“You have such exotic features!” “That Oriental looking girl...” I can already feel my stomach turn and the indignity rising up inside me as a video montage of my childhood traumas starts to play inside my head. Some people don’t understand why I consider the terms “oriental” and “exotic” to be insulting. Especially when they consider these adjectives synonymous to Asian beauty and attractiveness in their minds. But I think it’s easier for one to think that way when they’re not aware of the history of their usage and their associations. “Oriental” and “exotic” are synonymous to the adjective “beautiful”, but only in regard to what’s non-caucasian. Why is there even another adjective of beauty for Asian women like they’re not deserving of the word “beautiful”? Someone might perceive these two words to be compliments, but my soul recognises it as being awarded a consolation prize. Because if you truly considered me to be “beautiful”, wouldn’t it just be easier to call me that instead? Why do you feel the need to emphasise my otherness, my foreignness? Because I could never be genuinely attractive or good looking if not for my race right? In this discussion about the term “Oriental” and why its usage is problematic, I feel it’s necessary to include Edward Said and his book Orientalism published in 1978. Said was a prominent scholar and also the founder of the academic field of postcolonial studies. In his book he recognises Orientalism as a concept that the West utilised in their misportrayal of the East throughout the years. Said wrote that “Orientalism can be discussed and analysed as the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient - dealing with it by making statements about it, authorising views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it, ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient.” The Orient is what the Asian locals were referred as by the colonisers, so when the adjective “Oriental” is applied to me, it’s actually the continuation of racist colonial ideology. While growing up as a child of immigrants, I always felt self-conscious about my Asian ancestry. Being Asian meant speaking in a funny accent, eating weird things like dogs or cats, and being ugly. At least that’s what people tried to force upon me about my own heritage. My ethnicity didn’t match up with my nationality, which to this day is an issue that’s still cause for debate. Because what does it mean to be Asian while growing up outside of Asia? For me, it meant denying my cultural heritage, learning how to dislike my “exotic” features and the culture of my parents and their relatives, like they weren’t related to me too. To exist between two cultures, two worlds, is choosing whether I live according to my ethnicity, or my nationality. I tried to suppress the former in order to conform to the latter because that’s what sounded right. “...because of Orientalism the Orient was not (and is not) a free subject of thought or action. This is not to say that Orientalism unilaterally determines what can be said about the Orient, but that it is the whole network of interests inevitably brought to bear on (and therefore always involved in) any occasion when that peculiar entity “the Orient” is in question.” I cannot disagree with this statement for all the times I felt the pressure to fit into the mould of what society considered an Asian woman to be like and look like. I wasn’t beautiful because I was alien to them, something to be looked at from a distance or made fun off. I lived my life as if I was white although there were many occasions that only seemed to emphasise that I wasn’t. I couldn’t ignore the inky black of my hair, the almond shape of my eyes, or my name, a name celebrating a language foreign to Western tongues and discordant to their ears. All things that were supposedly unattractive or strange according to Western cultural standards made me by association feel unattractive and strange. “The Orient was Orientalized not only because it was discovered to be “Oriental” in all those ways considered commonplace by an average nineteenth-century European, but also because it could be - that is, submitted to being - made Oriental.” That’s the real crime here. I am made to be other, when in fact I am not. “Oriental” is the cruel label that will always emphasise what I’m not, what I will never be. My otherness has always made me feel unworthy of being beautiful, unworthy of being praised, unworthy of a lot of things actually. Because what do people see when they look at me? Do they look into my brown eyes and recognise hopes and dreams similar to the ones hidden in the depth of their own hearts? Or do they see two small slits with dark beads in them that are supposedly Asian eyes like often seen in racist cartoons? “Oriental” is however not only a term reserved for lesser, but also, a perverse kind of beauty. “Oriental” and “exotic” are words associated with pornographic images and videos of young, slender looking Asian women being subjected to the animalistic desires of white men. Or images of cheap prostitutes in Thailand and dingy massage parlours. It’s the kind of beauty that makes it sound okay for men to fetishise our bodies, our beauty the kind that gets you fucked but not respected. It’s the kind of beauty that makes random men on the street ask you for a massage with a happy ending while all you wanted was to stretch your legs outside. Besides that, the Oxford English Dictionary reveals that “exotic” in one of its first entries is defined as the following: “Outlandish, barbarous, strange, uncouth. Also, having the attraction of the strange or foreign, glamorous.” How can I not feel anger when someone refers to me with such an insulting adjective? It’s my otherness, my Asianness, that ultimately obstructs me from being considered beautiful by the masses without being foreign. Nevertheless, the real obstacle here is that the term “beauty” shouldn’t exclude my Asianness. I see beauty when I look at my reflection in store windows just like how I see beauty when I look at my Asian sisters in their different sizes and skin tones. There is nothing wrong with my hair, my skin, my face. My features are the features passed down from the daughters, mothers and wives before me, features imbued with stories about women, stories about their lives that can be found within my reflection in the mirror, in a shop’s window or a pool of water on the street. Our beauty isn’t lesser so we can get crowned with titles such as “Hot Asian Babe” and “Geisha Doll.” Our beauty is there even when it’s not appreciated or recognised in the eyes of others. It’s not our loss if people cannot differentiate a jewel from a pebble. And I will repeat this for all the people who would say otherwise. I am not oriental, I am not exotic, I am beautiful. A short essay on why the usage of terms like “oriental” and “exotic” is a continuation of racist colonial ideology and how the toxicity of these two adjectives has tainted the image of Asian women. Biography: I'm a 21-year-old Chinese Dutch girl who is about to start her master's in literary studies. I recently started writing articles just for myself to practise my writing skills but I'm now ready to find a platform for me to discuss topics I'm passionate about. Sources: Said, Edward. Orientalism. Vintage Books, 1978. "exotic, adj. and n." OED Online, Oxford University Press, June 2020, www.oed.com/view/Entry/66403. Accessed 30 July 2020.

