The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Wednesday, April 7, 2021 — 5

U-M professors, Michigan public officials discuss roots of anti-Asian 

racism, but suggestions for what to do in the face of hate fall short

Disclaimer: The author and Michigan in 

Color as a whole do not condone involvement 
of the carceral state or any perpetuation of 
criminalization. The solutions covered in this 
event are not solutions the author is advocating 
for, but rather solutions offered at the event that 
Michigan in Color remain in search of alternatives 
to. Please see resources the author has provided 
related to bystander intervention training at the 
end of this article for more possibilities. 

The Michigan Asian Pacific American 

Affairs Commission held a compelling town 
hall over Zoom Friday to combat the rise 
in anti-Asian hate and teach viewers how 
they can be allies to the Asian American 
community. The goal of the event was to take a 
look at the racism Asian Americans have faced 
in the past, policies created to discriminate 
against Asian Americans and the rise in race-
motivated violence against Asian Americans 
during the COVID-19 pandemic.

However, when it came to offering Asian 

Americans resources to turn to, public 
officials only presented options involving 
law enforcement — which is a harmful 
perpetuation of oppressive systems. 

The list of speakers included Roland 

Hwang, 
lecturer 
in 
the 
Asian/Pacific 

Islander American Studies Department at 
the University of Michigan; Melissa May 

Borja, assistant professor at the University’s 
Department of American Culture; Sunita 
Doddamani, Michigan assistant attorney 
general and head of the hate crimes unit; 
Attorney General Dana Nessel and Anthony 
Lewis, director of the Michigan Department 
of Civil Rights. 

The event started with a few words from 

Governor Gretchen Whitmer. She offered 
her condolences to the Asian community and 
condemned the recent acts of violence against 
them, particularly the mass shootings at 
several Asian-owned spas in Atlanta.

“I want to make our values very clear, hate 

has no home in Michigan,” Whitmer said. 

Then, Borja presented a powerful slideshow 

containing information on how racism against 
Asian Americans began in America and how 
this violence has spread due to the COVID-19 
pandemic. 

“This idea, this fear of Asian people, is 

known as the yellow peril,” Borja said. 

She then recalled historical events like the 

Chinese Exclusion Act and conveyed how 
Chinese, Korean and Japanese individuals 
were discriminated against at the American 
border in the late 19th century and throughout 
the 20th century. 

Seeing Borja acknowledge America’s racist 

past was impressive because she reminded 
attendees of the discrimination Asians have 
always faced in America. When society does 
not acknowledge these past hardships, it 
perpetuates the model minority myth. The 
model minority myth is the stereotype that all 

Asian Americans are academically successful 
and come from prestigious families. Failure 
to reflect on America’s racist history excludes 
Asian Americans of lower socioeconomic 
statuses, along with those victim to unequal 
policy and those seeking refuge from America-
initiated wars. Throughout American history, 
Asians have had to leave their country in order 
to come to America because of American 
military influence in their country. It does not 
bring awareness to the fact that the majority of 
Asians were blamed for bringing illnesses and 
diseases to America in the late 1800s when the 
transcontinental railroad was built. The model 
minority myth diminishes and invalidates 
the increase in violence rooted in racism that 
Asian Americans have been experiencing 
in America ever since the beginning of the 
COVID-19 pandemic. It enforces the idea that 
Asian Americans do not struggle. 

Borja also discussed how increasing anti-

Asian violence can be tied to political rhetoric 
surrounding the pandemic, most notably by 
former President Donald Trump.

“Researchers based at Berkeley did a study 

and they found that in the 10 years leading 
up to 2020, there was actually a downward 
decline or downward trend in anti-Asian 
bias,” Borja said. “But that downward trend 
was reversed the first week of March when 
politicians and conservative media began to 
use terms like ‘China virus.’” 

According to Stop AAPI Hate, there have 

been a total of 3,792 reports of anti-Asian hate 
incidents from March 2020 to March 2021. 

Incident reports have come from all over the 
country, ranging from verbal harassment 
to physical assault directed towards Asian 
Americans in public, Borja said. 

