My Reflections as a Mixed Asian American
MIXED ASIAN MEDIA - MAY 19, 2021
By Kathleen Burkinshaw
“The report concluded: Anti-Asian activity in the form of violence, vandalism harassment, and intimidation continues to occur across the Nation…”
You might think the above was ripped out of a newspaper headline after the March 16th Atlanta shooting/murder of 8 people, 6 being Asian women, the Asian woman in NYC attacked while bystanders failed to intervene, an Asian market vandalized in Charlotte, NC (where I live), Indianapolis mass shooting that killed 8 people — 4 of which were Sikh, and 2 tea shops in Charlotte vandalized the last week of April (and sadly too many attacks to list them all here). But you’d be WRONG. It’s actually from a 1986 US Commission on Civil Rights that reported on acts of bigotry and violence against Asian Americans.
Lately, I’ve cycled through emotions of stunned, shocked, grief, heartache, anger, and helplessness. The day after the mass shooting in Atlanta, I attended my first Asian American Community Zoom (organized by join the Cosmos.com). It was powerful listening to discussions of the heartache, anger, and to experience solidarity. But the moments when mere words could not describe the pain were especially poignant. I also attended a wonderful Hapa Mag Instagram Live event. Even though I am older (not by a lot) than the attendees, I felt such a connection with them as a mixed Asian.
After that live event, I realized that as much as I speak about how much my mother's story/voice mattered after the atomic bombing and matters now; it’s not as easy for me to feel that my story also matters. Although, I’ve opened up about my health issues with Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD), I have a harder time discussing my Asian American experience as a mixed Asian (my Dad was a white American). However, after these hate attacks, I’m determined to use my voice even when it feels scary being so vulnerable.
It took me a long time to appreciate my Japanese culture and heritage because my mom “Americanized” our home. My mother always got her point across, and she never stood down when she needed to be heard. Yet, she still felt that her cherished memories had to be silenced to hopefully avoid further prejudice and disappear into the model minority myth.
However, “Americanizing” should be recognizing, appreciating, and celebrating the different individuals that live here. Not to ostracize, demonize, or fetishize because of where they or their relatives were born. And I’m damn sure that no one should die because of someone’s racist beliefs, nor should deaths from the hate crimes (or any murder/attack for that matter) be explained with “somebody having a bad day.” We are all members of the human race. We should be working together, not finding a million ways to sever that connection. I don’t have the solution. There’s no easy answer. But, I’m certain change won’t happen while we are silent.
As a child, I felt special because my mom was from Japan. Yet, when I began elementary school, I learned that being Japanese may not be something to brag about. Some children in school called me the racial slur for Japanese — I can’t even write it because I remember the pain it caused my mother when she would hear it or read it. Classmates (and some parents) told my mom and I “that we should return to our home country” (by then my Mom was a U.S. citizen, and I was born in the U.S.). I remember the awful rhyming insult while pulling their eyes back toward their ears (if only we had a nickel for every time Asians heard this...). I even had an elementary teacher who had a strong dislike for Japan and took it out on me until my father called her out on it. I just wanted to blend in with the other kids. Something shifted by middle school and I didn’t focus on my Japanese side very much.
When I was a teenager, high schools and colleges didn’t have Japanese language courses (like my daughter recently took in college). There were no Asian clubs or amazing Asian American magazines (like this fantastic one you’re reading right now), Facebook groups, or podcasts (thankfully many wonderful ones exist now, and I’ve had the honor to have been interviewed in/on). If there had been, I believe I would have embraced my Japanese side sooner.
My mother vehemently forbade me to check off Asian on my college application or FAFSA after what happened to Vincent Chin a few years earlier. I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t fully embrace my Japanese heritage until after I had my daughter. I was always proud to be Japanese, but I didn’t know then that I could embrace it without people thinking I wasn’t proud to be an American. So, during this past tumultuous year, the thought of maybe I don’t have a reason or a right to speak about the recent Anti-Asian American Pacific Islander (AAPI) racism had crossed my mind. Although, I would have been Japanese enough for the internment camps in the U.S. during WWII. So, a pretty darn good reason to be considered Asian enough now, yes?
When I wrote The Last Cherry Blossom (TLCB), I struggled with what lens I would use to tell the story because people (including my dad) questioned, ‘Whose side of the story are you telling?’ My father worried that I’d be hurt so I shouldn’t write the book. But I thought of my mom’s strength to not only persevere after that horrific day, but then to share those memories with me. I knew in my heart that I would proudly tell the story through the only lens that mattered — a twelve-year-old girl.