you are human. simply put, a shifting, restless, unstoppable force striking any field, keeping your goals and dreams hostage, you would fly to the ends of the earth to achieve and feel fulfilled. unforgettable and wondrous, do not forget that we come in assorted packages varying in colors and shades, it takes one artist, one idea, one story, for us to be painted into a vivid masterpiece. but sometimes, we forget why we are human, who we are, and who we live for. we drain ourselves until the person inside ourselves isn’t breathing breathless breaths, our humanness turns into something different. if we were all deaf, maybe we would stop judging others’ voices, stop muting their songs, but i bet we would still pinpoint a stain on their shirt, a birthmark-turned-flaw our eyes scouring for something, anything to make us feel better if we were all blind, then maybe, just maybe we would stop trying to conform ourselves into this narrow cast remodel ourselves, our insides and outsides, making sure every inch is like new, come on in, into my humble, lovely house you are human. you would crawl to the ends of the earth for your foolish, selfish desires, attacking every force field in the way of your goals and dreams, who knew you could cause such suffering? we have become different humans, dangerous, a shifting, restless, unstoppable force willing to tear apart others like it’s second nature some of us a partial design of muddy grays and hues incomplete sketches, broken fragments of something we can’t remember. as humans, we long to feel. we try so hard that sometimes, we forget how to breathe, how do we breathe, why do we breathe? we try to feel alive sometimes. we just don’t know how.

Dear Asian Youth, Recently, I realized that the news sources I follow depict Republicans as intolerant, irrational, angry white people, which caused me to characterize them as such. What I think encourages their boldness, is our President, who supports people who express racist and xenophobic ideas. Currently, it feels like Trump is actively avoiding his duties as president, constantly lying, and promoting racism, sexism, white supremacy, and other such behaviors, while still managing to avoid any consequences. What’s worse is that he could win a second term in this coming election. For a few weeks, I was horribly desolate, as it seemed America was becoming more and more irreparable. The one thing that brought me hope, however, was recognizing the undervalued power of optimism. The conscious decision to have hope is so necessary: if you want to make a change, you need to believe that our current situation can change. And the one thing that brings me hope that Trump will eventually face accountability is the Never Trump movement, started by the last group we expected to fight against Trump—the Republican Party. In 2016, the “Never Trumpers,” a group of prominent Republicans and conservatives, fought tirelessly against Donald Trump’s election and promoted different candidates. After Trump won, however, the movement died down. Some of the Never Trumpers made peace with him as they felt his stance on topics important to them like gun control or national defense were enough to make him redeemable, while others left the Republican Party entirely. This has resulted in Trump’s consistently high approval ratings (around 80-90 percent) among Republicans. With the 2020 election coming up, the Never Trumpers have reappeared, with the goal to vote Democrat in 2020 and urge other party members to do the same. With members all over the country, Never Trumpers have started many organizations to spread their ideas. The Lincoln Project was founded at the end of 2019 by several notable Republicans such as George Conway, Jennifer Horn, and John Weaver, and their goal is to interfere with Trump and his campaign. Using ads to attack Trump and his administration, they have persuaded many wavering Republicans to reject him, while also raising millions of dollars to support Biden’s campaign. Among other things, these ads target Trump’s lies regarding his collusion with Russia, his inaction during the pandemic, the corruption in his administration, and his refusal to provide economic support for those struggling during the pandemic. Republican Voters Against Trump (RVAT) has similarly expanded across multiple social media platforms, providing videos explaining how Trump has continuously demonstrated his unsuitability to be President, and why American democracy cannot tolerate another 4 years of his administration. Moderate Republicans and Democrats have not communicated well in the past, but Never Trumpers have now managed to find common ground between the two. While this may seem paradoxical, Never Trumpers are still Republicans—they just don’t support Trump. Due to America’s political divisions, we generally have an exaggerated view of the other party. This leads to a mutual hatred of the other side, even though this hatred is typically rooted in misunderstanding. As a result, both parties often end up arguing aggressively, without considering what they perceive to be the other side. However, the Never Trumpers are successful in something Democrats have struggled to do—conversing with Republicans. Republican-led groups like RVAT gain online views from their videos, but more importantly, they are crucial in swaying voters. If enough swing states vote blue in November, Trump could lose several key Electoral College votes he narrowly won in 2016. It is important to note that this doesn’t mean the Republican Party is becoming obsolete—just that Trump has united both political parties in a collective effort to vote him out of office. The waves of Republicans dissenting against Trump highlights that there is nothing shameful about changing one’s mind or breaking tradition. Donald Trump clearly doesn’t care about the American people, and this shouldn’t be a political debate. From his disregard to the rising death counts from COVID-19 to his attacks on the Postal Service, we can see his priority has always been, and will always be, whatever is most beneficial for him—a position of power as President. In the meantime, thousands of Americans are at risk of dying. Our upcoming election is not a question of your political affiliation. - Erika