Additionally, Borja attacked some myths 

that have been spreading on social media 
during her presentation. According to Borja, 
there is a common belief that the hate Asian 
Americans are experiencing is only targeted 
towards the elderly population. However, Borja 
stated that there has also been an increase in 
bullying reported by Asian American children. 
Children are more likely to experience verbal 
harassment, but elders are more likely to 
experience physical harassment, Borja said. 

In addition, she noted 68% of attacks have 

been against women, showing that they are 
specifically targeted because of America’s 
violent history against Asian women. 

I can list numerous examples from my own 

self-education: for example, a notable policy 
that discriminates against Asian women is the 
The Page Act of 1875. It was enacted because 
Chinese women were hypersexualized and 
feared to be engaging in prostitution in the 
United States. This notion is not true, as 
many women traveled to America to prosper 
economically and to be reunited with their 
spouses. During World War II, the Korean 
War and in Vietnam, there was an increase 
in demand for Asian sex workers because 
of America’s military influence. In today’s 
world Asian women recall street harassment, 
unsolicited sexual comments from coworkers 
and have been subjected to men projecting 

their fetishes onto them. With the recent 
shootings in Atlanta it is evident how men 
have gone to the extreme to project their 
sexual fantasies on Asian women when the 
suspect claims he had a “sexual addiction” 
and saw the spa as “a temptation he needed to 
eliminate.” Asian women have never been safe 
as a result of over 100 years of being subjected 
to sexual objectification. 

Towards the end of her presentation, Borja 

discussed ways non-Asian individuals can be 
allies to the Asian community at this time. 
The methods she discussed are summarized 
below: 1) Reach out to your Asian American 
friends. However, do not reach out to your 
Asian friends just because they are Asian. 
Reach out to them because you see their 
hurt, not to relieve your guilt. 2) Discuss 
microaggressions and what they may look 
like in public, so you know when to intervene. 
3) Refrain from using harmful expressions 
when talking about the COVID-19 pandemic. 
4) Encourage victims to report hatred to 
organizations like Stop AAPI Hate. 5) Take 
part in a Hollaback bystander intervention 
training to learn how to intervene when you 
see violence rooted in racism. 

Finally, Borja addressed the narrative 

of the divide between the Black and Asian 
communities. She said the increased levels 
of harassment experienced by the Asian 
community is rooted in white supremacy. 

ANCHAL MALH

MiC Columnist

Sinophobia as an immigrant

My phone alerted me that I had a new 

message request on Instagram. Upon opening 
the message, I froze. “You’re way too ugly for 
that Chinese virus.”

I had received that message on Instagram 

exactly a year ago, at the beginning of 
the pandemic. It was a reply to one of my 
Instagram story highlights, a basic selfie of me 
posing and smiling in front of the backdrop of 
a wall. The account was anonymous, of course 
— I suspect that the user did not want to suffer 
the consequences of spewing racist hatred 
if they were to be exposed. Though I was 
stunned at the pure bigotry in the sentence, 
that message was far from the only time I have 
experienced anti-Asian racism.

I am Chinese, both ethnically and nationally. 

I was born in Shanghai and raised in Beijing. 
I had an unassuming childhood until one 
Friday night when I was 13. With my hair still 
wet after having gone to the community pool, 
my parents sat me down on the couch. Our 
conversation that night was exhilarating: They 
told me that we were emigrating to the United 
States of America. I leaped from the couch up 
and down in elation. America was sugar, spice 
and everything nice to naïve, 13-year-old me. 
I took pride in excelling in my English classes, 
which were taught by American teachers who 
wore trendy clothes and perfume, unlike their 
Chinese counterparts. My favorite movie, 
“The Avengers,” which had just came out in 
2013, had a predominantly white cast: I envied 
the characters’ beauty, especially their pale 
skin, and admired the luxurious and futuristic 
lifestyle they led. 

The following year was almost unbearable 

as I counted the days until we would actually 
move overseas. During the final months, I even 
made my own grid paper with dates to help me 
count down the days. I kept it in my pencil case 
so that I could color it in like a scantron with 
eagerness and excitement every morning in 
my homeroom. I did so very obnoxiously so 
that my classmates around me would notice. 
I wanted them to be jealous of me because, 
just as I did, the other students understood the 
perks of being American. Little did I know that 
being an immigrant in America came with 
many burdens. 

