18mr:

Join us, Million Hoodies Movement for Justice, and our Freedom Side fam tomorrow on Twitter to talk about ‪#‎JusticeforEricGarner‬ and how to make our communities safer in spite of the NYPD:

18mr:

Join us, Million Hoodies Movement for Justice, and our Freedom Side fam tomorrow on Twitter to talk about #‎JusticeforEricGarner‬ and how to make our communities safer in spite of the NYPD:

18mr:

I’m pretty unimpressed with Bob Beckel's non-apology for his on-air racism. The thing is, it’s not just the slur “Chinaman” that’s the issue. The issue is he can’t seem to differentiate between China (the country) and Chinese people—in the U.S. or anywhere else.Tell Bob: this isn’t the preferred nomenclature. - CM

18mr:

I’m pretty unimpressed with Bob Beckel's non-apology for his on-air racism

The thing is, it’s not just the slur “Chinaman” that’s the issue. The issue is he can’t seem to differentiate between China (the country) and Chinese people—in the U.S. or anywhere else.

Tell Bob: this isn’t the preferred nomenclature. - CM

fascinasians:

Every year, Project by Project selects a non-profit partner based on a theme or issue that addresses current needs in the Asian American community. This year, Project by Project LA is partnering up with Pacific Asian Counseling Services (PACS), whose mission is to enrich the lives of children and families through counseling and caring. PACS provides culturally sensitive and language specific services with expertise in the immigrant Asian Pacific Islander populations.

We are featuring some of the most popular and renown restaurants and drink purveyors. You also may find a list of our participants here.

Project by Project (PbP) is a 501(c)3 non-profit organization founded in New York City in 1998 by a group of young Asian American professionals. The founders surveyed the non-profit landscape and noticed a recurring need in the Asian American community—organizations were spending so much time on fulfilling its missions and executing programs that they were unable to pay enough attention to the business of being a non-profit. The founders of PbP realized that what the community needed was social entrepreneurs, and that is what they sought out to build.

Comprised of a team of professionals with backgrounds in finance, consulting, technology, media, entertainment and law, PbP’s founding team felt it could play a strong role in assisting community groups in securing capital, reaching out to new groups of volunteers and bringing greater awareness to issues affecting the Asian American community. Based on those principals,  PbP created its campaigns around a 3-pronged mission that is still in practice today:  Volunteerism, Awareness, and Fundraising.

Building upon those principles and looking to impact as many causes as possible as it expands, PbP created a method of taking on a different local beneficiary community partner every year, touching on a different issue each year. This method of focusing on one issue at a time for a period of a year allows PbP to work in-depth with the partner and thoroughly educate its volunteers on the cause.

Our signature event is “Plate by Plate,” our annual tasting benefit, formerly the “Food & Wine Tasting.” We are the only Asian American non-profit organization in the country that produces a large-scale food tasting event with star chefs, top rated restaurants and celebrities who participate by serving dishes to our attendees. 

August 2, 2014 at Petersen Automotive Museum

6060 Wilshire Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90036

6:30PM – 7:30PM · VIP Reception
7:30PM – 10:00PM · General Admission

Dress Code: Black Tie/Formal

This is sure to be an amazing event for an amazing cause, I hope to see you there!

For more information and ticket purchase, click here.This is not only an opportunity to truly give back to the community, but also see talent like the hosts jennyyangjokes of Jenny Yang comedy and seanmiura, Mr. Hyphen 2013!

