radical honesty and my love for hot Asian men (or my inability to remember what day it is). We are reduced — I am reduced — to a stereotype.
But I am more than just one aspect. I will continue to express my outrage and seek joy because they can coexist; to do otherwise would be to concede defeat. I refuse to be flattened into a narrow box. I contain multitudes. My existence itself serves as an act of resistance.
This is one of our other blog posts, which discusses similar themes in depth. For a deeper dive into home insemination options, visit this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination.
Search Queries:
- How to express anger as an Asian American
- The impact of stereotypes on Asian American identity
- Navigating racism as an Asian American woman
- The intersection of race and gender in media representation
- Coping with anti-Asian hate crimes
Summary:
The author reflects on the complexities of being an Asian American writer, grappling with feelings of anger due to societal injustices, particularly those rooted in white supremacy and racism. While she enjoys challenging stereotypes, she also struggles with the implications of being viewed as a token representative of her race. Despite the anger she feels, she emphasizes her desire to pursue joy and authenticity, rejecting the idea of being reduced to a single narrative.