WRITTEN BY: RACHEL LIM EDITED BY: AMY FENG ZHANG & MICHELLE NISHIDERA
Growing up like any other Asian-Canadian child, I faced immense racism, prejudice, and xenophobia. While I was aware of the differences between my ethnic and cultural background versus that of my peers at school, I was completely oblivious to the excessive stereotyping and marginalization of my community. I've lived in Brampton my whole life, a city located in the Greater Toronto Area of Ontario, Canada. Being one of the most multicultural cities in the country with a significant representation from racialized communities such as South Asians, I was constantly exposed to new cultures, languages, and traditions.
However, while I was immersed in such a diverse environment, I was never able to embrace or connect with my own heritage. My parents are Chinese-Malaysian immigrants who were able to adapt to the norms of Canadian society; but in doing so, they had to abandon parts of their own cultural identities. My dad immigrated to Canada with his family in the 1970s, and my mom followed along in the 1990s. I've recently started to realize just how many sacrifices they had to make for me and my sister to not undergo the same ridicule, hate, and harassment that my dad experienced when growing up. He and my aunt would be in their backyard with my grandpa and grandma as they'd bai sun, which in Hakka Chinese translates to "honouring the Gods." The Buddhist practice involves praying with incense sticks at a household altar traditionally used for, as stated, honouring Gods, ancestors and bringing good luck. White children in the neighbourhood would peek over the fence and see them doing this practice. They would notice the "foreign" foods used as offerings, such as steamed chicken, which grossed them out, leading to them teasing, bullying, and shouting racial slurs at my aunt and dad.
This was one of the many incidents that influenced my parents to assimilate into white, Canadian society. While they were able to retain Hakka due to my grandparents having such strong cultural pride, my parents opted out of passing it onto their children. I was so scared, ashamed, and embarrassed by my own culture that I refused to learn anything other than English. I lost my mother tongue because of this, and while I am trying to reclaim and relearn my cultural history, no amount of formal education can replace the times when I was unable to communicate with my relatives or other members of my community.
This highly problematic concept of a "banana" stems from the Cantonese slang term "Jook-sing," which refers to a westernized Chinese person. It derives from the idea that a bamboo plant is hollow and compartmentalized on the inside. The concept suggests that Asian Americans and Canadians aren't a part of either culture because, like a banana, we are branded as yellow (possessing Asian features) on the outside, similar to how other racial groups are attributed colours, but on the inside, we are westerners or in simpler terms, we are white-washed. I regret the decisions I've made. But I can't keep blaming myself because all of this was merely a defence mechanism, protecting me against the same persecution that the Chinese railway workers experienced. I can never feel Chinese-Malaysian enough or Canadian enough, but, quite frankly, this country was built off the colonization, genocide, exploitation, and oppression of Indigenous peoples, and that is something I refuse to associate myself with.
Being raised in a neighbourhood with a lower East and Southeast Asian population has resulted in instances like "the lunchbox moment." Being judged and made fun of by other kids because of the home-cooked meals my mom would prepare for my lunches invoked those same feelings of shame. Throughout elementary school, I convinced my mom to pack me more sandwiches and "white food." Although at times I'd bring noodles or rice dishes, I felt uncomfortable because there'd be a few kids who'd scream out about me eating worms or something ridiculous that was completely racist. In the fourth grade, I had started wearing eyeglasses due to my deteriorating vision, a revelation that provoked numerous mental breakdowns. People would wonder why I acted this way; I knew that kids would further categorize me according to the model minority myth, especially because the glasses stereotype could now be applied. For all of that year, I didn't wear them in school, up until the following year when I was asked to read some text from a story off of the projector screen in class and couldn't manage to make out the words, so I was just there sitting as my teacher wondered why I wasn't reading. I compromised my physical health for the sake of my mental well-being, which didn't help all so much for my academic reputation, further contributing to my several instances of burnout and work overload. Teachers expected the most from me as I was often placed on a pedestal to influence my peers' work ethics. No matter how much praise I received, I never felt enough. When I did exceed these expectations, I still felt like I was somehow losing. While some commended my hard work and dedication, others firmly convinced me that my high marks were purely based on the fact that I was Asian. Other times I felt the weight of this pressure from teachers when I didn't excel in science or math. One grade nine science teacher particularly scolding me for my poor performance, so much to the point that I suffered from an anxiety attack. My mom and dad were not necessarily tiger parents, but how society and the media shaped these perspectives forced me to become the "model minority." These experiences exacerbated struggles with my personal identity and mental health, which I've closeted for most of my life, only recently seeking out support for my battle with suicidal thoughts, trauma, anxiety, and depression.
