Forever Foreign? Experiencing COVID-19 as an Asian-American
By: Matthew Ho
The Center for Human Rights, Gender and Migration is publishing a blog series featuring writing and reflections from students engaged with the Center. Students are welcome to share their personal views and experiences related to human rights and social justice issues in this series.
Growing up in the Bay Area, being Asian wasn’t really anything of note to me. The majority of the population in my hometown is of Asian descent, with many of our parents being first-generation immigrants and my high school being almost 80% Asian. Because of this, it felt like eating rice with every meal, watching anime, and playing games like Maplestory and Yu-Gi-Oh were just everyday things for everybody. Being Asian was the unconscious norm that I, and most of my peers, defaulted to and was something that had been so ingrained in me that I wasn’t even aware of it. That is until moving to St. Louis for college. Even though Asians are the largest minority population at WashU, it is still a world of difference from what I am used to in the Bay Area. When I talked to other Asians at WashU, I suddenly felt like there were these small, unspoken connections being made, whether they be from shared values, experiences, upbringings, or cultures, that I had never noticed before. These connections made WashU feel like home after the huge culture shock that came from starting college halfway across the country, and from there, being Asian was no longer the norm, instead evolving into something to be celebrated. There was beauty and pride in being Asian, something I’ve realized through events like Lunar New Year Festival and Night Market, and for the first time in my life, I was proud to be Asian.
But for the first time that I can remember, I’m actually self-conscious about being Asian. In the midst of this pandemic, anti-Asian sentiments and stigmas have arisen in ways that I’ve never experienced or heard of before, both interpersonally and at large in the media. Three members of an Asian-American family, including a 2-year old and a 6-year child, were stabbed because they were thought to be “Chinese infecting people with Coronavirus.” A 16-year old boy was beaten up and sent to the hospital after his attackers accused him of having the virus. Nationwide, there have been more than 2,100 reports of incidents of hate against Asian-Americans since the outbreak began, ranging from physical assault and shunning to verbal harassment, despite race not affecting the contracting or spreading of the virus. Although I’ve never experienced discrimination in such blatant ways before, never even thinking about such hate as a possibility, these stories have become internalized in me to the point that I’m almost immediately mindful of my Asian identity whenever I see another person. I wear a hat to hide my jet black hair as much as possible and wait to cough or clear my throat until I’m out of earshot of other people not only in fear of facing discrimination myself, but also of confirming those stigmas in other people.
But past the interpersonal violence and microagressions and attacks against Asian people, I’ve been made abundantly aware of the attacks against Asian cultures, especially Chinese culture, that masquerade discrimination and xenophobia as appropriate responses to the pandemic. Calling it the “Chinese virus” is not the same as Spanish influenza and only further associates the pandemic with Asians and fuels discrimination. The most dangerous response to me, however, is the association of the pandemic with Chinese wet markets. Given COVID-19’s nature as a zoonotic disease, there are legitimate criticisms of this part of Chinese culture given the lack of safety regulations surrounding their handling of live animals, which can be seen as a reason for the start of the pandemic in Wuhan. Though wet markets could have improved safety measures to hinder the spread of zoonotic diseases, calling for them to be banned because they sell livestock and animal products different from your local grocery store is not only xenophobic, but can also have resounding effects on the local people who rely on those wet markets for their food or income.
The coronavirus pandemic is a scary time for all of us, but it’s not an excuse for xenophobia and discrimination that could have long-lasting effects against Asians and Asian-Americans. As hate crimes and micro-aggressions become ingrained in the minds, experiences, and cultures of Asians and Asian-Americans, we are further isolated and alienated from the rest of society. Our status as the forever foreigner becomes cemented as we are not only seen as a threat to America’s culture and economy, but also its health.
Matthew Ho is an administrative intern with the Center for Human Rights, Gender and Migration and a current undergraduate student at Washington University in St. Louis. Matthew is majoring in Anthropology under the Global Health & Environment Track. Because of his family’s history of migration from the Vietnam War, Matthew is interested in the long-lasting and intergenerational effects of migration, war, and trauma, a topic that he hopes to pursue in his senior thesis. After graduation, Matthew hopes to work to help address health disparities and inequities before pursuing master’s degrees in public health and business administration.
