Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Is This What Racism Feels Like?

A3

“Do you not see? Can you not see this small child? Are your eyes too small?”

This stranger’s words hit me like the bus I just walked onto. Like a deer in headlights, I just stood there. Shocked and unsure of what to call this interaction, I just stood there.

The incident happened shortly after President David Boren at the University of Oklahoma issued his official statement condemning the school’s chapter of Sigma Alpha Epsilon for its reprehensible expression of racism.

At such coincidental timing, I reflected on how real it was for me and how the shaky state of race relations in America was now a relevant part of my life too. I recall President Boren’s remarks, “Real Sooners are not racist. Real Sooners are not bigots. … Real Sooners treat all people with respect. … There must be zero tolerance for racism everywhere in our nation.”

That day on the bus, one inconsiderate stranger walked into my life and changed me. I didn’t just agree with President Boren’s words, I was now someone who felt impassioned by them.

Growing up in suburban and diverse New Jersey in the 1990-2000s, I never felt the sting of racism and I naively thought I would never have to. When I heard that stranger ask me if my eyes were too small I didn’t know what to call it. Was it racism? Is that what racism feels like? As an Asian-American, I was comfortable with jokes about Asians mispronouncing the letter “L” and jokes about the size of our eyes. However, this was the first time I had heard someone use one of these quips to deliberately hurt me.

After the initial shock, I looked into the eyes of the elderly woman in front of me hoping for an expression of commiseration that wasn’t there. I wanted answers to my questions. I tried to rationalize. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I didn’t know this stranger’s life. Maybe I was being selfish or unfair. Regardless, I knew I would look back on this moment and feel uneasy about it for the rest of my life.

A few months ago, I read an article in The New York Times by Lawrence Otis Graham titled “I Taught My Black Kids That Their Elite Upbringing Would Protect them From Discrimination. I Was Wrong.” Definitely worth the read, Graham wrote about the day one of his children was called a nigger. This article inspired more questions. What would my parents think? Did they ever experience racism when they emigrated from the Philippines in the 1980s? Was this ever something they worried about for me?

For the first 20 years of my life, I had been privileged to live without knowing the feeling I now had in the pit of my stomach. Stifling tears en route to Boston, I asked my older sister and father for guidance. As my sister has been dating her African-American boyfriend for five years, I thought she would have the best insight.

Debating asking my mother, I knew it would be better to ask my calmer, more level-headed father. They confirmed my suspicions. This wasn’t any other normal insult; it was tainted with ignorance and hate. But what could I do about it?

I aspire to be a woman who always stands up for herself. I remember thinking, “I’ve been brave in standing up for myself before. I have to do it again.”

But I couldn’t because demanding an apology from or arguing with her would have been futile. And for a couple of seconds, I felt the powerlessness that has consumed some people’s entire lives.

Later, as I headed to Boston College and the doors on my red line T car closed, an Asian mother told her son, no older than three, to take the last free seat. I don’t know this boy and I will never see him again, but I hope and pray that when he’s old enough to understand the world around him, he won’t see the same one I see now.

Erika Lim is a junior in the McDonough School of Business.

Leave a Comment
More to Discover

Comments (0)

All The Hoya Picks Reader Picks Sort: Newest

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *