heavy hearts and hatred
Last Friday, I went to sleep with one name weighing heavy on my heart. Last night, I went to sleep with eight more souls weighing my heart down.
Sarah Everard, a thirty three year old woman, was murdered by someone who took an oath to protect. A police officer. Her murder made my heart ache. However, it was until what happened after, that I felt utterly hopeless, defeated, and angry. Women came out in masses to hold a vigil for her, which turned into their arrests for breaking lockdown curfew.
A vigil.
A vigil for a young woman murdered by a police officer.
What ate away at me all of last weekend was the resulting narrative, which shifted to focus on women being mansplained about taking better precautions with safety and security. And of course, you know, not all men.
Kristin Maione said it best.
As humans, we generalize things. For example, we say “be careful of ticks. they carry Lyme disease”. No one says “not all ticks carry Lyme disease”. logically, we understand that enough ticks carry Lyme disease and put you at risk of being infected. When we speak about women’s oppressions and abuse, we know it’s not all men.
But when 1 in 3 women are assaulted by a man in their lifetime, it’s enough men to make women afraid. It’s enough men that when I’m walking home at night, I have to keep myself safe. Just like I have to act as thought ticks have Lyme disease.
Xiaojie Tan, Daoyou Feng, Delaina Yaun, and Paul Michels were murdered by a man who “was having a bad day”. He struggled with “sexual addiction” and saw the spas as “a temptation for him that he wanted to eliminate,” Captain Jay Baker of the Cherokee Sheriff’s Office said.
Four additional women were killed, too. They were Asian. Their names were Soon Chung Park, Suncha Kim, Yong Ae Yue, Hyun Jung Grant.
The hardest part. Again, the resulting narrative. Six Asian women slain because one man wanted to “eliminate” his temptation.
WTF does this even mean?
What I do know is that my Asian friends have been (and still are) in pain. They are afraid. They are confused. They are angry. I am, too. I know what it’s like to be spat on due to the color of my skin. I know what it’s like for people to look at you differently (namely after 9/11), I know what it’s like to see my loved ones seen and referred to by strangers as “terrorists”, for my parents to worry because my brother hasn’t shaved off his facial hair and are concerned that TSA won’t let him fly, or cops will pull him over, and THIS LIST GOES ON.
The poem by Rupi Kaur perfectly sums up the exhaustion, the racial injustice, and the constant battle of having to be the only minority woman trying to affect change in a group.
What I know is that my BIPOC brothers and sisters ARE NOT OK. And right now, our AAPI siblings need our help. We cannot take pain away. We can promise to listen, to hold space, commit to speak up when you see something is wrong, donate to causes helping the community, offer a lending hand.