"Anti-Blackness is an Asian American problem." - Amita Swadhin
Reading this sentence a few days ago knocked me on my ass. For several days prior, like many of us, these Black men and their families were in my head and on my heart:
Chris Cooper simply birding in Central Park and a White woman calling police to falsely accuse him of "threatening her life." Mr Cooper asked her to put her dog on a leash. They were in an area of the park where dogs are not allowed.
Ahmaud Arbery jogging and then murdered in Georgia. The White men who shot him thought he was trespassing and that he fit the description of someone who'd been perpetrating crimes in the neighborhood.
George Floyd murdered by a police officer in Minneapolis. Police were called because a shop owner believed Floyd was trying to pass a counterfeit $20 bill.
Anti-Blackness in an Asian American problem.
Do you know how many times I've had the police called on me because I asked someone to leash their dog? Zero.
Do you know how many times I've had the police called on me because I was taking a walk and wandered onto someone else's property? Zero.
Do you know how many times I've had the police called on me because I've used a counterfeit $20 bill? Zero.
Do you know how many times I've worried about my safety or my life when I was doing all of those things (because I have actually done all those things). Zero.
I have privilege and that's why I have not worried.
I'm being asked to look deeply at very uncomfortable issues and my conscience is not letting me turn away. So here's me, calling myself out and reflecting on what I've seen and said and perpetrated. I've kept myself apart and distant. I've been silent and therefore, complicit.
I am privileged and I benefit from this privilege. AND I have been hurt, too. Both of these things can exist simultaneously. If I come clean about my privilege and the role I play in the oppression of Black individuals, that's one step toward healing our community. Holding myself accountable matters.
We've seen the lists of Black people harmed and murdered. We've seen the lists of what we can do to help. What I can do today is speak out. I'm not looking for absolution, not just because that's not the point of my writing these words, but because that absolution won't help, isn't deserved. Centering me and making me feel better is not why I'm writing these words.
I understand that this is not happening to me.
I understand that I am not Black and have not suffered the types and degrees of oppression Black people have suffered.
I hope that I have always presented and acted as an ally to members of the Black community.
Here's one tiny way I can stand with : by speaking out about the fact that just because I haven't sought out privilege, doesn't mean I haven't benefited from it. Now that I've said those words out loud, what will I do?
Now that you've read my words, what will you do? Protest? Speak out? Donate your money and/or time? Sit with this information and really chew on it? Whatever you choose to do, please don't turn away.
Saturday, May 30, 2020
Thursday, May 14, 2020
Fat in the Time of Corona
I'm fat. Just sit with that information a moment and notice how comfortable or uncomfortable you feel about my revelation. Are you angry with me ("Why did she have to say that?? I don't want to read this crap!")? Do you want to give me a hug ("She looks so pretty! Why would she say that about herself?")? Are you wondering why the heck I'm talking about this right now ("Is she seriously going to talk about herself and being fat at a time like this??")?
Honestly, I was just being a bit cheeky with the title and an allusion to Garcia Marquez's gorgeous work. The titles have the same number of syllables and a similar, odd juxtapositioning of two concepts: fat/corona and love/cholera In this lifetime, I wouldn't compare myself to Garcia Marquez. I'm just a fangirl. But in the process of looking up what he meant by the book title, I learned some crazy stuff.
Garcia Marquez wrote Love in the Time of Cholera because he'd been inspired by Dafoe's 1722 novel A Journal of the Plague Year. Set in 1665, it's a journal of one man living in London during the bubonic plague. Yes, I went down that rabbit hole. Yes, it's available for free online - like, the whole book! Yes, I'm amazed that I bumped into this information about bubonic plague while researching something I thought was completely unrelated, while we ourselves are all going through....but I digress.
Fat. At nearly 54, I'm ok with most things about me. So I'm not writing about my weight to be exhorted to love myself nor hear inspiration to work out (I do both!). Nor am I fishing for compliments - I know I'm beautiful inside and out, blah, blah, blah. (I've been looking at myself on Zoom for four years. Not four months, four years. I'm captivating, adorable, thoughtful, and have a great smile). Thanks, though. I was married to a man who loved me and loved how I looked no matter what I weighed. What a true gift in a life partner.