i’m an 18 year old chinese-american girl, and set to go to uni next month. as I was growing up, I attended chinese school on and off but I eventually quit because I was an immature child that didn’t see the importance of it. at home, my parents speak canto with each other, my grandma and my mother speak shanghainese with each other, my grandma speaks mandarin with me, and my parents speak mando and english with me and my sister. the only thing i can even attempt to speak is mando haha

my parents and relatives always tell me that I’m white-washed or americanized and compare me to other chinese-americans (and white people l o l) who can speak chinese better than me. people talk about me and how my parents must be ashamed of me in mando/canto to my face because they assume i can’t understand them

my mandarin is terrible and basically only covers what people talk about at home. I can understand much more than i can speak, but I know that I can pick it up quickly if I dedicate the time for it. part of my problem is that i avoid speaking chinese unless i really really have to (like to my grandparents, who can’t speak english at all, but my grandpa on my dad’s side only speaks canto and zhongshanhua so it makes it even harder for us to communicate, but that’s a whole different thing) because im so afraid of criticism from other people because of my pronunciation or vocab or w/e. i’m ashamed and i recognize that this is no one’s fault but my own, but i’m also scared out of my mind that i’ll never be able to improve to the point where i don’t even want to try. i’m terrified that it’s too late for me to learn. i’m also realizing that once I go to college, i’m going to face much more criticism for distancing myself from my own culture from other asian students but i guess that’s something i’m gonna have to live with haha

my current class plan is filled up and i probably won’t be able to take an actual chinese class at uni until next summer, so i’m currently studying in my free time. 

(i’d be super grateful if anyone could share any studying tips they have? i def wont have as much practice bc im moving away. my mom’s advice: “just watch more dramas”)

the situation described in your recent post (on the us military having spread and entrenched the sexual exploitation of women and girls in Southeast Asia) is tragic and deplorable, but Janice Raymond, the originator of that quote, is a virulent TERF.  

there’s a post on Raymond going around that details some of her transmisogyny; it’s pretty chilling.  giving TERFs a platform is not trans positive.   can you add a warning in the tags, or if you take the post down then let people know why?

mod note: the quote has since been deleted. the mods were not aware of janice raymond’s transmisogyny. we apologize! thank you for all who sent us messages letting us know!

There is a scene in And The Band Played On where Matthew Modine’s character explains the origins of the phrase “The Butchers’ Bill”: a phrase coined by British Admiral Lord Nelson when asking for the daily casualty reports of soldiers lost in the Napoleonic wars. In the film, Modine’s character creates his own Butchers’ Bill for the AIDS epidemic, and it remains one of pop culture’s most poignant visual reminders of the devastating cost of the disease in human lives.

The Butchers’ Bill in the ongoing violence on the Gaza Strip is equally heart-breaking. In less than two weeks time, Israel has launched airstrikes against Palestinian residents of Gaza targeting over 1500 sites; Hamas has also launched over a thousand rockets into Israel that have all been largely ineffective. As of today, the Butchers’ Bill for Palestinian residents of Gaza nears 350 after 11 days of fighting, nearly fifty of those dying in the last 72 hours at the hands of invading Israeli ground troops. The United Nations estimates that three-fourths of Palestinians killed in Gaza by Israeli offensive actions this month were non-militants, and approximately 50 — a third of them killed since Thursday — have been children. An additional 2000 Palestinians have sustained serious injuries in the attacksThe UN reports that yesterday the number of Palestinians displaced by the violence has nearly doubled to 40,000 — all seeking refugee status in one of 34 UN shelters.

There are no words to describe the rage and grief I feel in watching this senseless killing unfold. But the price of my silence — and the silence of too many of us in America — is also far too high.

palestinian-family-displacedA Palestinian family, displaced by the violence, flees Gaza City.

On Wednesday, reporters and bystanders watched in shock and horror as an Israeli gunship brutally slaughtered four young Palestinian children (none older than eleven) on an otherwise deserted Gaza beach. After an initial strike, the Israeli planes returned to chase and gun down the four young boys — all cousins — as they ran screaming for their lives. Just 24 hours later, seven children were shot — four of them fatally — by an Israeli naval gunboat while they were playing soccer on a Gaza rooftop.

In the last two weeks, four Israeli have lost their lives.

This past months' Butchers Bill in the Gaza StripThis past months’ Butchers Bill in the Gaza Strip.