Interestingly, as I began to query possible agents and editors, some didn’t realize my connection to the story because my name wasn’t Japanese (even though in the intro paragraph I wrote that it was based on my mother’s family in Hiroshima during the atomic bombing). Okay, I’m aware my name couldn’t be any less Japanese — but it was a barrier I hadn’t thought about. It again made me question if I was Japanese enough to tell the story.
Once my book came out (and especially at the 75th anniversary of atomic bombing) I received racist comments/emails. One of the cruelest sent was, “they deserved the atomic bombing.” It cut through my heart and angered me, but I never feared being attacked because I was an Asian American. Until now.
So, as a mother and a MG/YA author, I can’t help but think of the children that are too young to understand why or to know the long history of anti-AAPI racism (probably because it wasn’t taught in school), yet are old enough to sense the fear, sadness, or anger of their parents or other loved ones. And tragically, some are dealing with the loss of their loved ones to senseless violence solely for the fact that they were born Asian.
I feel for the middle and high school age kids not understanding why the same people who called the pandemic “kung flu” under the guise of being a joke, were surprised when AAPI's said attacks against them had risen, and then refusing to see any correlation between the two (I know as an adult I don’t understand it). They see the endless social media feed on the hate incidents against Asian Americans, as well as the difficulty in labeling or prosecuting them as hate crimes. My heart breaks for them. I want them to have a safe space to discuss their emotions that are cycling through them. I want them to know that their emotions, their (our) voices, and stories matter.
I want them to know that even if we think others are not listening or haven’t listened to us in the past — we still have the right to tell our story, and for others to understand our hurt is valid. Fear and ignorance can be deafening, so we must work even harder to have our stories, our messages heard. I'm holding on to my hope that through prayer and in solidarity we can cut through that noise-to find a connection-to find peace.
However we may choose to express our story (spoken or written word, music, art..) or stand against hate crimes, it doesn't have to go viral, doesn't have to change the world overnight to be considered as making a difference — it ALL matters. I have a list of resources on my website.
During the past 10 years, I’ve had the privilege of speaking with thousands of students about my heart’s message — that peace can be a result of using compassion to connect with each other’s stories. Our voices can coexist. I hope that my work, along with the efforts of all diverse authors, plants a seed of empathy (or nurturing one that is already there) that continues to grow in our readers’ hearts for the rest of their lives.
One way I’m doing this is through my membership in the Asian Authors Alliance. They organized an amazing network of AAPI authors and bookstagrammers to bring awareness, fundraising events through their Kidlit Against Anti-Asian Racism (back in March) and #StandUpforAAPI (late March on Instagram). They are also supporting author panels on their YouTube channel for AAPI Heritage month. I will be participating in one with these amazing AAPI authors on May 28th.
Right now, many hearts are hurting and afraid (mine included). I don’t like that my husband no longer feels it’s safe for me to go out alone (I feel the same at times). I don’t like thinking that maybe my daughter looks less Asian than I do so there’s a possibility she’d be less of a target (and feel guilty for even thinking that). I don’t like feeling helpless. But I LOATHE the fact that my fellow AAPI (and myself) have to wonder if they or their family will be attacked because of the reflection they see in the mirror before leaving the house that day.
It’s my hope that by telling our stories and teaching the history of our AAPI heritage, people will no longer see a ‘foreigner’, but instead see the eyes of a mother, a child, a father, or grandparent. They’ll see a reflection of the common bond that we all have as human beings living in America.
Kathleen Burkinshaw is a Japanese American author, the daughter of a Hiroshima survivor and resides in Charlotte, NC. But right now, you may find her at her laptop with a pile of research books around her working on her sequel or napping. She’s a wife, mom, and owns a dog who thinks she’s a kitchen ninja. She also battles chronic pain from Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy every day. In 2019 she spoke about her mother’s experience in Hiroshima at the United Nations (NYC) and on UN virtual events for the 75th anniversary of atomic bombing. She most recently spoke at a Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum virtual event in February. Kathleen has presented to middle/high schools around the world for the past 10 years. She also has been a featured guest on NHK World Japan, Asian American Magazines, and on numerous podcasts. Her novel, The Last Cherry Blossom, is now a United Nations Office for Disarmament Affairs Resource for Teachers and Students. And nominated for NC School Library Media Association YA book award, Volunteer State Book Award (Tennessee), Scholastic We Need Diverse Books Reading Club selection, and Finalist for NC Sir Walter Raleigh Fiction Award, 2018 Sakura Medal, Japan, and SCBWI Crystal Kite Award (southeast region).