Feeling like an outsider didn’t
stop there. There were also
the many times during school
lunches where I dumped packed
lunches or let them run cold in
my lunch box. I would starve or
pull out the few “appropriate”
snacks for lunch I would have
that included packaged crackers
and sliced apples. The few foods
that wouldn’t garner judging
looks and wrinkled noses. How
desperately I just wanted a
brown paper bag and a PB&J
sandwich.
Then there were the moments
in class where I knew I didn’t
belong. In my music class in
elementary schools we covered
American singers. Our music
teacher would always encourage
us to go home and ask our parents
about the singers we learned in
class. As a diligent student, I tried
to ask my parents, but they never
knew what I was talking about.
I would ask them earnestly with
eyes begging for some sort of
connection, anything. I would
have taken it even if they had
remembered a different band
with a similar sounding name.
Instead, my mother would tell
me about her favorite Korean
singers growing up.
After elementary school, there
were no talks about my heritage.
The diversity nights stopped.
It was only about preparing
ourselves for college.
In high school, I remember
opening a textbook to try to
read anything about Korea. As
a textbook from a world history
course, I safely assumed there
would be at least one chapter
or even a page about Korea.
Something that for the first
time would tell me that who I
was mattered in my academic
studies. I scrambled through
the pages before opening to the
index, heart beating faster as I
flipped to the appropriate page
numbers. What I found was but
a small sliver of a paragraph
about the shoe industry. I am not
sure what was the sadder part.
The fact that it was only that
paragraph or that I was not even
shocked or distraught, having
been so used to the sharp barrier
of my Korean home life and my
time in school. During that same
“world” history course, we spent
two days on the ancient Chinese
civilization (at least I had the
same skin tone) before spending
the entire school year on other
history.
I remember learning about the
civil rights movement, but I do
not remember any conversations
on the place of Asian Americans
in it. I did not know or ever learn
who Grace Lee Boggs and her
contribution to the movement
were. Never did I learn about
who Vincent Chin was, brutally
targeted
and
murdered
for
taking away supposed jobs from
white union auto workers. No
one celebrated Asian History
Month (It’s in May.) All moments
where I learned that my identity
was not important or valued
enough to be learned.
From
elementary
school
through high school and my
entire time in the Ann Arbor
Public Schools system, I had
never been taught by someone
who was Asian. The closest I got
to an authority figure who looked
like me was a lunch supervisor
named Mr. Lu in elementary
school. Mr. Lu was a pretty chill
guy, and I felt as if he also felt a
bond with me being one of the
few Asian students. In his broken
English, he would always try
and ask me questions. Though I
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Thursday, September 21, 2017 — 3
My experience: Unsafe in WQ
Bubble Pop: Experiencing racism in Ann Arbor
Michigan in Color recently sat
down to speak with Tyrice Grice
Jr. — a resident of the Michigan
Community
Scholars
Program
and one of the students who was
targeted in the act of vandalism
and racism that happened this
past Sunday. Through our dialogue
with Tyrice, Michigan in Color was
able to learn more about his own
thoughts, reactions and opinions
to the appalling display of hate in
West Quadrangle Residence Hall.
What were your initial thoughts
and reactions to seeing the name
tag?
“Initially, I was completely
surprised by what went down.
No one expects to wake up to an
attack on their identity — let alone
finding one literally posted on their
door. While I went through the day
feeling fine, as the day wore on, my
anger and anxiety began to peak.
Eventually, this anger resulted
in an impassioned speech to my
learning community — Michigan
Community
Scholars
Program
— where it was met with positive
feedback. This convinced me that
the community cared and could
empathize with me.”
How have you been processing
these events?
“On top of my heavy workload
as an engineer, I have to deal with
this additional heavy emotional
weight. Some people may consider
the vandalization in West Quad to
be a joke, but this is the experience
we live every day. Latinx are seen to
be a part of drugs, Arabs are seen as
terrorist — this is not an attack on
Black Americans, this is an attack
on people of color and the minority
race as a whole.”
Do you think this is an isolated
incident?
“This issue is an ongoing issue.
Minorities,
not
just
Africans
Americans, face this. For example,
downtown
Ann
Arbor
was
vandalized yesterday with the
saying “Free Dylann Roof” and
“Fuck N------.” As an African
American from Detroit, I have
experienced a lot first hand, but
direct racism is new and I shouldn’t
have my first experience of direct
racism be at this prestigious
university.”
How do you feel about the way
that the situation has been handled
on campus?
“Although I spoke in front of
the 200-plus members of MCSP
and LSA Dean Martin, that is not
enough. Despite him saying he
will do everything in his power to
address the issue, more must be
done. My dialogue on this issue isn’t
enough, other students also must
work to build awareness on the
issue. They must think about ways
that they can help create a solution,
and learn how to stand up for
marginalized voices. That begins
with not making assumptions
about people of color about their
own experiences. As a group
that represents only 4 percent of
the student body, we need white
students to also speak up on our
behalf. Only when assumptions
are dropped and people defend one
another can we begin the work of
creating a more inclusive and
diverse campus.”