Dear Asian Youth, Spring Summer Autumn Winter A colorful cycle of different weather, different blooms, A dazzling diversity of distinct experiences, distinct moods, A life without seasons seems incredibly bland! When my parents came to the US in 2003, they were surprised to experience US seasons. Summer/fall in the US is rainy season (basically winter) in the Philippines, and winter/spring in the US is dry season (basically summer) in the Philippines. Clearly, living on the West Coast turned their world upside down, in addition to the other changes they have faced. These include language barriers and feeling detached from the people around them. Then, two years later, my parents had me, and unlike my parents, I was taught about the four seasons and the beauty that each season holds. I was taught about spring, the time of the year when flowers would bloom and green covered the land around us. I was taught about summer, when the weather was at its hottest and the beach would be where we all tried to cool off. I was taught about autumn, the back-to-school season where the warm hues of red, orange and yellow decorated the trees. And lastly, I was taught about winter, the cold season that had us children yearning for winter break and hot cocoa. To us, having just a rainy and dry season was unheard of. So when my mother would make bulalo, a cozy beef and vegetable soup, in the summer and halo halo, a shaved ice dessert with other cold toppings, in the winter, I would tilt my head in confusion and ask why she made hot food in hot weather, and cold food in cold weather. She would always respond to me by saying, “Sorry anak, lagi kong nakakalimutan na iba ang panahon dito," which roughly translates to: “I’m sorry child, I always forget that the weather here is different”. But as I grew older and began to adapt to my surrounding environment, so did my parents. They developed a better understanding of the unique weathers and feels of each season, and it seemed like they had finally recognized the contrast between seasons in America and the Philippines. They acknowledged the beginning of each, taking me to the pool on the hottest days of summer and baking cookies and decorating gingerbread houses with me in the winter. We celebrate the beginning of spring by making lumpia together, and I vividly remember trying to imitate my mother’s nimble fingers as she rolled the thin wrapper around the pork mixture, obnoxiously laughing as the oil splattered on the countertop when we dropped them in. My parents and I visit their friends and they clink their glasses of buko juice as they announce in unison “MABUHAY!”, celebrating and hopeful for another spring filled with prosperity and growth, realizing that this season is the time for birth and the time for new beginnings. We welcome summer with open arms, excited for the many nights that we’ll drive to the city and feast at bustling Filipino restaurants, the combination of the smells of kare-kare, a stew coated in peanut sauce, and chicharon, fried pork rinds, filling the air as we stuffed our faces with vibrant-colored kwek-kwek, quail eggs fried in orange batter, and pungent suka, vinegar. I would go swimming at the beach and the pool with my friends, munching on the shrimp chips my parents always snuck into my bag—along with the bottles and bottles of sunscreen they managed to stuff in there as well. My July birthday would comprise my friends and I circling around a fragrant leche flan that my parents would get from my favorite Filipino bakery and a reprise of “Happy Birthday” in Tagalog through a screen from my relatives. We rejoice in autumn by making our favorite Filipino comfy soups during Thanksgiving, tinola and sinigang, subsequently soaking our rice with the broth. We go on chilly nature walks with my parents, just for me to stomp on every fallen leaf to hear its satisfying crunch. There was always a heartwarming aspect to these ventures, seeing the glimmer in my parents’ eyes as they looked around in awe, because during this time in the Philippines, it would be pouring outside. There, my parents wouldn’t be walking around outside inhaling the air tinged with scents of earth from the piles of leaves that surrounded us, rather, they would be sitting inside, huddled on a couch watching teleseryes, counting down the days to when they could finally go outside without getting soaked. We enter winter with hopeful excitement, planning our schedule that is packed with too many Filipino parties to count. We bring tray after tray of different dishes from lechon, roasted pig, to adobo, marinated chicken or pork, and we jam out from dusk till dawn with MagicSing karaoke. Celebrating with family friends that I only see once a year is something I always look forward to this time of year. Christmas day is filled with pancit, sisig, crispy pata, and of course bowls upon bowls upon bowls of rice. When New Year’s comes around, we don our polka-dot shirts and dresses, buy as many round fruits as our shopping carts can carry. And when the ball drops, out come the pots and pans we loudly bang in each room to ward off any evil (I still don’t know why we do this, but it’s fun, so I’m not complaining). Though we manage to incorporate Filipino traditions with American seasons, I always manage to see my parents simmering up beef pares on 100 degree days, or savoring ice cold buko pandan on even the rainiest of days, reminding us what the Philippines’s weather compared to America’s. And unlike when I was younger, I don’t look at these actions with confusion, but rather, comfort. So, I smile, as I reminisce on past seasons and excitedly wait for the next. - Julianne

Dear Asian Youth, When I first saw the words Indian Matchmaking sprawled across my Netflix home screen, I was immediately intrigued by, but also cautious of, the South Asian representation. As someone whose reflections of themself in Western media growing up mainly consisted of the occasional hyper-stereotyped side character (*cough cough* Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb), I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Little did I know, Indian Matchmaking would go on to gain immense global popularity amongst South Asians and non-Asians alike. The show documents the work of matchmaker, Sima Taparia, who travels back and forth between India and the U.S. to find the “perfect match” for her clients based on the lengthy qualifications proposed by them and their families. Soon after the show’s debut, the internet was flooded with memes of Sima’s famous one-liners and endless Twitter rants about the characters. The show used classic tropes and followed the structures of many other romantic reality TV shows, making it a highly entertaining watch. There were fan favorites like