The whirlwind change in my life came at a 

price: I had a hard time fitting in at my new high 
school. I did not speak English fluently like my 
peers. While my entire high school was ecstatic 
about the whip and nae nae dance, I responded 
to my dancing classmates with awkward 
laughter, as I didn’t know the routine nor where 
it originated from. Fitting in was a particularly 
impossible feat for me, considering I was an 
awkward foreign girl who was new to the town 
and the school system. I was being tutored on 
grammar every study block when I had English 
class, much to my embarrassment. I sat with 
my English teacher at her desk breaking down 
grammar structures while my peers snacked, 
laughed and chatted in their seats. It was 
difficult making friends and my loneliness took 
a toll on me. 

Being an immigrant was uncomfortable 

beyond a personal level as well. I soon began 
to realize that China, my home country, had 
nowhere near a positive image here in the 
United States, even pre-COVID-19. Sinophobia 
was all over the news and the media. I became 
hyper-aware of it. Everywhere I looked, my 
home country was being overwhelmingly 

portrayed as filthy, corrupt and authoritarian, 
without a single mention of our traditions, 
humility or culture. It was unsettling that 
the latter had always been my focus when 
perceiving my home country, but to some, 
the Chinese Communist Party’s perceived 
wrongdoings are all they knew about the 
nation. Anytime I saw China on the news, it 
was an alarming report on either pollution, 
CCP censorship and mass surveillance or its 
propaganda. Does China have its own issues? 
Yes, but often it feels like these issues are only 
reported by western media to demonize China 
as a whole and not out of genuine concern for 
its citizens. The news reports are not a call 
for change nor action — they are sweeping 
generalizations that can lead to real-world 
consequences.

Sinophobia was embedded in entertainment 

as well in the form of stereotypes. While white 
characters with, for example, European or 
Australian accents are portrayed as mysterious 
and attractive, Chinese accents are foreign and 
the butt of the joke in many Hollywood movies. 

I started becoming ashamed of my roots and 

began to downplay my identity — as much as I 
hate to admit it, I didn’t want to be associated 
with neither the “corrupt” Chinese government 
nor the offensive stereotypes. When I first 
moved as a child, I often announced with pride 
to the class that I was from Beijing whenever my 
teacher asked if there was a new kid present. As 
time went on, I no longer mentioned my home 
country and adjusted my accent to be more 
palatable and assimilate with my peers. The 
internal struggle was constant, though. While I 
considered myself American, I was still enraged 
any time anybody insulted my home country 
and my people. Once, one of my first American 
friends had pulled on the ends of her eyes as a 

joke. Though I laughed along and put on a front 
out of cowardice, I was fuming internally.

Fast forward a few years, you could not tell 

me apart from an Asian American who was 
born and raised here in the U.S. Over time, I 
had gradually lost my accent and even started 
to forget my mother tongue. This did not 
bother me as much, since fitting in and not 
being viewed as an anomaly meant everything 
to me then. I learned to forget and ignore the 
culture that raised me for fourteen years, but 
my experiences with racism in the COVID-19 
era, such as the aforementioned direct message, 
ushered in new painful realizations for me 
regarding my identity as a Chinese American. 

A year ago, the internet watched and 

sneered at the clips of Wuhan, China, where 
residents were dragged out of their homes into 
quarantine facilities during their city-wide 
shutdown. On the other side of the world, 
we enjoyed our temporary “freedom” and 
“normalcy.” It was an “aha” moment for a lot of 
Americans who have bought into sinophobia in 
the media — a moment where this sinophobia 
was justified in their minds. This is what some 

western media outlets do to its audiences: 
They have and continue to successfully equate 
the Chinese people to its government. On the 
other hand, Chinese people’s real suffering 
does not receive the much deserved attention 
due to mainstream media’s hyperfocus on 
the Chinese government’s corruption. As I 
expected, practically nobody extended their 
sympathy towards the people of Wuhan; 
instead social media watched these videos of 
the city amused, as if they were some sort of 
dystopian trauma porn. Help was never the 
topic of discussion.

