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

