I was twelve years old the first time I was harrassed on the street.

I was walking down a road in my small neighbourhood in Ottawa with my friend, who was also Asian, when three men in their mid-20s in a car pulled up beside us and said “Hi Asian cuties. We’re looking for some kung pao chicken tonight. Me love you long time. Where you from? I bet you’re Japanese. Are you Japanese?”

I remember feeling shock, confusion and being completely frozen on the spot — not able to speak or move. We were only in grade seven after all. This would be the first of many encounters like this in the years to come. In the past two decades, I have had men come up to me at school, in the workplace, and on the street, sexually and verbally harassing me. Not just for being a woman, but of also being of Asian descent. Some days, I had men telling me of their desire for me to fulfil their fetishes and fantasies. Other days, I had people yelling racist slurs at me. My mental state has ranged from being annoyed to shocked to being genuinely scared for my life.

After that first moment when I was twelve, I did what every other girl and woman has done in their life (and what men started realizing we do since the murder of Sarah Everard this year.) I tried to never walk alone. I made fake phone calls. I got pepper spray. I ran as soon as I turned corners. I texted my friends my Uber driver’s license plate numbers. I shared my location. 

But for me, it was a double whammy: I was experiencing misogyny. And I was experiencing xenophobia. I was somehow being both sexualized and hated for my race.

Then in 2020, COVID hit. In the first week that COVID hit Canada in March, someone yelled at me in downtown Ottawa (in the middle of the day on a Monday), “Go back to your coronavirus filled country.” So it began. While I ‘accepted’ the attacks before COVID as just something I had to live with, the Asian hate as a result of COVID was spreading almost as fast as the virus itself.

The Asian hate and violence from our neighbours down South has been all over the media the last couple months. Just last week, six Asian women were killed in Atlanta area spas. But for those who don’t think it’s happening in Canada too? It sure as hell is. The Vancouver Police Board reported a 717 percent increase in reported anti-Asian hate crimes this year. Montreal police said that racist acts are being reported five times more than that of 2019. And here in my hometown of Ottawa, there’s been a 57 percent increase in hate crimes from 2019 to 2020. The crimes are sometimes blatant and sometimes subtle — ranging from Asian Canadians being called racist slurs on the streets and in grocery stores to vandalism on Asian-owned businesses and cultural centres to threats and attacks on the elderly.

Even celebrities and NBA champions like Jeremy Lin are being called “coronavirus” on the court. My friends and family members who are doctors and nurses are being asked for a white doctor instead. And the story that broke my heart the most this year: my ten- and six-year-old nephews told me they were being bullied at school. The other kids were telling them to stop giving them the “Chinese Virus.”

So, what are social impact organizations doing about this?

The violence against Asian people worldwide is a form of white supremacy. The sexualization of Asian women is a form of white supremacy. The misinformation spread from when the “Kung Flu Virus” term was coined is a form of white supremacy. (Important note: Language matters. Whether it’s in your friend group or on the world stage, check yourself.) 

It’s not just about what’s happening now, but the long history of white supremacist laws behind it. Things like the Chinese head tax (fees charged to each Chinese person entering Canada) and the Chinese Immigration act in Canada (otherwise known as the Chinese Exclusion Act) which lasted for twenty four years. These were very intentional anti-Asian hate laws that held up the notion that white people were the superior race. You should know about them.

I see #StopAsianHate trending on social media. I see people who are angry about this. I see celebrities and our political leaders sending condolences to the Asian community. As a proud Vietnamese-Chinese Canadian, I feel like I don’t have the luxury to just be upset. I feel like I need to act. 

I do feel angry. And tired. And scared. And devastated. But most of all, for someone who has experienced my fair share of Anti-Asian hate in my life pre-pandemic, I feel like this time is different. For the first time, I feel like I am literally fighting for my life, my family’s lives, my friends’ lives, and my colleagues’ lives. 

Social impact organizations can play an important role in stopping anti-Asian hate in Canada. You are well positioned as leaders in your communities to have a powerful voice, both in dollars and in influence. Here are a few ways: 

You can use your organization’s platforms and networks to denounce stereotypes, call out microaggressions that are projected onto your Asian coworkers, friends, neighbours, and strangers. 

You can call out the intersectionality of it all — that these attacks are aimed at people with a particular socioeconomic status and gender. 

You can partner and support local Asian-owned businesses and donate to Asian-led and Asian-serving non-profits, charities, and grassroots organizations, like the Butterfly Asian and Migrant Sex Workers Network.

You can encourage people to stop being complicit to racist jokes and acknowledge the ways you’ve participated (whether knowingly or not) in racism and misogyny.

Please don’t be silent.

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