On top of that, former President Donald 

Trump quickly assigned blame for COVID-
19, which emboldened individuals to commit 
vengeful acts of hatred, racism and violence 
towards Asian Americans. After the “kung 
flu” rhetoric, the “Chinese virus” controversy 
and the countless Asian hate crimes, I am truly 
exhausted as a young, Chinese immigrant 
woman living in the United States of America.

ZOE ZHANG
MiC Columnist

Design by Zoe Zhang

Winter wonderland

As 
I 
traveled 
from 
the 
Detroit 

Metropolitan Airport back to campus in 
January, I peered out the window of my cab 
with utter amazement. The sapphire sky and 
soft glow of the afternoon sun looked exactly 
as I had remembered it, but this time, the 
world was coated with snow. I come from a 
tropical climate, so the idea of a cold winter 
was totally foreign to me. The world cloaked 
in white looked so beautiful, just as I had 
imagined it in my head. I had spent years 
fantasizing about building a snowman and 
getting into snowball fights, so the brightness 
of the snow as it fell from the sky made me 
look forward to those new experiences that 
lay before me. This winter semester would 
finally allow me the opportunity to see and 
touch real snow for the very first time. Even 
though all of my classes were online and 
many of my friends had moved back home, I 
was determined to remain optimistic about 
this coming semester. After all, it’s college. 
I had spent years imagining late night 
adventures, striking up conversations with 
complete strangers and shouting the lyrics 
to trashy pop songs into the void of the night. 
Here, I could do anything I ever wanted, 
right? Snow gently wafted in the calm breeze 
sweeping through campus when I stepped 
out of my cab in front of East Quad Residence 
Hall building. I reached my hands out to 
catch the delicately hovering snowflakes, but 
their frigid tendrils stung my hands.

Over the next several weeks, the sky lost its 

vibrance. The uniformly gray clouds filled the 
sky with their emptiness. The days blended 

together as the winter nights devoured the 
afternoon sun. The dreariness of winter 
seeped through my window. My empty cans 
of energy drinks, all neatly stacked like legos 
in my overflowing recycling bin, were the 
most vibrant decor I owned. Even when I 
consumed 600mg of caffeine a day (halfway 
to risking seizures according to the Food and 
Drug Administration), I still couldn’t bring 
myself to make the arduous trek down the hall 
to the trash closet. The mess in my room held 
little importance since I was my only company 
anyway. I barely had the energy to walk 
downstairs to the dining hall, never mind my 
dreams of exploring the city around me.

On a particularly gloomy morning, 

desperate to rediscover the warmth I felt 
when I saw snow outside of my cab window 
for the first time, I ventured out into the 
cold. I circled the campus aimlessly as if I 
was waiting for some divine inspiration 
to strike me. I stared up into the colorless 
sky, waiting for fresh snow to fall and 
posing for what I imagined to be a beautiful 
cinematic shot in the imaginary movie of 
my life. Meanwhile, my feet trudged along 
the earth. The grime of the sidewalk fused 
with the slush of the trodden snow left 
behind a brown, misshapen depression 
in the wake of each step. It felt as though 
I was sinking into the ground itself. With 
each step my feet felt heavier and heavier. 
Eventually I dragged myself over the empty 
Diag, dusted off a snow-covered bench and 
let myself slouch over in my seat. 

In high school, I used to dream of escaping 

my mundane yet stressful life. I wanted to 
build a snowman, get into snowball fights 
and skate on the surface of a frozen lake. 
Yet between the cold, my coursework and 

COVID-19, I still had little control. The 
fantasy world I built was toppling down 
before my eyes, and I just had to accept it. The 
life I had imagined was not one that I could 
live. A cold anger ran through my veins. What 
use are dreams if they never materialize? 
Frustration mounted inside me, but I didn’t 
drink enough caffeine that morning to have 
the energy to be upset. My eyes drifted from 
the gray sky to the uneven frost-covered 
ground, while I just sat frozen in place. 

