When I sat down with Moon Choe,
owner and operator of Moon Cafe, a Korean
restaurant and frozen yogurt shop on State
Street, for a 40-minute interview, I’ll admit
I expected something of a sob story: a few
cliché sentiments about being down on his
luck and needing students to stop by so he
can pay the bills. What I got instead was a
chance to gain new insights on laissez-faire
parenting, the subtle racism that is a hallmark
of the immigrant experience and the private
joys he is able to embrace from the COVID-19
pandemic, among other topics of discussion.
Choe is full of surprising wisdom, which he
dishes out freely, sans condescension.
As soon as you walk in, Moon Cafe
comforts you. The walls are painted yellow
and purple, clashing with the black-and-white
checkerboard floor. Large-framed, abstract
art prints hang on the walls, and the entire
stretch of a mantel piece is lined with small
figurines. The eclectic interior reminds me
of the yummy hole-in-the-wall eateries my
friends and I frequented during our high
school years back at home and immediately
assuages those requisite nerves I feel as a
newcomer to the journalism scene.
Choe is in his early 60s and, despite his
gray hair, looks much younger than his years.
On the afternoon that I walk into his shop,
he wears wire glasses, a yellow University
of Michigan hoodie (like the true Michigan
dad he is) with a few sauce stains, comfy
sweatpants and padded slides with Puma
socks. He’s dressed, in other words, for a long
shift at the restaurant. Choe is thoughtful and
very eloquent. Though he gestures for me to
take a seat at the booth in front of him, he never
quite settles into the bench facing me. Instead,
he hovers by it, always ready to take a call or
hand a customer their order.
I’m caught off guard when Choe begins
the interview by throwing me the first
question: he wants to know what my
position at The Michigan Daily is. I tell him
I’m a Senior MiC Editor, and he nods and
replies that his daughter, Gina, also used to
hold a Senior Editor position at The Daily
during her undergraduate years. In our brief
conversation, he mentions his children’s
academic achievements several times. I
can tell by the way he casually namedrops
“neuroscience at Princeton” that he speaks of
his son and daughter fondly and often.
Much of Choe’s identity is, in many ways,
tied to his role as a father and husband.
Shortly into our conversation, Choe takes
a phone order and calls out to the kitchen:
“Yeobo? Spicy pork!” (Yeobo is a pet name,
roughly translated from Korean to “darling”
or “honey.”) Later, she calls him dangshin —
another sweet term of endearment — when
they’re working in the kitchen together. While
trying to put into words what it’s like to work
with his wife, he chuckles and says, “I cannot
think of any bad things. Just wake up early
in the morning, eat together — we always
eat together … there’s no special meaning,
we’re just married … and then we spend time
together. That’s it.” The restaurant is a two-
person operation. Last year, they employed a
couple U-M students part-time, but now, since
business is slower than usual, it’s just Choe and
his wife, Yoon, running the cafe.
Choe and Yoon, along with their son and
daughter, immigrated to America from South
Korea nearly 15 years ago and eventually
settled in Ann Arbor, Mich. During his career,
Choe worked in the automotive industry for
32 years. (His engineering background shows
in the way he tends to speak in exact figures,
precise times and percentages.) When he
retired a couple years back, he decided he
wanted to take on “fresh and new” work. “My
(children) grew up here in Ann Arbor … so it
is our town,” he tells me. He decided to open a
frozen yogurt shop to meet new students, and
he calls this new job a different type of “good
stress.”
In addition to frozen yogurt, Moon Cafe
serves Korean food, which according to Choe,
is simply “healthy food… It’s homemade, like
Mom’s cooking.” There are, however, many
other Korean restaurants in Ann Arbor. When
I ask Choe what makes his restaurant different
from the others, I expect him to tell me that he
has some special recipe passed down from his
ancestors or even that he also serves frozen
yogurt — which is so delicious that it’s a valid
point, in my opinion. But instead, he refuses
to justify my question with an answer, out
of solidarity with the other Korean spots on
campus. “Korean food is Korean food. I respect
the restaurants… we work all together,” he says.