Too many  of us are allowed by the comforts of distance to pretend that what is happening in the Gaza Strip right now does not affect us. That distance comes in many forms: geographic distance, cultural distance, religious distance, racial distance, and linguistic distance. That distance gives shelter to our assertion that what is happening to Gaza is not happening to us. It gives shelter to our rationalizations and our justifications. It gives shelter to our dehumanization of the Palestinian people. It gives shelter to our silence.

That distance is also a lie and an illusion.

David Palumbo-Liu writes about how violence in Israel-Palestine is a matter of American studies, particularly in light of our country’s hand in shaping the conflict. He and many other writers have noted the US State Department’s stance in defense of Israeli airstrikes targeting Palestinian civilians; President Obama defended that stance to Muslim American guests at the White House’s annual iftar dinner. Like it or not, America is involved in what is happening in Israel-Palestine.

Let me be clear: most of us do not know what it is like to live as a Palestinian in the Gaza Strip. As a Canadian-born (East) Asian American, I do not know what it is like to live as an occupied people in my own Holy Land. I do not know what it is like to live under constant threat of overwhelming military violence and death. I do not know what it is like to find myself staring down the barrel of an assault rifle, or be targeted by the sophisticated weapons mounted on a gunship or an F-16. I also do not know what it is like to be brown and Muslim, and to have these two simple facts of my being cast me as a villain and a terrorist.

But, what is happening in Gaza still touches me on a fundamental level.

In Gaza City, a Palestinian man stands amid debris after an Israeli airstrike. (Photo: Mohammed Abed/AFP/Getty Images)In Gaza City, a Palestinian man stands amid debris after an Israeli airstrike. (Photo: Mohammed Abed/AFP/Getty Images)

For so many Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, the plight of colonized people is familiar and deeply personal. Most Asian and Pacific Islander countries still bear the scars of both military and cultural occupation, whether by Western powers and/or by other Asian nations; some of our lands still remain occupied to this day. Most of us in the AAPI diaspora share a blood memory of the violence that is wrought by occupying forces against indigenous peoples, and the political, cultural and militaristic tools that have been used in the exploitation of our lands and our people.

Most of us can still identify the after-shocks of colonialism on the course of our lives. Some of us share family memories of the atrocities of war that came with revolution against occupying forces. Some of us are in America as refugees fleeing the violence of war. As Americans and/or descendant of certain Asian nations, many of us are complicit as colonizers; some of us also still live as colonized peoples today, and for many of us that fight against the colonizers rages on.

It is true that I am not Muslim and I am not Palestinian. I also do not need to share in those identities to see the connection between their struggles and my own political narratives. I do not need to share in those identities to recognize the humanity of the Palestinian people in the Gaza Strip, and to lament their devastating and senseless slaughter. I do not need to share in those identities to stand in solidarity.

I need only be human.

The mother of one of the children killed Wednesday on a Gaza beach by Israeli forces grieves the death of her child. (Photo credit: Daily Mail)The mother of one of the children killed Wednesday on a Gaza beach by Israeli forces grieves the death of her child. (Photo credit: Daily Mail)

I do not know how to end the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. All I know is that this bloodshed has got to end.

Millions of activists around the world — including protesters in many Asian countries — have taken up the cause of the Palestinian people fighting against occupying Israeli forces. It is time for Asian Americans to join our voices to this expanding international chorus of outrage.It is time for us — as AAPI and as moral humans —  to take a vocal stand in solidarity with Palestinian people, and all our Muslim American brothers and sisters in the States. We can no longer allow others to pay the price for our silence; for now we are again reminded that the price of our silence is too high.

Acknowledgement: Many thanks to Tazila Ahmed (@tazzystar) for inspiring, and providing many resources, in the writing of this article.

(Source: fascinasians)

The Struggle to Love…to Struggle WITH Love

fascinasians:

image

Juliet Shen and Vanessa Teck are two of the OCA interns who were terminated in 2013 for openly criticizing a major sponsor. Both identifying as activists and feminists in their early 20’s, they have shared experiences of isolation, pain, and fear. Since then, Juliet and Vanessa have begun a transformative journey to better understand how to root their movements in love.

