It is two days after the election and there are not enough words to express my fury and grief. There are not enough mental health days to process the hurt and cynicism. There is no balm in Gilead—and the bankrupt spiritual rhetoric is naught but a resounding gong.
Once again, America has chosen death over life, hate over love, and fear over courage.
I want to scream and say with as much disrespect as possible to the folks who voted for Trump: fuck all y’all. May you reap what you sow.
I want to sink into an old skin, channeling my rage into biting sarcasm, wielding my words as a whip. I want to be a weapon. A monster to end all monsters.
And yet, I think of my various platforms, privileges, and what kind of person I want to be. I think about my limitations and the safety of myself and my family. I consider what would be good for us, what is good for the collective, where I am willing to take a hit personally for the good of the whole, and where I am not.
I think: I want to be a benediction. A solace. A soft place to land.
I think: no one has ever been changed for the better by hate.
I think: I do not know if I can love people who hate me. (I reject any god requiring me to poison my own well and gaslight me into calling it love.)
What can one person do against an empire?
When I look at my sphere of influence, I rue the fact that I was not more strategic. That I blundered so many chances to be transactional—and if I had not fumbled the bag so badly, perhaps my platform would be bigger. I would have more freedom, money, and clout to make a difference.
But there is a different freedom in my irrelevance. I can say what I want without fear of losing followers and brand deals. I cannot lose what I do not have. I know my place, and that place is a pain in the ass for Trump supporters.
My obscurity is a good reminder: I am dust, and I will return to dust.
But while I’m here, I will be loud. While I’m here, I will be inconvenient. While I’m here, I will spotlight the plank in their eye.
Fending off despair by living fully as an Asian American woman
Of course, these platitudes sound great on paper, but what does it mean to resist empire when you are but one person?
For me, I choose to live as fully myself as I can.
In a white supremacist America that tries to superimpose its narrative of what an acceptable Asian American is, I will be me. Instead of carving off pieces of self, begging a hateful audience for acknowledgment, I will be wholly unacceptable in my pursuit of wholeness.
Being myself, striving for what I want—what brings me joy and life—expands the narrative of what it means to be Asian American. My life can make visible what white supremacy wants to erase.
At the moment and most visibly, it means I host podcasts and write novels and articles centering the Asian and Asian American experience. (Feel free to support me by listening, buying, and reading!) Behind the scenes, I try to educate myself and actively deprogram my learned ableism, homophobia, anti-Blackness, classism, and Christian nationalism.
Most importantly, I prioritize being as non-transactional as possible when dealing with friends and acquaintances. By treating people like they are a person and not just a stepping stone, I actively fight commodification, which is the first pillar of white supremacy. (I highly recommend Ellie Yang Camp’s book, “Louder Than the Lies: Asian American Identity, Solidarity, and Self-love,” for a gentle primer on racism and how to be a good ally—especially if you are Asian American.)
Finally—and what I find most difficult—I remind myself that patriarchy actively harms men and white supremacy actively harms white people. That the people who have actively voted for hate are also fellow victims of white supremacy and patriarchy. They just refuse to see it.
I choose to hope that if everyone were free to live their life in the fullness of who they are (without harming others)—seen, accepted, valued, and loved—that even cis-het white men could collectively unclench their fists to relinquish power for the chance to be more fully alive in all ways spiritual, physical, and emotional. (I do find this exceedingly difficult to believe because if anyone is allowed to be depicted as a whole person, it is the white man. But why be pro-liberation only to settle for being a new oppressor?)
Community muddling forward together
All this rah-rah togetherness is nice for a soundbite, but the truth is: I am tired. I fall into cynicism more often than not. (And quite frankly, am proven right more often than I’d like.)
But I am tired of being yelled at—whether by people who think I don’t deserve to exist or by people who think I’m not doing enough.
I want to tell everyone to fuck off, hoarding all my compassion and assets for myself and my children. I want to become the stereotypical post-apocalyptic white male lead and only see what is mine as human.
Except, I know full well that empire does not rise or fall individually, only collectively. Even if we all did not start this mess, we will only get out of it together.
We fight a leviathan, and liberation for all becomes more possible at times in great leaps and at others incremental. Empire does not move overnight. And yet, empires still fall.
I choose to trust people who are wiser than I am, who have been in the fight centuries longer; to believe that though my contribution may be small—may be just a fart in the wind—that it is enough.
I am enough. You are enough.
Defiant joy
So, I will continue blathering forward. I will continue being both scourge and balm. I will continue being weird, chaotic, and extremely attractive.
I do not know how to be anything else other than myself. I refuse to regress and shrink. I refuse to despair. I choose to trust people and to love them extravagantly.
In a sea of fake humility and performative clout-chasing, I will be a brazen Asian.
This is my defiance so that you, when you are ready, will not be alone in yours.
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