***
During the second quarter of 2020, America
recorded a 9.1% quarterly drop in economic
output, the steepest ever on record. Michigan’s
economy may not recover until 2023, and the
restaurant industry has suffered considerable
losses. Moon Cafe is no exception. Business
this year, according to Choe, has depleted to
about 40% to 50% of its revenue from last year.
With an awkward laugh, he says, “In a regular
season, we think about the profit. But after
COVID-19, the profit… there (is) no meaning,
no more. Just we survive, how to survive.”
Choe’s goal is to pay his bills, but profit is “over-
demanding (in his) current situation.”
Even in the face of this financial difficulty,
Choe has dignity. “It’s not only us. All peoples,
the same thing… Not only this restaurant, but
also all industries, the same thing,” he says.
His daughter, Gina, believes that U-M
students and the people of Ann Arbor truly
care about their broader community, and their
restaurant is no exception — she tells me she
is awed by their eagerness to help in any way
they can.
“It makes me proud to be a U of M (alumnus)
and to call Ann Arbor my home,” Gina says.
“Despite the tragedies of the pandemic, it
brought local communities together in a way
like never before, and as a small business, we
feel inspired by that.”
Choe tells me he hopes that students will be
smart and healthy during the pandemic, and
empathize with one another. “Every student
must… think (of) other person first. Not ‘me,’”
he says.
***
When Choe describes his love of
connecting with the students who eat at his
restaurant, the skeptic in me thinks he might
be trying to score some good press for my
story. But the student testimonies I’ve heard
are enough to quell any suspicions I may have
had. Engineering sophomore Webber Qu
says, “Korean cuisine has always been one of
my favorites so Moon Cafe (doesn’t) offer just
my favorite dishes, but also (provides) a sense
of comfort in a new environment.” And in a
GoFundMe for the restaurant, the responses
are overwhelmingly positive. Kate Cao writes,
“Moon is the best! I want to be able to come
back and laugh at Moon’s dad jokes,” and
Louis asserts, “Moon is the nicest, sweetest
restaurant owner in AA,” while Leanna says,
“thank u for always making me feel at home :).”
Choe and his wife have a genuine love
for Ann Arbor, which, in their eyes, is “well-
mixed,” meaning that people of all different
races — he rattles off a few rough percentage
estimates of ethnic demographics off the top
of his head — co-exist in this city and treat
each other with respect. In his eyes, growing
up with people of other races and cultures
is good education for children, including his
own, because it expands their horizons and
teaches them empathy. “Our neighborhood
(is) very kind,” he tells me. “That’s Ann Arbor.”
“She instilled in me the value of education
and what it means to be a hard worker. Most
importantly, she taught me how to love others. I
wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for my mom,
and that’s why she’s my personal Michigan hero.”
When I was in the eighth grade, I was required
to write an essay on the subject “my personal
Michigan hero” for an “America & Me” essay
contest. I had mulled over the essay for so long
that the words above became immortalized in
my memory. I was determined to win, believing
my mom’s story was a winner.
In the essay, I droned on about her
accomplishments and early life. She didn’t have
much growing up, but her parents, she told me,
had stressed the importance of a good education,
and she and her siblings earned merit scholarships
that helped pay for tuition at private schools. She
carried a thirst for knowledge into her young
adulthood, obtaining her bachelor’s degree at
the University of San Carlos in Cebu City before
beginning her graduate studies at Ateneo de
Manila University, a top-rated university in the
Philippines. She continued her graduate studies
in the U.S., where she met my father and earned
her doctorate at Michigan State University.
It wasn’t until I was much older — long
after I had written the essay — that I learned
about the more complex parts of her life, like
her employment as a language instructor for
U.S. Peace Corps volunteers assigned to the
Philippines, her experience working as an English
instructor in refugee camps or her time protesting
the military dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos
while working and going to graduate school at
the Ateneo de Manila University. She was active
in the protest movement known as the People’s
Power Movement, a series of events triggered
by the assassination of a popular political rival,
Benigno Simeon “Ninoy” Aquino Jr., in 1983 that
culminated in the departure of Marcos in 1986.