Nadia, the underdog who everyone was rooting for in the end, Vyaser, and of course the villains, like Aparna, who were portrayed as “stubborn” and “high maintenance”. Despite the show’s popularity, Indian Matchmaking provoked major controversy, receiving both glowing praise and searing criticism from the audience. Many were shocked by the blatant colorism, sexism, and fatphobia expressed nonchalantly by Sima’s clients, especially in an era where many Caucasians are just beginning to become more racially cognizant amidst the heightened resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement. There was clear favoritism shown towards women with “slim figures and fair and lighter skin,” largely from the aunties and uncles. However, this is a relatively realistic portrayal. It is true that South Asian cultures are deeply steeped in ‘isms’ and ‘phobias’. Eurocentric and parochial standards of beauty have existed and been internalized within South Asian communities for generations, heavily exacerbated by colonization. The skin lightening industry continues to flourish in most Asian countries and, as an Indian, I have first hand experienced this ugly truth when visiting my relatives. While I applaud the producers for not sugarcoating or minimizing some of the darker realities of South Asian culture, the show was still deeply problematic in the ways it perpetuated racism and casteism. This can be seen simply in who is being represented by the series. It's supposed to be “Indian” Matchmaking, yet the show's only characters were upper caste, wealthy Hindus. This is a harmful homogenization of Indian identity and by no means an accurate depiction. It neglects the large population of the country that does not fall into this demographic including individuals of other castes as well as Muslims and other religious groups. The show communicates to its white audience that “Indian culture” is really just that of high caste Hindus, actively erasing so many people from the Indian community, and undermining their identity. Many people are also unaware of how prevalent casteism is in India today. The caste system is essentially an exclusionary and hierarchical social structure that has existed for thousands of years, originating from a Hindu notion that people were made from different parts of the body of the God of creation, Brahma. People are ranked based on their ritual status, purity, and occupation. Caste, much like one’s racial identity, is something you are born into. It is inescapable, impacting all aspects of one's life, including marriage. In the show, being of a higher caste was included in the qualifications of virtually every client, although they used polite phrases such as “similar backgrounds” and “shared communities” to code for this preference. In doing so, they subtly minimize and normalize the hierarchical oppression that so many Indians continue to face today. Caste-based oppression in India is still an active agent of discrimination, inflicting violence on many Indian communities. Dalit, or “untouchable” communities that fall outside of the 4 castes, especially women, continue to face harmful prejudice from killings, to domestic abuse, to being unprotected from workplace intolerance both inside and outside of India. The very concept of arranged marriage this system is rooted in, function to uphold socio-economic hierarchies and maintain “pure” bloodlines. Understanding this cruel structure and how it operates has forced me to interrogate my own privilege as an Indian American from a family of upper-caste Hindus and critically examine the slivers of South Asian media that integrate into Western popular culture. How are the mirrors I’m starting to see of myself and my own identity in American culture hurtful and discriminatory towards so many others? Indian Matchmaking, Never Have I Ever, and other TV series with similar representation are becoming increasingly popular here in the U.S., yet the socio-political climate in India continues to violate the basic human rights of many Indians that don’t receive representation. Just recently, the government passed the Citizen Amendment Act in 2019 which has been declared unconstitutional by many for its discrimination against Muslim communities, denying them the same rights to citizenship granted to other religious groups. By neglecting to represent marginalized groups in India, these shows are complicit in upholding casteism and Hindu nationalism. The juxtaposition we see between Netflix and current events call into question how truly “representative” TV shows like these really are. - Siona

When Chang Qing was a young girl, her grandmother told her a story about a frog that lived at the bottom of a deep, deep well. The little frog had never stepped foot outside the well’s damp, slimy walls—and why would it? The well was safe and warm and comfortable, and there was never a shortage of water and tasty insects. The world was merely a coin-sized piece of sky above the frog’s head. Why would the frog want to leave its home, when it was already content with everything it had? “I don’t get it, Amah,” Qing complained. “Why are you telling me this story?” “Aiya, why don’t you understand?” huffed Qing’s grandmother. “This is where the old proverb comes from: jing di zhi wa. Frog in the well. It means someone is complacent, narrow-minded, unable to see the rest of the world. You would do well to learn a lesson from this!” “But I’m not a frog!” The elderly woman peered at Qing through dark, beady eyes. She considered herself wise in her old age, and to her the little girl was no different from the little frog. Sometimes, she found herself worrying over Qing. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the Chang family; in fact, it was quite the opposite. Qing’s parents were such good people, so great in all aspects, that Amah feared the child would let all that glory go to her head. That she would never care to explore the world beyond the well. No, Qing would grow up kind and courageous, just like her parents! Amah would make sure of that. She couldn’t help her grandchildren with their homework, since she’d never learned to read, but she was determined to pass on all the knowledge and strength she’d acquired over the years. A respectable girl must always be humble, even if she was the daughter of an emperor. While Qing’s father wasn’t an emperor, she still had much to brag about as a child. Compared to many other children in China, and even in her own school, Qing was extremely well-off. There was always food in her stomach, clean clothes upon her back, and a roof over her head. In fact, Qing often felt that she had been born to the wealthiest household in the community. Qing rarely saw her parents, who were constantly occupied by their jobs. But whenever her father could spare time from his demanding work, he would always visit her. When he spoke, it was evident from his manners and speech that he was a cultured, educated man. If Qing closed her eyes, she could almost imagine her father wasn’t wearing a Mao suit, but an emperor’s magnificent golden robes. Qing was in elementary school, and like most children her age, she wanted to feel proud about something. Often, she heard her classmates brag about their fathers, regardless of whether they were true or not, and wished for a tale of her own. “My father is a driver,” began one boy, projecting his voice so that everybody could hear him. “He’s driven to the moon and met the goddess Chang’e. He’s even brought back mooncake for me to eat.” “No wonder you’re so fat!” a girl scoffed. “My papa’s a factory foreman. The machines he’s operated are the best in the world!” “My dad’s a healer!” shouted another. “He can bring dead people back to life!” “Mine’s a social worker!” someone else chimed in. “He can speak a hundred different dialects, and he even gets to meet foreigners!” As soon as she arrived home that day, Qing asked her grandmother what job her father had. “Aiya!” Amah, who had been picking bean sprouts, set down the basket and squinted at the young girl. “Why do you care so much?” Qing bounced up and down in excitement. “All my friends at school have amazing fathers, so mine must be amazing too!” Amah frowned. “Are you not proud of your father already? Are you ashamed to be a Chang?” “No, I just want to know—” “Ungrateful!” Amah snapped. Immediately, Qing scampered to the farthest wall of the small, stuffy kitchen, but once she was at a safe distance from her grandmother, she turned around again. “Is Father a doctor?” she asked. “No.” “Is he a lawyer?” “No.” “A soldier?” “No!” “What is he, then?” Qing demanded. “You don’t need to know.” “Yes, I do!” “Your father is an army cook!” Amah grumbled. “Now shoo!” As Qing left her grandmother, she lamented on the less-than-stellar news she had just learned. Her father, a cook! What a mundane, unromantic profession! While her friends’ fathers were busy sailing the skies, creating mechanical phenomenons, saving lives, or conversing with exotic foreigners, her father chopped cabbages and stewed meat everyday! If Qing had nothing to distract her, she would have sulked for weeks about her father’s undesirable job, like so many little ones do when faced with such a disappointment. However, just days after the dismaying discovery, the principal of Qing’s school announced that a special guest would come to the school to give a lecture about career options, and everyone was expected to pay the greatest amount of respect to him. The children buzzed with excitement. Even the teachers and staff members raised their eyebrows in grudging admiration. This guest was more than just special… he was a captain from the Chinese navy! Due to this guest speaker’s impressive reputation, everyone—child and adult alike—collectively held their breaths as they crowded into the auditorium on the day of the long-awaited presentation. For weeks, the tiny auditorium had been vigorously scrubbed for the event until it was nearly spotless, and now it was adorned with colorful streamers and paper Chinese flags. The students squirmed as the teachers, harshly rebuking any noisemakers, seated them into endless rows of wooden chairs. Already, rumors had begun to spread amongst the children—rumors that were even taller than the tales they spun for their own fathers. This “special guest” was a deity sent from the heavens by the Jade Emperor himself, and he had iron fists that could vanquish any monster. It was him, not Erlang Shen, who had defeated the legendary Monkey King. He had saved the lives of one million people and had defeated one million monsters. The captain was a perfect human being—the strongest and greatest man in the whole world, yet the kindest and most humble as well. At long last, the whispers in the auditorium died out. All heads swiveled to the door as a tall, straight-backed figure stepped in. The crowd parted to make way for the figure as it went to the front. True to his reputation, the man had a majestic aura about him. He donned the crisp, white uniform that only a navy captain was allowed to wear. A jaunty cap sat atop his head. Flashy buttons gleamed on the sleeves, and numerous, colorful badges were pinned on the lapels. A golden star shone upon each broad shoulder, brighter than the sun. As soon as Qing saw the man’s face, she jumped to her feet, eyes wide with surprise. “Baba! Baba!” she cried, oblivious to her schoolmates’ stares and her teachers’ frantic hushing motions. “What are you doing here?” Qing’s father smiled at her and cleared his throat, preparing to begin the speech. Obediently, Qing fell silent, but she couldn’t stop a delighted grin from spreading across her face. She was truly a special girl. As many children know, there is a second part to the story of the frog in the well. One day, an ancient sea turtle paid the frog a visit, and the frog seized the opportunity to boast of the well’s paradisiacal luxuries. What in the world could possibly be better than the well’s cool water, juicy flies, and humid shade? Thinking of the ocean’s rolling waves and raging storms and the shore’s rocky cliffs and sandy beaches, the turtle laughed. What did the little frog know of the world outside the well? Chang Qing, my mother, used to be a “frog.” She was a frog when she was a starry-eyed schoolgirl, dreaming about her future. She was a frog when she was a studious college student, poring over books day and night. She was a frog when she and my father came to the United States in the nineties with nothing but two suitcases and the clothes on their backs, ready to explore the world outside the well. Though I have always regarded my mother as a “turtle,” wise and and infinitely more experienced than a “frog” like myself, no doubt she still looks to venture farther beyond the well. As do I. For as comfortable as my well is (and I do have quite a nice well, thanks to all my parents’ efforts), I will not grow complacent. Someday, I will climb up the walls of my comfort zone and explore the rest of the world—unlike the frog in the well.