- – - – - – - – - -

juliet

Juliet Shen

One year ago exactly, on July 19, 2013 at 11:05AM, I was fired from OCA – APA Advocates.

It’s been a rough year of self-reflection and unexpected turns, but I like to think that I’ve grown as a person and an activist. After being fired, I was the brunt of jokes and anonymous emails about how irrational and stupid I was, how I’d never find a place in the APIA community again, and how my career in DC was over. My idealistic bubble was popped — everything was reduced to a form letter of termination read in an empty room. I was defeated, and isolated myself in my college campus determined to not return to a community that cut us out without remorse.

After OCA, it became second nature to avoid certain individuals and organizations. This was perhaps unnecessary, but my discomfort was real. It can be difficult navigating the circuits of Asian America when you’ve pissed off one of the biggest organizations. I linked up with Suey Park as a friend and collaborator over our shared experience of being booted from nonprofits in the APIA community. It felt good to be angry. I was powerful again after being stripped of my autonomy and dignity, and stepped up to the mantle of “Juliet Shen – Feminist, Blogger, and Activist”. I was excited to be relevant again as a web warrior fighting for representation and justice. Of course, you know how that story ends.

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Sometimes it’s hard to love a movement when it never loves back. The expectations for feminists and activists often don’t leave room for being human. I’ve come to find that most people who meet me for the first time have this idea of me as a “militant, man-hating, white-man worshiper”. This year, I joined a sorority and I started dating again. Somehow, these choices — choices that I made for myself and choices that make me happy — have dissolved friendships and alliances in my life. It was easier to grow a thick skin and become as bitter and callous as people wanted to believe I was. But ultimately, we can’t let peoples expectations of us limit and harden our hearts; that is the opposite of what activism should do.

I did come close to quitting. I wanted to experience life as a “normal” 21 year old and go out, have fun, and not worry. I almost didn’t renew Fascinasians’ domain and toyed with the idea of letting it fade away peacefully. I chose a year of self-care and self-love because activism was tainted with reluctance and pain. I was never radical enough, but always too radical for someone. I wasn’t angry enough, but my anger intimidated and alienated others. I didn’t feel good enough for anyone and struggled to find motivation to do anything at all.

Both OCA and Suey Park taught me the dangers of rooting my ideology in anger. And yet, this year has been cathartic. During theTwitter Clusterfuck of 2014, one particular hashtag appeared: #BuildDontBurn. That is where I learned what real community and humility meant. If OCA was the bad breakup it felt like, this was coming home to family. That’s what I always thought activism was supposed to be: individuals coming together and loving each other because they shared a dream that a better world was possible. The guidance and love from the people behind #BuildDontBurn reshaped my perspectives on ego, credibility, community, and organizing. I didn’t have to be “good enough” for anyone — I just had to act because there was injustice and discrimination in the world.

Ultimately, it is a privilege to not be political. Instead, I am reimagining activism in a positive, loving way. Tanzila Ahmed, an organizer and blogger, wrote about love as a radical tool. This year, I let myself be soft. I learned to love in more powerful and constructive ways. Love is transformative in all of its many forms, from platonic to romantic to revolutionary. The love and encouragement from OCA’s Class of 2013 Interns (shoutout to the McMansion!) and my mentors (have y’all read Reappropriate?) keeps me going today. And what of OCA? Well, I maintain that they were the spark that lit my fire…and Summer 2013 won’t be the thing that puts it out.

Love,
Juliet

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vteck

Vanessa Teck

After my termination from OCA last year, I lost myself. I began the summer as a fresh graduate with stars in my eyes, hoping that my experience in our nation’s Capitol would equip me with the tools to serve my community. Yet, after a harsh termination, the world scared me. I received anonymous messages telling me that it would be impossible for me to find a career within the APIA advocacy community, the space that I called my home for so long. I was told that I had made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. There was no room for dialogue, for I already felt the labels of a failed activist and student bearing huge weights on my shoulder. I loved the movement, but I felt as though it was no longer loving me back.