My mother started protesting around the time
Aquino was assassinated, one event in Marcos’
repressive, violent and corrupt regime. Part of
her involvement with the movement included
advocating and conducting workshops on the
protection of ballots for the 1986 presidential
election between Marcos and Corazon Aquino,
the wife of Ninoy Aquino, a risky endeavor given
the rampant cheating, militarization and political
intimidation occurring at the time.
I didn’t win the essay contest. Looking
back, there was no way that I could capture the
complexity of my mother’s life within two pages,
much of which I still had to learn about. I was,
however, grateful to reflect on what little I knew
of my mother’s life, and over time I would acquire
an appreciation of the decisions she made leading
up to having me. Learning about her experiences
made me understand what made her who she is
and thus, the formation of ideals that impacted
who I am. It also made me realize the sacrifices
she made for the life I have now, which included
leaving her family and everything she knew in
the Philippines. When I was in the second grade,
she even gave up her visa and Filipino citizenship
to become a U.S. citizen. Why? So she could vote,
something personal that carried a significance
I didn’t understand until I learned about my
mother’s past endeavors.
To this day, I continue to learn new things
about my mother that generate feelings of
admiration and gratitude. I have never known
someone who is as compassionate, hard-working
and selfless as my mother. She is thoughtful,
intelligent and relentless. She brought me into
this world and took on many roles as I grew up,
from educator to breadwinner to confidant.
I would not be who I am today without her
limitless patience, guidance and support. She’s
raised me to be capable and independent, but at
the same time, she is always there when I need
her. I feel confident knowing that in an ever-
changing world, her love is constant.
This year, for Women’s History Month, may we
commemorate the achievements that women have
made over the course of American history. But I
will also celebrate the women in my own life. My
sister, aunts, grandmothers and yes, my mother.
After all, I wouldn’t be writing for Michigan in
Color if it weren’t for my mom. Who am I kidding?
I wouldn’t be here without my mom.
Mahal kita, Mom.
Translation: I love you, Mom.
Under the Clinton Administration, the
enactment of immigration laws in 1996 led
to bulk deportations of Arabs and Muslims.
The Bush Administration signed the
Patriot Act, enabling heavy surveillance
of Arab and Muslim populations in
America. The Obama administration
aided in the Yemen Civil War, which is
now “the largest humanitarian crisis in
the world,” according to Human Rights
Watch, (and in 2016, the administration
dropped 26,000 bombs in the Middle
East). The Trump administration led a
drone strike that killed Iran’s general,
Qassem Soleimani. And the United States
has been a longstanding supporter of
Israel throughout the ongoing conflict in
Israel-Palestine, just recently opposing the
International Criminal Court’s decision
to open a war crimes investigation in
Palestinian territories. Both Republicans
and Democrats pass and enforce domestic
and foreign policy that threaten the well-
being of Arab and Muslims communities
both in America and the Middle East.
On Thursday, Feb. 25 the Biden
administration ordered a military air-
strike on Syria in retaliation for a recent
attack on American personnel in Iraq. The
attack garnered criticism from top officials
in Congress, with several senators claiming
it was not constitutional. As well, some of
the general public expressed frustration
regarding the prioritization of a foreign
missile strike before passing a COVID-19
relief bill. The greatest wrongdoing was
the attack of an already grief-stricken Syria
for an event that took place in Iraq.
The Biden administration’s military
attack makes him the fifth consecutive
president to order strikes in the Middle
East and demonstrates the United
States’ relentless and bipartisan militant
involvement. Before a new COVID-19
relief bill was passed, before student loan
forgiveness was issued, before minimum
wage legislation, the United States made
an attack in the Middle East. Instead
of prioritizing legislation to aid people
struggling in America, the administration
chose to inflict suffering upon Syria’s
already vulnerable people, highlighting
a pattern of disdain for human life —
specifically Arab lives. This unwavering
U.S. interference in Middle Eastern politics
ultimately inspires an internal struggle for
Arab and Muslim Americans concerning
American
elections.