Then I noticed the footprints left by each 

passerby filled the whole sidewalk. Who were 
they? Where were they going? Why? I could 
never know the answers to these questions, 
and I realized that I didn’t need to know. I 
had spent so much time constructing intricate 
fantasies about my future that I couldn’t be 
satisfied with just not knowing something. 
Every raindrop, every snowflake, every dust 
particle had to be a metaphor. I had to be in 
control. Each time reality didn’t serve me, it 
felt as though the entire world was collapsing. 
But, my lack of control was relieving. I couldn’t 
control the weather or predict the future, 
and I realized that I could be just fine with 
that. Instead of hiding from anything that 
threatened my fantasy worldview, I chose to 
embrace the unpredictable and the unknown.

I pushed myself back up from the bench 

and balanced on my own two feet again. 
Who am I? Where was I going? Why? It 
was all up for me to decide. I chose to walk 
away from my past idealizations and learn 
how to accept my lack of agency. I looked 
neither up at the sky nor down at the 
ground but forward. I set my sights on the 
horizon and started walking back to my 
residence hall, letting the stray snowflakes 
fall on my face.

ANDY NAKAMURA

MiC Columnist

A walk around Ann Arbor

Lately, I’ve been finding it hard to identify 

the line where work stops and rest begins. 
Before this year, I was able to segment my days 
with commutes through hallways or greetings 
to new classmates, but as the COVID-19 
pandemic continues to impact traditional 
schooling structures, I can’t help but feel like 
my days have blurred into an indiscernible 
cycle where Zoom polls and Instagram stories 
don’t seem much different.

Unfortunately, I can’t bring about the 

conclusion of a pandemic or dispel online 
classes for the rest of the semester, so on days 
when another glance at my computer screen 
is sure to induce extreme frustration, I take a 
walk around Ann Arbor.

Sure, bustling classes have evolved into 

painfully silent breakout rooms, and even the 
most enthusiastic of professors have their 
mood dampened when forgetting to “share 
screen,” but one thing that never fails to excite 
me is the diverse atmosphere of campus. Here 
are three of my favorite Ann Arbor spots to 
visit on my daily walk.

The Law Quadrangle: This is the perfect 

place to pass through, especially as the 
weather becomes warmer. Walking off State 
Street and through the opening arches feels 
like entering a new world (Harry Potter vibes, 
anyone?), and there’s a sense of calmness 
floating through the air. Bonus points if you 
go later in the evening when the multitude of 
street lamps shine a warm light on the intricate 
architecture. Even on the busiest days, I know 
that spending a couple minutes navigating the 
peaceful walkways in the Law Quad is sure 

to reinvigorate me with the conviction that 
everything is as it’s meant to be.

Thompson Parking Structure Rooftop: 

A must-visit spot for optimal sunset viewing. 
Plus, there’s something about looking over 
Ann Arbor from way up above that gives me 
a sense of newfound perspective and power 
in mydaily accomplishments. If you’re an 
avid people watcher, this is the perfect spot to 
observe passersby on Thompson Street, from 
new couples walking tightly together to groups 
of friends debating over which bubble tea store 
to frequent. At around 7PM, the air gets a little 
crisper, and that stinging feeling of the breeze 
hitting my face coupled with an indescribable 
blend of sunset colors is the perfect conclusion 
to any overwhelming day.

The 
Ross 
(School 
of 
Business’s) 

Courtyard: I definitely never thought I’d 
say this, but somehow the words “Ross” 
and “peaceful” have become correlated in 
my mind. No thanks to internship culture 
but all thanks to the Ross Courtyard, which 
provides a moment of serenity among 
the seemingly never-ending movement 
of school and club work. The multitude 
of glass and terracotta creates an earthy 
environment, and the traffic from nearby 
roads never gets the opportunity to enter 
through the courtyard wind tunnel. There’s 
an underground study area, lots of trees and 
an overall stillness that is a rare treat for 
students traveling along the busy sidewalk 
of Tappan Avenue.

If you’ve been feeling like me lately, 

overwhelmed and desperate to escape from 
the grasp of a computer screen, talk a walk 
around Ann Arbor (or wherever you may be!) 
and discover the hidden locations and ideal 
lookout points that can recenter your day.

MARINA SUN
MiC Columnist

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