No, see, food is in my head right now because I caught myself complaining about how all the snacks in my home taste like cardboard: Ak-mak crackers, gluten-free pretzels, Reduced Fat Wheat Thins and hummus, low-fat granola, and Vatana (peas) from the Indian store. Beyond lackluster snacks, I have a wide array of delectable, yet uber-healthy produce from the farmers' market: Cara-Cara Oranges, Gala apples, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, blueberries, strawberries... and all organic too. Truly a dietician's dream....but not 'fun' food!
While this is not true of every person, I am overweight because I live here and I have the money to purchase this food and consume more of it than my body needs or probably should have. Wow. The ultimate 'first world problem', huh? And food is also on my mind because I saw those images of food bank lines. People here in America need food. That simply astonishes me. Before the pandemic, I think the stat was something like 1 in 7 children in America went to bed hungry. Here in our country. I'm sure that stat is worse now.
Regardless of what we weigh, we can take a minute or two to help. Today, I'm going to visit the Second Harvest Food Bank website and make a donation. But next time I go to the store, I'll pick up some extra cans of beans or soup to donate. I have friends who volunteer at food banks every week and they report that donations are way down. I'll also be mindful when I sit down to my meals and be grateful for every bite.
*Note: in response to last week's post in which I whined about not having chocolate in the house, a very, very sweet high school classmate sent a beautiful box of chocolates from Olympia Candy Kitchen (a favorite spot from our youth). I'm so grateful for her thoughtfulness, the chocolate itself, and that she'd help a business, which we hold close in our hearts, to stay open. Wooo-hooo!
Honestly, I was just being a bit cheeky with the title and an allusion to Garcia Marquez's gorgeous work. The titles have the same number of syllables and a similar, odd juxtapositioning of two concepts: fat/corona and love/cholera In this lifetime, I wouldn't compare myself to Garcia Marquez. I'm just a fangirl. But in the process of looking up what he meant by the book title, I learned some crazy stuff.
Garcia Marquez wrote Love in the Time of Cholera because he'd been inspired by Dafoe's 1722 novel A Journal of the Plague Year. Set in 1665, it's a journal of one man living in London during the bubonic plague. Yes, I went down that rabbit hole. Yes, it's available for free online - like, the whole book! Yes, I'm amazed that I bumped into this information about bubonic plague while researching something I thought was completely unrelated, while we ourselves are all going through....but I digress.
Fat. At nearly 54, I'm ok with most things about me. So I'm not writing about my weight to be exhorted to love myself nor hear inspiration to work out (I do both!). Nor am I fishing for compliments - I know I'm beautiful inside and out, blah, blah, blah. (I've been looking at myself on Zoom for four years. Not four months, four years. I'm captivating, adorable, thoughtful, and have a great smile). Thanks, though. I was married to a man who loved me and loved how I looked no matter what I weighed. What a true gift in a life partner.
No, see, food is in my head right now because I caught myself complaining about how all the snacks in my home taste like cardboard: Ak-mak crackers, gluten-free pretzels, Reduced Fat Wheat Thins and hummus, low-fat granola, and Vatana (peas) from the Indian store. Beyond lackluster snacks, I have a wide array of delectable, yet uber-healthy produce from the farmers' market: Cara-Cara Oranges, Gala apples, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, blueberries, strawberries... and all organic too. Truly a dietician's dream....but not 'fun' food!
While this is not true of every person, I am overweight because I live here and I have the money to purchase this food and consume more of it than my body needs or probably should have. Wow. The ultimate 'first world problem', huh? And food is also on my mind because I saw those images of food bank lines. People here in America need food. That simply astonishes me. Before the pandemic, I think the stat was something like 1 in 7 children in America went to bed hungry. Here in our country. I'm sure that stat is worse now.
Regardless of what we weigh, we can take a minute or two to help. Today, I'm going to visit the Second Harvest Food Bank website and make a donation. But next time I go to the store, I'll pick up some extra cans of beans or soup to donate. I have friends who volunteer at food banks every week and they report that donations are way down. I'll also be mindful when I sit down to my meals and be grateful for every bite.
*Note: in response to last week's post in which I whined about not having chocolate in the house, a very, very sweet high school classmate sent a beautiful box of chocolates from Olympia Candy Kitchen (a favorite spot from our youth). I'm so grateful for her thoughtfulness, the chocolate itself, and that she'd help a business, which we hold close in our hearts, to stay open. Wooo-hooo!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)