As a result, I entered my Masters program with angry eyes and a hardened soul. I knew that it would take a toll on me; my time, my health, and my overall well-being. Yet, despite multiple warnings from well-intentioned mentors about entering the ivory tower, I could have never prepared myself for the psychological train wreck that I experienced throughout this first year.I felt the need to prove myself, to prove that I belonged in a space deemed so illustrious by family members who have been taught that academia is the only road to success and by mentors who have equated academic achievement to overcoming institutional barriers. I constantly feared, with each new day in my program, that someone would call me out as a fraud. I worried that, despite my various involvements and successes, my work would never be seen as good enough, that I would never be seen as graduate material. That before I spoke in class, I had to spend precious time developing articulate statements, so that when I said them out loud, I was perceived as credible and qualified. I sat and stared at blank pages as I attempted to write my papers, worried that my inadequacies would appear the moment that I began typing. That opportunities to work with faculty members would come with risks of a larger and more public community discovering my incompetence and termination.

I never afforded myself the opportunity to fully deconstruct how the summer quaked my entire being. I went through a stage of coldness, focused solely on achieving and burying the pain that I felt each quarter, as if ignoring the pain would cause my questioning to go away. I was often told that my kindness and conscientiousness were weaknesses… that if I remained soft, I would not be able to shape others. I lost the power of my narrative and in doing so, I forgot how to love. It was not until I was invited to speak on a panel with Suey Park that I began to realize how much I was hurting… and how much of myself that I had lost. As an individual who identifies as an advocate and activist right down to my core, I spent more time resisting the system, rather than transforming it. I forgot that as a Cambodian American feminist and activist in Higher Education and Student Affairs… my presence in itself was already resistance.

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What if instead… we transformed our idea of activism into being soft? If it were about loving deeper, instead of fighting harder? If it were about creating transformative change through soulful relationships, rather than tearing each other down? What if activism was less about expertise, but focused more on cultivating a space where mistakes could be considered a form of resistance? Imagine activism as a living room in which we can all feel welcomed and at home, hearts warmed and united by our common struggles, rather than a process of putting on armor and preparing for war.

That’s not to say that protest organizing is not needed, but despite many activists who claim to fight for justice, we forget to be inclusive and place one another on a pedestal. We have expectations of others that we cannot even achieve ourselves. Nothing about that is visionary; it’s just a remix of the oppressive systems we want to transform in the first place. By claiming to be an expert in anything, we remove the ability of ourselves and others to learn and grow together. We are our own gatekeepers. It was remarkably easy to disconnect myself from the reality and challenges of crafting an inclusive climate, excused by the overshadowing of my anger, but by recognizing that my lived experiences are only one of many that have the potential to create change, I begin to decolonize what I have learned and transformatively humanize myself and others.

Since then, I have found love within the stories I have had the privilege of hearing. I found love in the struggles from fellow womxn of color, the achievements from student activists, the frustrations from other graduate students drowning in debt, and the clarity from those who have been told that they matter. Although I end this piece still fearful, I am thankful for the family that I have gained along the way. From the cutest OCA intern class ever to an incredible partner who pushes me to be fierce and proudly introduces me as a feminist, I no longer feel lost or alone. I am embraced by those in my life who continue to love me, whether I am “radical” enough or not, “critical” enough or not, “activist” enough or not.

I continue to struggle and am hopeful that I will continue to struggle because it will mean that I am still attempting to create my own space founded upon love.

Love,
Vteck

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You can find Juliet at her blog, Fascinasians, a website dedicated to curating news and experiences about and from the Asian Pacific Islander American community. To learn more about Vanessa, check out Project Ava, a social justice media company, dedicated to sharing meaningful stories. Currently, Juliet and Vanessa serve as the Co-Chairs for the Coalition of API Americans Collaborating Together to Unite the Southwest (CAACTUS).