Dear Asian Youth, The current United States prison labor system should not have a place in contemporary society. Prisoners are exploited for labor, forced to pay high fees, and in turn, are paid next to nothing. These individuals are forced to work a variety of tasks including jobs in both state-owned and private businesses. Common examples include answering customer service calls, farm work, and manufacturing goods. A non-profit organization called the Prison Policy Initiative reports that on average, prisoners with jobs in state-owned businesses are paid an hourly wage of $1.41. Furthermore, a vast majority of incarcerated people also work regular prison jobs where they cook food, wash laundry, and perform janitorial duties for a shockingly low hourly wage of $0.63. Due to the fact that prisoners are not protected by the Fair Labor Standards Act, this average “wage” is only 8.70% of the $7.25 federal minimum wage. Not to mention that because this wage varies from state to state, some are paid much lower than $0.63 per hour. Even worse, prisoners in the states Georgia, Arkansas, Alabama, and South Carolina are not paid a single cent for their work. This lack of monetary compensation means that prison labor can be categorized as a form of slavery. The Thirteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution clearly states that “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” Furthermore, this exception allows prisons to subject detainees to forced labor by permitting prison owners to punish any refusal to work. The Guardian discusses how private prisons in particular threaten their detainees with solitary confinement. A famous example from 2018 took place when an immigrant at a detention center in Georgia named Shoaib Ahmed was caught encouraging fellow workers to stop working because he was upset that his $20.00 paycheck, earned from 40 hours of work, was delayed. Ahmed's punishment for his refusal to work was ten days in solitary confinement, which he reported greatly affected his mental health. This is unsurprising as solitary confinement is widely regarded as a form of torture that both causes and worsens mental illnesses. Social psychologists Dr. Craig Haney from Harvard proved the damaging effects of solitary confinement when he tested 14 people who were subjected to this form of discipline and found recurring symptoms such as hypersensitivity, hallucinations, anxiety, panic attacks, paranoia, lack of impulse control, and difficulty thinking. Further, he went on to interview detainees at the Pelican Bay State Prison who endured 10 to 28 years of solitary confinement, and reported that 63% of these men felt on the verge of an “impending breakdown.” For comparison, only 4% of individuals in maximum-security prisons reported similar feelings of distress. Threatening prisoners with this form of torture for refusing to work is, by definition, forced labor. These damaging work conditions are authorized because prisoners are excluded from the U.S. Occupational Health and Safety Administration protections that require employers to create safe working environments for their workers. Corecivic, the corporation that detained Shoaib Ahmed, is the largest prison corporation in the United States. It is constantly in the public eye and has repeatedly met accusations and lawsuits criticizing the corporation for unethical practices. However, laws protect Corecivic and therefore, enable the corporation to get away with deplorable actions. Forced labor for low wages is an important issue because contrary to popular belief, in 49 states, prisoners are expected to pay for their sentence. There are three different pay-to-stay programs that prisons use to charge their detainees. The first is the “per-diem” program that charges prisoners a fee per day. The second type of fee charges inmates for additional supplies such as toilet paper, feminine hygiene products, medical co-pays, dental services, meals, and clothing. Finally, the least common fee is an optional fee for those who can afford a more accommodating facility. These fees do not even include the court costs, victim-witness assessments, and child support that many inmates need to pay. Considering that prisoners make an average of $0.63 hourly, most are unable to afford these fees. Subsequently, inmates require outside help from their family and friends to support themselves. However, large corporations have realized the demand for a connection between inmates and the outside world, and have chosen to profit from these necessities as well. One of the biggest companies to capitalize on this demand is JPay. In 2018, JPay and the New York Department of Corrections agreed on a contract that would give free tablets to over 52,000 incarcerated individuals. Initially, this deal sounds incredibly generous, but in reality, it uses underhanded tricks to allow JPay to make higher profit margins. The contract states that JPay will collect fees up to 45% for depositing money, require $0.35 “stamps” to send and receive emails, offer video chats at $9 for every 30 minutes, and charge above-market prices for media. Companies such as JPay are why the United State’s prison phone industry is worth $1.2 billion. All of these expenses paired with unreasonably low wages allow for our nation’s ex-offenders to be $50 billion in debt. Despite various pushes for prisoners to make a liveable wage, many have difficulty sympathizing with these prisoners. This hostility can often be attributed to the fact that according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, the United States spends over $80 billion per year to run prisons. Many Americans reason that instead of placing this huge financial burden on taxpayers, prisoners should work to front this cost. However, as aforementioned, these wages are unreasonable compared to expenses they have to pay for basic supplies and communication. Instead of saving money by making prison conditions unlivable, taxpayers should instead focus on lowering this expense by lowering the obscene number of prisoners in the American prison system. Despite making up only 4% of the world's population, about 25% of the world’s incarcerated individuals are in the United States. Furthermore, the US has the highest rate of incarceration in the world and this rate has increased 500% over the last forty years. A primary reason for the sheer number of people in our prison system is our country’s high recidivism rates. Recidivism refers to the rate of convicted individuals reoffending. The United States Sentencing Commission found that 63.8% of violent offenders recidivated while 39.8% of non-violent offenders recidivated. The reason people keep going back to prison is that after committing one offense, these individuals can no longer fit back or assimilate into society. In many states, ex-offenders are not