Arab-American
voters are constantly asked to vote for
politicians that will ultimately disappoint
them when handling both domestic and
foreign policies affecting their community.
During the 2016 election cycle, Trump
was extremely outspoken in his disdain for
Muslim and Arab people, stating in 2015
that the United States needs a “total and
complete shutdown of Muslims entering
the United States.” Simultaneously, his
opponent Hilary Clinton had an ongoing
history of support for the expansionist
policies into Middle East conflicts and
the war in Iraq. Both of these opponents’
platforms put Arab Americans in a hostile
situation, asking them to choose between
two candidates who both stood to cause
them harm.
Ultimately,
under
the
Trump
Administration, anti-Muslim and anti-
Arab rehotric came to the front of the
threshold in 2017 when Trump signed an
executive order enforcing the “Muslim
ban” –– an act that placed restrictions on
travel to the U.S. from majority Muslim
countries in the Middle East.
Though the Trump administration
brought much of their anti-Muslim and
Arab rhetoric to the forefront of their
campaign, United States politicians and
policy have had negative impacts on Arab
and Muslim American communities long
before Trump’s opinions gained traction.
The continued negligence of Arab and
Muslim people is further demonstrated
through
the
way
politicians
take
advantage of community organizers.
In the documentary “Holding Fire,”
Somia Elrowmeim, a Yemeni-Muslim
immigrant living in a Republican district
in South Brooklyn, N.Y., worked to
mobilize Arab voters in her community. It
was grassroots organizing by individuals,
such as Elrowmeim, that enabled
Democratic candidate Max Rose’s victory
by a slim margin. Despite the support
from the Arab and Muslim community in
his district, Rose was an early and public
critic of U.S. Rep. Ilhan Omar, D-Minn.,
for a speech she gave at the Council of
American and Islamic Relations gala
regarding 9/11’s impact on Muslim civil
liberties. Elrowmeim in the documentary
discussed how she was deeply pained and
felt betrayed by Rose’s acts, as she, along
with the Arab and Muslim community,
worked hard to vote and campaign for
him.
Arab and Muslim American voters
are discredited and disrespected in their
activism, then asked to make sacrifices
come election time. Regardless of political
identity, families in the Middle East will
be affected, surveillance on Muslims
and Arabs will continue and Western
intervention will prevent peace in the
region.
When
Biden
announced
in
his
presidential campaign that Kamala Harris
would be on the ticket as his vice president,
I cried twice. The first cry was for the first
Black, Indian and woman Vice President
of the United States. The second cry was
because I was voting for Biden and Harris,
aware of their long-standing imperialist
and violent history with the Middle East.
As a “hyphenated” American, I am
made up of both my American identity
and the identity of my place of origin ––
the culmination of my ancestors. I listen
to stories from grandparents recounting
their childhood in the homes they were
born in. I spend summers with cousins
running on those same streets or dinners
eating meals with the spices and aromas
of my heritage. Belonging is never a
singular place. As an Arab and Muslim
American voting, I am asked to pick one
place to which I belong, to let go of a part
of my home –– I cast a vote, knowing a
piece of me will be hurt and scarred ––
while still hoping for something better to
come.
I know I vote in hopes for access to
health care, prison reform, women’s
bodily autonomy and equality. I know
I vote in hopes that one day, candidates
and politicians will implore America to
have honest conversations regarding the
abhorrent impacts of United States foreign
affairs –– for the hope that the interest of
humanity will be held above the interest of
oil — and for a better future for both of my
homes. The places to which I belong.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Wednesday, March 17, 2021 — 5
The endless conflict for Arab and
Muslim American voters
LAYAILL MUSTAFA
MiC Columnist
Mahal Kita, Mom
ELIZABETH SCHRINER
MiC Columnist
ELIZABETH SCHRINER/Daily
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
Moon Cafe and kindness
during Covid-19
JESSICA KWON
MiC Columnist
COURTESY OF GINA CHOE
Design by Layaill Mustafa