The First Generation Asian American on Covert Racism

“I feel no malice toward this girl.

watching, I am simply emptied,

and in the dream I want to cry out,

because she is something I can never be.”

- jeanne wakatsuki

in the eighth grade

i remember reading farewell to manzanar

i remember how

the internment camp confined

japanese-american protagonist’s only dream

was to not be treated as an alien

but to be fully accepted as american

i remember loving the book so much

it was so beautifully relatable

but also hating the book

because

despite having been written decades ago

the words on those pages were still all too familiar

the words on those pages

still sounded too much like what we call home

i’ve never really liked the color of my eyes

i’ve always wanted blue eyes

i’ve always been taught to prefer the color of

the sparkling untouchable ocean

to the dirt underneath my feet

and at often times that’s how it feels

like although we’re given the label of american

sometimes we are treated

as no more than the dirt on the ground

that although we are given the label of american

being fully accepted is some sort of sparkling untouchable dream

that although we are given the label of american

this place

this land is not our home

we are not home

i used to think that discrimination would take shape in

an outright form

a person

an angry mob

but for me discrimination has never been concrete

it has always come in slivers of intangible pieces

the blind eyes

the slight whispers

the dirty looks

that piece together the words

you do not belong here

why are we only beautiful

when we are asian cuisine

japanese tea gardens

porcelain dishes

discrimination is not always tangible

it’s not always angry mobs

burning torches

loud declarations of hate  

it’s the way the job commissioner deems your mother less experienced

because of her accent    

it’s something that’s always lurking in the shadows

but not glaringly alarming enough to be seen

something always bubbling

waiting to boil over

the president declaring homeland security first

while antagonizing every “other kind”

chinese expulsion act

yellow peril hysteria

why does it always have to take

hate crime

mass murder

bloody genocide

for people to see the hate they give

for people to come to terms

with their own history

like watering a dried up flower

and asking it to bloom

this country cannot make beauty

out of ignorance

from its negligence

why must we wait for the final bullet

for our country to come to terms

with what’s planted itself in the roots of our country

sewn so deep into its lineage

if you ask me what racism looks like

i will tell you that it is something that is always weighing on my shoulders

but too elusive to fit into words

it’s when they proudly declare that

like typewriters and telegraphs

discrimination is a thing of the past

just another idea lost in history

it’s when i want to scream for words

to tell them they’re wrong

tell them that it’s still there

it’s when

i can’t find the words

if you ask me what racism looks like

i will tell you

like a phantom of the past  

it’s not always something you can see

but is always there