-------------------------------
Michigan in Color would like
to thank Tyrice for taking the
time to explain his thoughts
and response to his run-in
with blatant racism on campus.
Michigan in Color recognizes
the
tremendous
emotional
toll that this event took on
Tyrice, the two other students
affected, MCSP and the larger
Black community on campus.
Michigan in Color would also
like to stress that when events
like these happen, people of
color are not — and should not
— be expected to respond in
an identical fashion as Tyrice.
Because we all process events
differently, it’s important to
remember that one reaction
to hate is no more or less valid
than any other. As a campus
community, all we can do is
listen to these reactions and
provide a space where we can
support, empathize with and
understand their experiences.
TYRICE GRICE JR.
MiC Contributer
YOUNG LEE
MiC Columnist
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
Ann
Arbor
is
a
bubble-
community. A bubble community
as in perfect-looking from the
outside and the people on the inside
keep to themselves. Most people
living here seem to be nuclear
families with white-collar jobs.
When I was younger, I assumed the
rest of America was pretty much
just like Ann Arbor. On family
vacations, my family would avoid
any “dangerous” parts of cities, as
if to shield me from the realities of
the world. Not every place was like
Ann Arbor. Detroit was always the
place to avoid. (Think: “The Lion
King” where Mufasa tells Simba to
not go to any place the sun does not
touch.)
Ann Arbor is also home to the
University of Michigan, heralded
as a liberal bastion and where some
of the state’s most progressive
ideas sprout. The place where
Democrats come to give their echo
chamber speeches and start their
campaigns. It doesn’t take long to
look up Ann Arbor’s awards on the
city’s website, where one can find
all the accolades a city can achieve.
No. 1 most educated, best city to live
in America. The list goes on.
For a young, 3-year-old Korean
boy, Ann Arbor is also the place I
have called home for the past 18
years of my life. Born in Jeonju,
South Korea, I moved to Ann
Arbor, Mich., when I was 3. My
earliest memories include snow,
waist deep, fall leaves and the
maize block ‘M.’ (Yes, there are
plenty of pictures of me as a baby
with Michigan clothing on.) I was
also pretty much the only Korean
kid. The few Korean friends I had
always moved back to Korea or
other places across the country
with more diversity.
You would expect having grown
up in a place so well educated
and known for its quality of life
that I would have had a blessed
childhood. On one hand, yes, I
am enormously thankful for the
opportunities afforded to me by
living in this city. Perks including
the gorgeous city parks, all the
educational
opportunities
the
University puts forth, etc. Many
of my classmates’ parents were
educated
and
many
worked
for the University as doctors
and professors. It was harder if
anything to find someone who had
not completed a postsecondary
education. All big pull factors for
my parents to choose to live in Ann
Arbor.
However, there was a flip side to
all this perfection. In this seemingly
utopian place that I grew up, I still
struggled. As a Korean American
growing up in a predominantly
white neighborhood, I had many
moments where I felt like an
outsider, when I became cognizant
of my race.
For starters, I’ve always had
all the typical questions asked of
me as an Asian American. Think
of the questions such as “Where
are you from?” As if they really
want to know what ethnicity I am.
Questions that signaled to me that
there was no possible way I could
have really been just an American.
It was usually never OK that I just
said Ann Arbor.
One of the first indicators was
my name. In elementary school, I
took piano lessons with this white
teacher who refused to pronounce
my name right. She always called
me “Yoong.” No matter how
many times my mother would
try and correct her, she seemed
so confident and sure that she
knew my name better than the
woman who had given birth to
me and chosen that name for me.
Moments like these did not stop
there, whether it be the moments
in Panera when I spell my name
out for the cashier, and I get
back receipts spelled “Yung.”
It is as if the other person was
expecting a misspelling because
my name obviously meant I was
from a foreign country, and my
parents did not know English
spelling. There were also the
many times people would refuse
to even attempt to use my first
name and settle for my last name
Lee. Literally no effort given.
In second grade, I was also
randomly called one day to go to
English as a Second Language.
Unsure why I was being called
out of my class, I followed a
woman into a room with the
alphabet plastered all over the
walls. I sat there even more
confused when I was handed
a worksheet with the simple
sentence “The dog ran.” This
sentence was accompanied by a
colorful, tacky graphic straight
out of a book for toddlers. As
I enunciated all my English
words perfectly, I was deemed
“acculturated”
enough
to
resume my school year with
the rest of my class. I wonder
what kind of assumptions those
people had about me based on
my name and color of my skin. If
they even ever cared to check or
ask my teacher if I was proficient
in English.