Do you know how many members in Congress are AAPI? We have one out of 100 in the Senate, and 12 in the House out of 433 Representatives, five delegates, and one resident commissioner. We are 5.3% of the U.S. population, but that number is not reflected in our federal government.
41 Members of Congress have dedicated themselves to advocating for the needs and concerns of the Asian American Pacific Islander community as part of the Congressional Asian Pacific American Caucus  (CAPAC). To learn more about CAPAC and its role in Congress, please visit our Facebook page!
We’re trying to reach at least 3,000 likes by this Sunday, so please reblog, share, and retweet on Tumblr, Facebook, and Twitter. Follow us on Twitter @CAPAC.

Do you know how many members in Congress are AAPI? We have one out of 100 in the Senate, and 12 in the House out of 433 Representatives, five delegates, and one resident commissioner. We are 5.3% of the U.S. population, but that number is not reflected in our federal government.

41 Members of Congress have dedicated themselves to advocating for the needs and concerns of the Asian American Pacific Islander community as part of the Congressional Asian Pacific American Caucus  (CAPAC). To learn more about CAPAC and its role in Congress, please visit our Facebook page!

We’re trying to reach at least 3,000 likes by this Sunday, so please reblog, share, and retweet on Tumblr, Facebook, and Twitter. Follow us on Twitter @CAPAC.

"This is for Us" poem from Sông I Sing poem anthology book, by Bao Phi.

From the mud of the Mekong to the bones of the Mississippi

From the dusty winds of Manzanar to the glowing scars of Hiroshima

From the sun in Bombay to the moon in Alaska

From the mists of the Himalayas to the ash of Volcano

From the hills of Laos to the openmouthed mic in St. Paul

From the streets of Seoul to the sidewalks of Tehrangeles

From California shores to New York corner stores

This is for us, my people, who carry the song of burning sugarcane in our lungs
Exhaling spirits with smokey spines
My people, who dig beneath sea foam with salted eyes
To exhume schools of ghosts
Lost from the boats.

This is for you, Celestial, Oriental, Asian, Asian Pacific American,
woman, man, queer, QUILTBAG, broke, collegiate, young old gook, spitting chink,
Dog-eating dothead, faggot bitch slope,

Our beautiful black hair sticky from colliding
Sugar-coated glass ceilings,
The ones voted most likely to assimilate
Asians: the other white meat
Bleached by color-blind lies
Buying DKNY and Calvin Klein
So our own bodies are gentrified

Bedecked in sweatshop swooshes
Resurfacing from under a pile
Of the white man’s dirty laundry
To model our minority
Cutting our eyelids to be blind to beauty
Cutting into our skin to get the right waistline
Shoving fingers down the throats of our ancestors
To see what comes up

This is for you, taught to believe in magic
Just not our own
Mistaking appeasement for peace
And selling out for maturity
While they box our geography
And sell it in bougie boutiques
Our culture quite profitable
But can somebody tell me
How our culture can be hip
And yet our people remain invisible?

Divisible individuals
This ghosthood of honorary whiteness
Miss Saigon-ing our way
Into the pale arms of con men

This is for you, twisting our names
Into bleached demons so foreign tongues
Could invoke them
Mastering our own blondspeak scrabbletalk
This scored mishmash of grab-bag didactics
Cringing at the sound of our mother tongue’s syllables
This is for you, who use our split lungs as divining rods
To find the flow of our lost languages.

This is for you, whose homes are turned upside down
While men and women debate the sorrows of war
Safe from the scars of barbed wire
For you, whose lands are painted in smoke and bone
Neon bullets ripping thru green
Your heart the same shape
As the hole you buried your family in.

This is for you, whose children picked up a gun
And wore a flag for the price of college tuition,
As your war stories fell under the noise of the machines
You operate to keep food on the table.

This is for you, shapeshifting evil, taking whatever form
They need for you to be the next enemy
Only loved when you can be used,
Asian people,
Only loved when you can be used.

This is for you, food-stamp-handed, banks bent over microchips
On conveyer belts, bodies bent from sleeping on buses
Hands like crumpled parchment
From washing dishes
Microphones ablaze with poetry
And song
Drunk off of friendship, struggling tongues
Faking our way through karaoke.

