You might have heard about the attacks on elderly Asians in the news as of late. I think back to my parents and my grandparents, and what they would do in these situations. They are not confrontational people. Canada barely feels like their world. The language does not feel like theirs. For the same reason they would never oblige in a guest’s home, they would not want to cause trouble here. I dare not generalize for the entire community, but I wonder how many more incidents of harassment go unreported — due to the language barrier or due to our cultural norms.

Yet, it’s not just my elders who feel the need to suffer in silence.

I think back to all the times I’ve personally witnessed racism and endured microaggressions. The problem is prevalent, even in the cities I call home.

It’s the authority figure I looked up to who would constantly confuse me with the other Asian girl.

It’s the white boy who fetishized me and kept trying to speak to me in Mandarin.

It’s watching a co-worker’s Vietnamese accent get mocked by others behind her back.

It’s me, who watched all of these events happen, over and over again, without speaking up for myself and my community.

I wonder, why is that? Why did I feel the need to stay silent? To answer the question, I reflected upon my upbringing in Markham, attending schools where Asians made up most of the population. I thought the microaggressions against Asians I witnessed did not count as racism; after all, we were numerous compared to other ethnic groups. I did not understand that systemic racism and white supremacy is insidious and deeply engrained in all spheres of life, even in predominantly Asian communities.

I am tired of not seeing Asians included in anti-racism. My hope for my community is that we make our stories heard and that we call out racism when it happens.