Disclaimer: the following post is extremely personal for both my family and I, so I have taken it upon myself to change the names of the people involved.
It is safe to say that most people of color have grown up experiencing at least some overt sense of racism. While acts of racism may not always be obvious, they exist in micro-aggressions: in the side glances I get as the only non-white person shopping in Brandy Melville at Fashion Island, in the innocently curious questions like, "How is your English so good?" and in the incredulous looks from my friends when they found out I didn't know what Chow Mein was (since you know, I'm Chinese).
But growing up, I had experienced a deeply rooted form of racism - the kind that separated families and was often violent. My grandfather, who has raised me since birth as both my parents were working, is racist. Because he was one of the only adults I actually liked during my childhood, I never questioned his logic.
"We can't go to that store," my grandfather and role model would say. "The man who owns it is Indian, dirty and smells like curry so the things he sells are probably expired."
"Oh my god, it smells like curry. It must be those bloody Indians cooking again."
And perhaps most dangerous of all: "Those children aren't my grandchildren. Their passport says that they are Indian, not Chinese so they do not have my blood."
"Racist" is such a strong word, because our world has associated it with Hitler, the Rwandan massacre and countless other historical events in which people were killed for being people. It is a word that I was never able to associate with someone I cared deeply about, especially if they had raised me.
In my grandfather's stubborn mind, any flaws that any Indian person might have was directly associated with their race. Lazy? Must be because he's Indian. Overweight? Definitely because he's Indian - must be all that curry. Accidentally stepped on your foot? Those fucking clumsy Indians.
So imagine the shock my grandfather had when my aunt Nancy, his oldest daughter, married an Indian man. Similarly to how white American men zealously guard the virtue of their white women from immoral and hypersexual black men, Singaporean-Chinese men shield Singaporean-Chinese women from Singaporean-Indian men. My grandfather just could not understand how my aunt, a respectable and attractive Chinese woman, could fall for my [now] uncle Joseph, a similarly respectable and attractive Indian man. His attempts to save my Chinese aunt from her Indian fiancée included boycotting their wedding, cutting off all contact with her and denouncing his grandchildren (my 3 mixed-raced cousins) as part of his lineage.
I never had a problem with my grandfather's blatant racism, perhaps because it never affected me. I was his token grandchild because I am Chinese, not ugly and educated (but mostly because I am Chinese). All of this changed last summer when I was hanging out with my cousin Alyx (the daughter of Nancy and Joseph) and I had to drop off something at my grandfather's house. My grandfather hadn't seen any of my 3 cousins in years, and I naively assumed that he had somehow given up on these racist ideologies he had against Indian (or in this case half-Indian) people. Imagine my horror when my grandfather opened the door and found himself face-to-face with his two granddaughters, and promptly began screaming at Alyx to "get the FUCK away from my house" and to "never even think about stepping in this door" before slamming the door in the tear-soaked face of my cousin.
The incident, however trivial it may sound in words, was life-changing. I had grown up as a fish swimming in water that I could not see, and suddenly I realized that the water was dirty, murky and reeked of disgusting and irrational prejudice. My grandfather had taken everything he had taught me, shoved it in my face and suddenly I could see that the man who had taught me right from wrong, waited outside my pre-school for 8 hours because I could not bear to see him leave, and wiped away my tears, was undeniably and unquestionably racist.
My grandfather is to many, a good man. He is independent, intelligent and takes good care of the people he loves. Ta-Nehisi Coates sheds light on an incident involving Forest Whitaker getting frisked in a deli after being accused of stealing in his article "The Good Racist People" and writes that, "...we believe racism to be the property of the uniquely villainous and morally deformed, the ideology of trolls, gorgons and orcs. We believe this even when we are actually being racist." The system has taught us to revere some and hate others. But how do we separate the system from the individual?
It is safe to say that most people of color have grown up experiencing at least some overt sense of racism. While acts of racism may not always be obvious, they exist in micro-aggressions: in the side glances I get as the only non-white person shopping in Brandy Melville at Fashion Island, in the innocently curious questions like, "How is your English so good?" and in the incredulous looks from my friends when they found out I didn't know what Chow Mein was (since you know, I'm Chinese).
But growing up, I had experienced a deeply rooted form of racism - the kind that separated families and was often violent. My grandfather, who has raised me since birth as both my parents were working, is racist. Because he was one of the only adults I actually liked during my childhood, I never questioned his logic.
"We can't go to that store," my grandfather and role model would say. "The man who owns it is Indian, dirty and smells like curry so the things he sells are probably expired."
"Oh my god, it smells like curry. It must be those bloody Indians cooking again."
And perhaps most dangerous of all: "Those children aren't my grandchildren. Their passport says that they are Indian, not Chinese so they do not have my blood."
"Racist" is such a strong word, because our world has associated it with Hitler, the Rwandan massacre and countless other historical events in which people were killed for being people. It is a word that I was never able to associate with someone I cared deeply about, especially if they had raised me.
In my grandfather's stubborn mind, any flaws that any Indian person might have was directly associated with their race. Lazy? Must be because he's Indian. Overweight? Definitely because he's Indian - must be all that curry. Accidentally stepped on your foot? Those fucking clumsy Indians.
So imagine the shock my grandfather had when my aunt Nancy, his oldest daughter, married an Indian man. Similarly to how white American men zealously guard the virtue of their white women from immoral and hypersexual black men, Singaporean-Chinese men shield Singaporean-Chinese women from Singaporean-Indian men. My grandfather just could not understand how my aunt, a respectable and attractive Chinese woman, could fall for my [now] uncle Joseph, a similarly respectable and attractive Indian man. His attempts to save my Chinese aunt from her Indian fiancée included boycotting their wedding, cutting off all contact with her and denouncing his grandchildren (my 3 mixed-raced cousins) as part of his lineage.
I never had a problem with my grandfather's blatant racism, perhaps because it never affected me. I was his token grandchild because I am Chinese, not ugly and educated (but mostly because I am Chinese). All of this changed last summer when I was hanging out with my cousin Alyx (the daughter of Nancy and Joseph) and I had to drop off something at my grandfather's house. My grandfather hadn't seen any of my 3 cousins in years, and I naively assumed that he had somehow given up on these racist ideologies he had against Indian (or in this case half-Indian) people. Imagine my horror when my grandfather opened the door and found himself face-to-face with his two granddaughters, and promptly began screaming at Alyx to "get the FUCK away from my house" and to "never even think about stepping in this door" before slamming the door in the tear-soaked face of my cousin.
The incident, however trivial it may sound in words, was life-changing. I had grown up as a fish swimming in water that I could not see, and suddenly I realized that the water was dirty, murky and reeked of disgusting and irrational prejudice. My grandfather had taken everything he had taught me, shoved it in my face and suddenly I could see that the man who had taught me right from wrong, waited outside my pre-school for 8 hours because I could not bear to see him leave, and wiped away my tears, was undeniably and unquestionably racist.
My grandfather is to many, a good man. He is independent, intelligent and takes good care of the people he loves. Ta-Nehisi Coates sheds light on an incident involving Forest Whitaker getting frisked in a deli after being accused of stealing in his article "The Good Racist People" and writes that, "...we believe racism to be the property of the uniquely villainous and morally deformed, the ideology of trolls, gorgons and orcs. We believe this even when we are actually being racist." The system has taught us to revere some and hate others. But how do we separate the system from the individual?
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