I have heard it all: “Where are you really from?” “Are you Chinese?” “Oh, no wonder you study classical piano!” “Where do you live, Chinatown?” Plumbers have spoken to me in fake Chinese. Classmates have mocked me by slanting their eyes up and down behind my back. These same peers dared to crack “Ching-Chang-Chong” jokes when they knew I was within earshot. But never before have I felt like I needed to have eyes on the back of my head. Never before have I treated every remotely strange look as a potential threat to my safety. Never before have I felt constantly in danger, even in the company of friends. Never before have I feared letting my guard down even slightly because it could be the difference of life or death. This is what my life as a young Asian American woman has become during the COVID-19 pandemic.  

I believe that anti-Asian violence needs to be taken more seriously. On March 16th, 2021, 21-year-old Robert Aaron Long went to three massage parlors in Atlanta, Georgia, and killed eight people and wounded one. Out of the eight people who died in the mass shooting, six were women of Asian descent. This event is only one of the thousands of anti-Asian incidents occurring over the past year, fueled by anti-Asian rhetoric surrounding the coronavirus pandemic. This rhetoric was spread by the Trump administration, with former President Donald Trump repeatedly -- and frequently -- referring to the virus as the “China virus” and the “Kung flu." As a half-Korean-American person, I am privileged enough to have relatively mild racial trauma, as I attended an elementary and middle school that constantly discussed the importance of fighting for racial justice. Yet, as I read excerpts in which the victims' families and loved ones expressed their anguish and mourned, I could feel their pain. These victims were mothers and business owners, spouses, and friends. They were people with hopes and dreams and aspirations that were stripped away from their lives. And I soon realized that my mother, my aunt, or even my grandmother could have been a victim. That, if they had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, millions of people would know their names and ages, too. And if that was the case, reporters would have reached out to me and my family in an attempt to “know more about the victims’ lives.” 

What especially infuriates me about the Atlanta shooting is that certain people denied that the attack was a hate crime. In a news conference, Captain Jay Baker of the Atlanta Police Department tried to distance the event from being a hate crime by attempting to humanize the killer, saying Long had had a “bad day" and so "this is what he did." Not classifying the shooting as a hate crime ignores the intersectionality of Asian women’s identities and the stereotypes that have arisen about us as a result. Indeed, Long never told the police that he killed the women because they were Asian; he claimed he had “sex addiction”, and that he went to the spas to get rid of “temptation.” However, on the day of the shooting, he drove by a strip club, porn shops, and an adult bookstore: all of which are locations one could release sexual "temptations." And yet, he still targeted businesses managed by Asian women. Given this, and that 75% of the victims were Asian women, it seems clear that Long associated his temptations with Asian women. While I have not been subject to this type of fetishization, the fact that it could happen to me, as well as to people I love scares me. It is deeply unsettling to think that someone would cause me physical harm or even kill me solely based on my ethnicity. I am almost afraid to admit that it has at times changed the way I act around men. I now live in fear whenever I leave my apartment. And while I am tired of being afraid, I now feel as if it is the only thing I can afford to be. 

The events of the past year have reaffirmed my belief that no one should worry about their safety because of their race or ethnicity. They have inspired me to educate people about anti-Asian racism and to use my unique perspective to fight for my rights. But as my father reminded me at our kitchen table, “No matter how much you tell people that the virus has nothing to do with them [Asian Americans]...it’s not going to convince racists that their behavior is criminal.” The sad truth is that some people will never change, hate crime will always happen, and biased people will always exist in the world. However, I believe that people are not born hating others-- instead, they learn to hate over time. Yet, this also means people can learn to love. By educating people about anti-Asian racism throughout history, we could teach people to help fight for the rights of Asian Americans, and perhaps prevent future anti-Asian hate crimes from happening. This great power that comes from educating people gives me hope that one day, I could live in a world where my Asian brothers and sisters and I will be able to walk down the street without constantly watching our backs.