This is for you, the sugar of your love,
The kinship of cupped hands
The riddles in our hair
Which we pull out to make sure it’s still black
Because we can’t trust our mirrors anymore

This is for you, for all of you, who still don’t know
How beautiful you are
This is for you, for all of you, who still don’t know
How beautiful you are
This is for those of us who run our fingers down
Each other’s faces
And swear
That no one
Is ever gonna steal our beauty away from us again.

This is for you
Who wiped the milk
Of honorary whiteness from your lips
And asked
Got Self?

My people, we are a song that we can never stop singing against the silence
My people, we are a song that we can never stop singing against the silence

This is for you, and this is for your mother, your father,
For the Family you got kicked out of,
For the street you cipher on
From the green terraces
That stack up in your dreams.

This is for the first time you curled your hands
Into a fist and understood who your enemy was
This is for the first time you picketed
The first time you sent money back to a cousin
In the motherland
This is for the first time you amplified
Your story.

We are not dandelions, weeds they uproot
To cleanse their fantasy gardens
And get their hands dirty in our soil
We are sunflowers, a blazing field
Of yellow-petal skins and brown eyes
Standing together.

This is for you,
For your yellow-brown skin
This is for you
For your black hair
This is for that beautiful mirror
I see in your eyes
And this is for your voice

This is for you
My people
This
Is for
Us.

Hi guys—so you know that unfortunate tagging problem on tumblr where if you search for things like asian fetish or asian culture or asian women in order to find critiques and analysis and personal stories, and mostly you come up with really gross porn? I’ve decided to solve it by trying to popularize a tag: “RiceforThought.” Explanation post here: http://lightspeedsound.tumblr.com/post/91999068059/asian-social-justice-bloggers-a-proposal and I would appreciate it if you guys could reblog that post for bigger visibility? THANKS SO MUCH. 

lunarobverse:

A brilliant metaphor

(via rootworkn)

"We cannot educate white women and take them by the hand. Most of us are willing to help but we can’t do the white woman’s homework for her. That’s an energy drain. More times than she cares to remember, Nellie Wong, Asian American feminist writer, has been called by white women wanting a list of Asian American women who can give readings or workshops. We are in danger of being reduced to purvey­ors of resource lists."

Gloria Anzaldúa

Feminism needs to be authentically intersectional, or nothing at all. This speaks volumes

(via wocinsolidarity)

(Source: thoughtcatalog.com, via rootworkn)

Greetings!  My name is Nomin, and I’m an angry Mongolian/Chinese/American woman interning at the Feminist Press.  We’re a small publishing house dedicated to printing books by, for, and about women, feminists, and marginalized groups. 
It’s Selfie Summer over at the FP tumblr!  If you submit a selfie of you doing something feminist or just plain rad, you could win a FREE Feminist Press book, like The Riot Grrl Collection, which has been helping me channel some third-wave rage all day.
So come on over to the FP tumblr for some feminist awesomeness (did I mention the chance to win FREE BOOKS?), and check out our official website for even more awesome books and resources.

Greetings!  My name is Nomin, and I’m an angry Mongolian/Chinese/American woman interning at the Feminist Press.  We’re a small publishing house dedicated to printing books by, for, and about women, feminists, and marginalized groups. 

It’s Selfie Summer over at the FP tumblr!  If you submit a selfie of you doing something feminist or just plain rad, you could win a FREE Feminist Press book, like The Riot Grrl Collection, which has been helping me channel some third-wave rage all day.

So come on over to the FP tumblr for some feminist awesomeness (did I mention the chance to win FREE BOOKS?), and check out our official website for even more awesome books and resources.

It is complicated being Filipino

After seeing several submissions from fellow Filipinos, I thought I’d share my own experience growing up Filipino in America. Some of this may become ranty and incoherent, but hopefully I can reach those of you who have experienced something similar or at least can relate.

I remember when a Korean-American classmate in my orchestra class asked from what country in Asia my family came from. Of course, I said that I’m from the Philippines.

