Conquering hate with art + Love 用愛與藝術征服仇恨 PART No.1
AS FEATURED IN EDITION NO. 7 OF FêTE CHINOISE MAGAZINE: PERSPECTIVE 覺•渡
rt reflects our ever-changing culture and has the ability to shift society's values and views. Racism and injustice have been a huge topics during the pandemic, magnified by the heartbreaking discovery of thousands of unmarked children’s graves at Indigenous residential school sites, the Black Lives Matter movement, and anti-Asian racism, discrimination and violence in North America.
This chapter is an artistic movement in response to the unwanted hatred. Read on as we embrace education, compassion, understanding, and love. The selections of words and images are from a pool of unique submissions from our readers.
藝術是文化變遷的倒影，也是改變社會價值點和觀點的領航。新冠疫情時，種族主義和不公正是一個重大的議題，從原住民寄宿學校令人心碎的數千個沒標記的兒童墳墓、「黑命關天」社會運動、到充斥北美的反亞裔主義、仇恨和暴力事件，令我們醒覺，面對那日益嚴峻的社會問題，我們不可以再繼續沈默。
此章就是我們的集體回應，是我們反仇恨的共同創造，一起以藝術對教育、共融、諒解和愛的擁抱。 你將欣賞到的文章及圖像，全是讀者們的原創作品。
“The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference… the epitome of evil.”
PHOTOGRAPHY BY ASIAN IMPACT SOCIETY
POEM BY EVA CHIN
I miss my grandmother every day
and I'd do anything for her to be alive right now.
Except I also don't.
Because I don't want her to see what's going on right now, what hate lies around us everyday here, and how much I'd be terrified of her walking alone on the streets.
And this is where we are at.
Where we've always been at.
Don't just read this and move on.
Instead, feel your blood boil by the very thought that
our elders are being slashed, burnt, beaten to death.
Our women being shot. Targeted.
Don't give me that bullshit that all lives matter
and you don't see color.
Don't tell me how lucky I'm a model minority
and that I'm always going to be good at math and science.
Don't tell me that these hate crimes are new and that people who commit them are simply just having a bad day.
Don't tell me about your last trip to Thailand or Japan and how much you love our food and culture, as if your claim of that will erase your lack of awareness of your Asian fetishization.
Don't tell me about that one Asian best friend in your circle and that everyone loves Asians so stop making a big deal.
Don't tell me it's all going to be OK.
To be an Asian American is to be all that we are and none of what you want us to be.
How many more hateful violent crimes till we realize?
23 million of us, part of this country—rising and waking up.
Our stories matter and our stories belong. Include our stories.
LOVE OUR PEOPLE LIKE YOU LOVE OUR FOOD AND CULTURE.
And when we speak up you will listen.
GRAPHIC CREATED BY AMANDA PHINGBODHIPAKKIYA
“To conquer hate, we need to move those indifferent to Asian racism, because in silence, it grows. We need to be vigilant, take flight and educate. ”
ILLUSTRATION by Karen Tam
LOVES, sun shower
Written by Stephen Chu
Love reflects down like the Sun
and radiates to all to receive.
Matters of clouds form
of the impending.
Earth's Blue sky opens with thunder
and bubbles on our souls.
As the tension breaks,
the cleansing flow
will wash the darkness,
that is of hate, to discover
there is no room on this plane.
Mother earth will swallow and heal,
bringing forth growth for life anew.
Sun showers, of love
illustrations by Karen Tam
Eyes Open
Poem by Christopher Tse
We have never been a loud people.
Our elders always taught us
that actions speak louder than words
so we learned to
keep our heads down
keep our grades up
keep our kin close
keep our mouth shut.
I wonder?
What it does to a people when they stay quiet for so long
do they forget their voice?
The sound of their stories? The resilience of language?
When you are no longer in your Mother Land,
does your mother tongue still sing of home?
What work songs lifted our spirits as we built the railroad?
What prayers did we whisper as they sent us to camps
in the mountains to meditate on all the ways we don't belong to this country?
So we stayed quiet.
As they burned our Chinatowns down
and spit on our grandmas at bus stops
we stayed quiet.
As they laughed in our faces and
told us to go back where we came from.
But they've mistaken our silence…
for compliance.
Looked on our meekness
as weakness.
See we are not the submissive stereotype that's been depicted
on silence, on us.
They’ve gotten it twisted.
See silence is golden.
As are we.
A gradient of yellow to brown,
Every Korean Town and Little Saigon — an act of defiance.
Every hunchbacked elder — a humble giant.
Silence is grace in the triumph. Is peace in the riot.
Silence is bold.
A force.
It is the brewing calm before the coming storm,
and now the sky is splitting open and the rage is pouring forth.
So this is for
every kid who has ever tried to pull their nose bridge to make it taller,
every time they mock us because our eyes are smaller.
This is for our elders – both alive and remembered.
For their lessons — the tough and the tender.
For our full names — past and present.
May they be pronounced. May they be respected.
For every chink in the national fabric,
every nip in the winter wind of prairie towns and northern hamlets
coast to coast on stolen land.
We are here.
We've been here.
From takeout joints and internment camps
to internships and graduation caps, we are strong.
We have pride.
We fight.
We fall.
We rise.
And to the ones who say we don't belong?
It's them who should open their eyes.
Illustration by Jonathan Pong
Finding My Voice
written by Jason Chan
Growing up, my parents taught me to keep my head down and work hard. Donít rock the boat. Donít speak out. It made sense to me at the time; after all, it worked for them as first generation immigrants to the country. They were just trying to survive.
Then, the coronavirus struck, and along with it, came an alarming rise in anti-Asian racism and violence in our communities. Xenophobia is not new, but this was different. And as the numbers kept rising, so too did my sense of urgency to find my voice to help.
I started by joining the ìoutrage machineî and sharing news articles on social media - easy, conflict-free, but ultimately ineffective. I borrowed othersí voices as I felt I had nothing worthy to add; there was always someone who had it worse than me, who could tell it better than I could.
Then I started to listen. I looked for empathy, and surprisingly, I found it in complete strangers, from people just like me, who had the courage to be vulnerable and tell their stories. It made me realize that we all have unique lived experiences that are legitimate and worth sharing.
As an actor, I would always cringe when asked to do a Chinese accent, especially when itís unnecessary for the scene. One time, I refused, and the audition ended soon after. Needless to say, I did not book that job. I used to feel guilty about it, especially in such a cut-throat industry. It wasnít until I finally shared this story with others that I realized others have done the same, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. All this time I was trying to find my voice, but I just needed to be proud of mine.
I think my parents would be proud too.
sponsored by ferris wheel press.
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