Race and I'm Running--New Anti-Racist Parent Post

So my new Anti-Racist Parent post went up Monday, May 19, and I didn't realize it would be so controversial. Anyway, here's the beginning and follow the link if want to read the rest (or go to www.antiracistparent.com).

-Michelle

“Race and I’m Running”

“Yeah, it’s a race and I’m running,

but somewhere along the lines I lost you—

among the clueless browns,

the clueless blacks,

the clueless yellows—

and what’s worse,

the just-kickin-its,

the just bought-into-its.”

-I was Born with Two Tongues, “Race, and I’m Running,” Broken Speak CD

A few weeks ago while watching “Dancing with the Stars,” my husband tried to get me riled up over a routine that Kristi Yamaguchi and her dance partner were performing which had him dressed in a military uniform and she, his Asian lover, swooning on his shoulder. I had cringed inwardly when I saw the set-up, but I wanted to just enjoy the moment—just relish something for pure entertainment without the brooding presence of racial stereotypes and hegemonic ideologies. So when my husband whispered suggestively to me about the “soldier savior” and “What was she thinking?” I shushed him and said that I didn’t want to be Yellow Rage all the time. “She just happens to be Asian, not playing ‘Asian,’” I retorted. But when Bruno, one of the judges, referred to Kristi’s character portrayal in the routine as being a “Madame Butterfly”—which he meant as a compliment of the romantic qualities of their dance—my husband’s head snapped towards me, and said “See? You can’t give white people a pass.” And I could only sigh deeply. Bruno’s reference to the Puccini opera reminded me that really only white people could find romance in the story of a Japanese woman who gives birth to an American sailor’s baby and then commits suicide when he abandons them and marries a white American wife. But even then, I tried to excuse it. “He didn’t mean it that way”—meaning she wasn’t playing the passive, love-toy of a white man who sees himself as superior to her, her people, and her culture. “What’s happening to you?” my husband wanted to know.

Honestly, I’ve been getting tired. I’m tired of fighting against racism and injustice—it’s a never-ending, exhausting battle. And what’s worse for me is that after years and years of harping and exposing and teaching, I see very little to indicate that any of the work I’ve done has made a difference. Why the hell do our poems “Listen Asshole” and “I’m a Woman, Not a Flava” still resonate so strongly after eight years? Because nothing has changed. Asian and Asian American people still feel dehumanized, exoticized, demonized, invisible, misunderstood. It’s made me bone tired, and I’ve been going soft. A part of me just doesn’t want to be angry anymore. Read the rest.