eligible for welfare, public housing, food stamps, and loans. Prisoners who have spent time in jail have already been punished for their crimes and when they are released, they need to be integrated back into our society to avoid high recidivism rates. The United States should instead observe countries such as Norway, which has a shockingly low recidivism rate of 20%. A large part of this success can be attributed to Norway’s focus on rehabilitation as opposed to punishment. All prisons in Norway offer education, drug treatment, mental health support, and training programs. After release, prisoners are offered social and economic support in terms of finding jobs, housing, and insurance. This kind of support is not prioritized in the United States, which is why according to the Prison Policy Initiative, former prisoners are unemployed at a rate of over 27%. For reference, this is higher than the US unemployment rate of 25% during the Great Depression. Without a job, home, or food, many ex-offenders end up back in prison, contributing to the issue of mass incarceration. As the number of prisoners increases so does the expenses. So, instead of using prisoners for cheap labor, our country should be prioritizing the reintegration of ex-offenders into society, so that we can shift the focus to creating a society with an ethical prison system. Once our incarceration rates are under control, funding prisons will become a substantially smaller taxpayer burden. This is a much more realistic and just goal than forcing more prisoners into debt by lowering wages for prison labor. The issue with this vision is that corporate America has little incentive to stop mass incarceration. While taxpayers and prisoners are fronting the cost of mass incarceration, the prison industry profits off prisoners. As aforementioned, third party companies such as JPay charge prisoners for means of communications, so these companies benefit financially from mass incarceration. However, so do the private prisons that house these offenders. These prisons receive a stipend from the government to run their prisons, then charge detainees more than they receive from the government in order to make a profit. Furthermore, two out of three private prisons even sneak lock up quotas into their contracts so that they have to be at a certain level of prison occupancy in order to avoid wasting taxpayer money. This encourages states to sentence more prisoners because they must reach a certain occupancy rate to avoid fines. Therefore, while the largest prison corporations created a combined revenue of $3.5 billion as of 2015, the increase in prisoners costs everybody else. All in all, whether or not prisoners deserve a liveable wage is not a taxpayer vs prisoner issue but is a people vs corporate America issue. Prisoners undeniably deserve to make enough money to support themselves. Taxpayers should not be blaming these human beings for such high tax rates; they should be blaming the companies that profit from mass incarceration. This is evidently not an easy policy change, but a better understanding of the issue at hand will help Americans make more informed choices when we cast our ballots in the future. In the meantime, there are still smaller actions we can take to boycott prison labor. One important step is that we need to stop incentivizing cheap labor and this starts with refusing to support companies that exploit and profit from prison labor. The Malta Justice Initiative has listed 12 major corporations such as Starbucks, McDonalds’, and Walmart that use prison labor for their benefit. While these companies are powerful, they are not unbeatable. For example, when Whole Foods came under fire for exploiting prison labor, the company was quick to issue a change that no goods made with prison labor would be sold in their stores. Due to this powerful social change, other corporations can follow in suit. Furthermore, donations can be made to nonprofit organizations such as the Prison Policy Initiative that are committed to researching and educating others on the consequences of mass incarceration. The United States tends to give up on our prisoners, but these people are still an integral part of our society. Prisoners deserve to be paid a liveable wage and treated as human beings, not pawns in a capitalist economy. - Lora

Dear Asian Youth, I was born and raised in America Taught the language, taught the laws I was raised to believe in the ideals of this nation. Liberty, and justice for all. I was taught the history and the stories Columbus, our founding fathers, and all We fought against dictatorships and tyranny And made the world a better place Our nation was the gleaming light for a better world-- a better life. We welcomed immigrants at our shore, gave them jobs, and helped the poor. We built grand monuments of men like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, But somewhere along the line, what I believed to be true was full of lies. The American veil was pulled away from my eyes. We said “we have kids in cages,” but our government turned a blind eye. We said, “Black lives matter” while the police continued to terrorize. We said, “wear a mask” but that was politicized. We reckon with a nation that was built on lies. Freedom for the rich, Liberty for the white, The pursuit of happiness, only if you’re a man with a wife “Form a more perfect union” but our society divides. I question which America to believe: the one that brought my ancestors, or the one I see? My family, who came for better opportunities, the American Dream A better life, a job, and a chance to do more than just make ends meet. Peasants in the motherland, they fled poverty. America welcomed them, but not without hesitancy. My great grandfather who sat in Angel Island, locked up for weeks, My grandfather who came alone to provide for his family, Who gave up so much for the future I seek. To get an education, and pursue my dreams, I can’t ignore the privilege I have to live in this country. Yet that privilege I have is a sign that things aren't the way they should be That by birth, my life was made easier than those around me. By being straight, by being male, I have been given a pass For being “normal” while others remain oppressed The beauty of our nation isn’t found in our past. It’s the past that we must reckon with to achieve change at last The foundations we were built upon, weren’t all that great When hidden between the lines, was a message to discriminate. The eradicated history of the Blacks and Indigenous, The suffering of thousands, written into our name. America was never a place that was great. It's a place of hope and in that, Change. - Chris Fong Chew