Lo and behold! His treatment of me changed from pleasant to utmost disdain. At the time, I did not understand why he suddenly didn’t want to interact with me anymore.

You see, back then (this was when I as 14/15 years old), I was very naïve and I thought Filipinos are just as Asian as all other Asians. I thought this way because both my parents instilled in me that we ARE Asians because of language, cultural, and political influence.

I did not know about the unspoken hierarchy that Filipinos were at the bottom of the Asian Hierarchy. Or were seen as “the wrong kind of Asian.”

And so, I wanted to really make friends with the other Asians at school, but I was often frustrated and ended up becoming a loner because I was often told these things:

“You’re too dark to be Asian.”

“You’re Pacific Islander because Philippines is an archipelago.”

“Your people do not have a clear cultural identity.”

“Filipinos are ‘Hispanic’ because they were colonized by Spain.”

Etc.

Well, it did not end there. The worst part was when it came to dating and I saw my Asian-American schoolmates dating fellow Asians (most of the ones who dated their fellow Asian Americans were the pale-skinned ones) and/or white people. 

I thought, “If they can date other Asians or white people, so can I!”

I was wrong.

So very wrong.

As a matter of fact, these guys, whether they were white or Asian American, won’t even look at me or see me as someone attractive, interesting, funny, and intelligent because all they saw is this dark-skinned girl from the Philippines.

At first, I couldn’t articulate why I was always felt so frustrated and dismissed or just seen as a place holder until they get their “Dream Asian Girl.”

Japanese girls were always at the top. Chinese and Korean girls were always a close second.

But I noticed Filipino girls were always some kind of “consolation prize” for these guys who can’t get a girl from the “East Asian Trifecta.”

Then it dawned on me that this is happening because I’m the “wrong” kind of Asian.  I do not belong in the hierarchy that was established by whatever powers that may be out there.

I completely resented it. And for the longest time, I hated being Filipino because my heritage is always the butt of jokes!

That routine from Donald Glover didn’t help: http://thisisnotpinoy.tumblr.com/post/32867024237

What Lucy Liu said on the David Letterman Show http://youtu.be/s5NCE71wV5s  didn’t help.

Why is being Filipino such a bad thing? Why is having a deep tan such a bad thing?

Why is having dark skin disqualifies Filipinos from being Asian?

Why is it so bad? Why do people hate us so much? Why do people not want us?

Even our own selves; we hate ourselves.

Growing up in the Philippines, the media that I saw had fair-skinned movie stars, news casters, and models. There were some dark-skinned actresses but they were few and far in between or they’re often type-casted as the punchline for the fair-skinned protagonist.

Then there’s an abundance of skin whitening products! How can we escape from this madness when we are deeply mired by our own self-hate?

I even hate myself to the point where I do not go outside in the sun, slather SPF100 and wear big sun hats so that I won’t become “too dark.”  I am also very guilty of being flattered when relatives tell me “Oh, you’ve become so fair-skinned, you’re so pretty!”

I’m a full-grown woman now but I still find myself being petty about not disclosing my cultural background to people and doing my best to look East Asian as much as possible.

And going back to interacting with white people, they just see Filipinos as “good servants.” Is that how we all are? We just exist to merely serve?

I’ve encountered the question “No, where are you REALLY from?” followed up by a mangled version of some Tagalog phrase they try to use on me to impress me?!

Oh, here’s another “classic” pick up line from white men. They’d tell me they were stationed in the Philippines for quite a few years and talk about how the hospitality of the people and how “docile and submissive” Filipino women are. Then they would even go as far as talk about how they were offered a Filipino bride to take home to America!

That truly annoys me to the Nth degree!

It’s really irritating, frustrating, and tiring battling my own self-hate, discrimination from white people, and then discrimination from fellow Asians.

It is really complicated, being Filipino. I see myself and identify myself as an autonomous Human Being and yet I am always reduced to a caricature of my culture and heritage—not just by other people, but by my own self, too.