At such a young age, I learned how to suppress my cultural pride for the benefit of fitting in. Sometimes, I wonder why my parents didn't pressure me more to follow more traditions and customs, but they did what they thought was best at the time which was to protect their child. The surge in anti-Asian hate crimes and violence over the past year has reopened these wounds and traumas. The March 2021 Atlanta Spa mass shooting where a misogynistic white supremacist killed 6 Asian women affected me in ways that other gun violence incidents haven't. I can go on forever about the countless instances where I've witnessed and experienced my peers or random strangers shamelessly parade their yellow fever and ignorant misconceptions of Asian women. In western society and parts of the anime community, there is an intense fetishization of East and Southeast Asian women, stereotyping them as these exotic, subservient sex objects. I cannot fathom how disgusting, degrading, and dehumanizing these assumptions are, especially with how Asian women are also viewed as innocent and child-like, thus contributing to the normalization of pedophilia.
As someone who struggled with their gender and sexual identity, this worsened my confidence and self-perception. I dressed in more traditionally masculine clothes over what was considered feminine because of my gender-nonconforming behaviour and expression but also out of fear that displaying Asian femininity would give people the green light to compare me to unrealistic, fictional characters. Regardless of how I tried to dodge these harmful attitudes, I was still reduced to my race and gender as people dehumanized me with racial slurs, prejudices, and stereotypes. Growing up in a predominantly South Asian neighbourhood did not necessarily help either; I was always the token East/Southeast Asian friend and was often referred to as "Asian girl," "Asian," "Chinese b*tch," “Ling Ling,” “Ching Chong” or “Ch*nk,” never my actual name. Through these repeated encounters, I learned to internalize racism and misogyny, eventually betraying my values for the sake of my safety and survival. From joking about eating dogs and other weird things to making fun of my own eyes, I took control of the problem by perpetuating the hurtful stereotypes I suffered from. Unfortunately, using humour as a coping mechanism is more harmful than helpful; it only further reinforced these notions by condoning my friends’ racist behaviours.
My traumas were repressed and devalued because of the constant invalidation from society due to the model minority myth and yellow peril, which only further fed into my loss of culture. In my activism, I've always focused on advocating for other groups, whether it be for Black Lives Matter or Indigenous peoples, but I've never honestly spent enough time demanding justice for my own people. While I haven't always incorporated my Asian identity into my activism because of these fears, I hope to start now by standing in solidarity with all BIPOC groups to dismantle the systems of oppression orchestrated by the colonial, white supremacist legacy. I am not your scapegoat, I am not your model minority, and I am most certainly not your Asian fetish.
My name’s Rachel (she/they) a Chinese-Malaysian youth activist currently located on the treaty lands and traditional territories of the Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation, the Mississaugas, the Anishinabewaki, the Attiwonderak (Neutral), the Haudenosaunee, and the Huron-Wendat. I am an Honours Bachelor of Social Sciences student at the University of Ottawa specializing in Conflict Studies and Human Rights and minoring in Indigenous Studies. Besides academics, my time is consumed by extensive human rights activism with Amnesty International (AI) Canada. I am a member of multiple groups, including the specialized teams for Gender Rights, Climate Justice and Corporate Accountability, and the Business and Human Rights + Indigenous Rights group, where I serve as Chairperson. Aside from these activities, I’m also the Head of External Affairs at Amnesty International uOttawa and Visual Arts Editor and Graphic Designer at AI Canada’s arts and literature magazine, The Matchstick. My advocacy also extends across borders, as I’m an AI representative in the Global Youth Advisory Board for a multimedia project on stories of young human rights educators, partnered with the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) and Soka Gakkai International (SGI).
Various parts of my personal identity provide a solid foundation for my values and belief system. I use my lived experiences to fuel this passion for positive social change, and recently it has become a defining part of my advocacy work. As a queer, Southeast Asian womxn, I emphasize equity through an intersectional feminist lens. From white suffragettes excluding BIPOC women to them promoting eugenics policies, I reject and condemn white feminist ideology. Despite being regarded as introverted by those closest to me, through such passion and drive for this work, I am able to find confidence by empowering others. My status as a youth activist comes first and foremost as I vow to use my privilege as a platform by amplifying the powerful voices of other activists and grassroots organizers.
Link to Amnesty Canada feature: https://amnesty.ca/blog/voices-human-rights-rachel-lim-national-youth-organizer
IG: rachelk_lim