“Because you’re Chinese. You don’t know anything; you probably don’t even know what the word love means.” That’s the reason my best friend in kindergarten gave for replacing me with another girl, one who looked just like her: shiny blonde hair, large blue eyes, and fair skin. I would like to say that I had the confidence not to believe her. I would like to say that I shot back a clever retort and enlightened them on societal issues none of us understood. I would like to say that I didn’t cry myself to sleep that night. But I wasn’t strong enough then. Not yet. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I would spend years and years searching for that elusive strength, trying to reassure myself that I was just as good as them. That I was just as smart and pretty. That I was worthy. In elementary school, the other children mocked my surname. They asked me if I ate dogs back in China. They sneered at the lunch my mother carefully packed me everyday until I made her replace my rice and dumplings with something more “American.” But when I proudly sat down to eat my PBJ sandwich, they snatched my pink Barbie lunchbox and kicked it down the gutter. I wasn’t from China; I was from Austin, Texas. So although I could understand English perfectly, I couldn’t understand what they meant when they pulled their eyes up and pretended to speak broken English. But it would be wrong to say that I didn’t have a happy childhood. For in spite of every bad thing that happened to me as a child, my family more than made up for it. As soon as the school bell rang, I would find Mom waiting outside with a smile. She would always greet me by asking about my day, and in the hotter months she would even bring a capri sun or juice box for me. Dad always drove me to school, and when he realized the math we did in school wasn’t challenging enough, he found me practice problems from China and Singapore. And when it came to violin, both my parents went far above and beyond. My first violin was sixteenth-sized and factory-made. I wanted to run around and play outside like my peers did, but Mom made me practice twenty minutes a day. Later, she had me practice thirty minutes, then forty-five, then an hour. Eventually, she didn’t need to say anything anymore, except to remind me to take a break every few hours and let my sore fingers rest. And as my practice time and I both grew, my parents bought me more violins, each one larger than the last: eighth, quarter, half, three-quarters. When I was in middle school, Dad lost his job. So many other parents might have dissolved into bickering, blaming, or bitterness. So many other parents might have neglected, or even abused, their children. So many other parents might have lost everything and been thrown out of their house, driven to beg on the streets. But not my parents. Day and night, Dad toiled tirelessly, trying to find work, while Mom drove around selling thousands of beautiful cell phone cases, even while she was ill and pregnant with my baby sister—all so they could continue paying for my violin lessons. Sometimes, they barely slept or ate, yet even before Dad finally landed a new job, my parents bought me a new violin. Full-sized. In high school, other students no longer called me ethnic slurs or robbed me of my lunch. Instead, they said that I was smart, talented, and privileged. That I was another one of those “smart Asian kids.” On every test score that I topped the class in, they said: “You’re Asian. Of course you should.” On every test score that I didn’t: “But you’re Asian! Why couldn’t you?” That’s why I studied so much. That’s why I worked so hard. That’s why I allowed and even encouraged a mountain of pressure to grow upon my back. It was almost like I had to hold up the world as a punishment—but for what, I didn’t know. I just had to be better than them. Everyone saw me as inferior, so I had to be superior in all regards in order to be seen as their equal. But everyday, I played my worries away. Music melted away my façade as a “smart Asian kid,” and I became an artist, a storyteller, a free spirit. I took comfort in the deep, rich sound of my violin. In the rich melodies that emitted from the vibrating strings, the polished wood, the flying bow. In my hardened fingertips as they ran back and forth across the fingerboard, in the soreness of my arms as I perfected a piece over the course of several hours, in the music that sang not from the violin, but from my heart. And mostly, in my family, to whom I am forever indebted. When I stand on stage, violin and bow in hand, I’m not afraid like I used to be. Instead, I tilt my chin up with pride. My mom and dad and younger sister are somewhere in the audience, and I know they’ll be there to catch me if I fall. I know I’ll be strong enough to get up again. So here is finally a response to what I was told all those years ago, by someone who didn’t know any better at the time. You probably don’t even know what the word love means. You’re wrong. I do. I know what love means, thanks to all that my family has done for me. I know what love means, thanks to everything we’ve gone through. I know what love means, thanks to my passion for violin—for the love of music. I do know what love means.

Dear Asian Youth, I used to stay up late watching mukbangs to satisfy my midnight cravings. As I watched YouTubers engulf enormous plates of tteokbokki, fried chicken, and cheesy corn dogs in one sitting, my snacking desires subsided. What is Mukbang? Mukbang, which translates to “eating room,” are popular videos that feature individuals eating copious amounts of food. Mukbangs originate from South Korea; Muk-ja means eating and bang means show. For some, mukbang videos elevate hunger and cravings. Others find that there is something incredibly satisfying about the crunch and the gooey textures that seem to melt in their own mouths. And for those eating a meal by themselves, watching mukbangers can make their dining experience livelier. Gillespie conducted a study where 36 mukbang videos by nine female creators from the USA, Canada, and South Korea were analyzed to understand the impacts that mukbang videos have on body image. According to Gillespie, viewers enjoyed watching mukbang videos due to society’s disapproval when women eat large amounts of food. Nearly 80% of teenage girls are discontent with their bodies whereas 91% of women are unhappy with their bodies and turn to dieting. Watching skinny mukbangers eat copious amounts of fast food satisfies viewers because they want to eat unhealthy foods but cannot bring themselves to do so due to a want to become fit and feed into diet culture. In this way, the mukbanger is accomplishing what audiences wish to accomplish themselves, thus many feel fulfilled in watching someone complete such an extreme task. Though “mukbangers” make money from gorging, rituals of excessive intake of food eventually take a toll on their health. Mukbangers can consume up to 3,000 calories in one sitting, leaving obesity as a threat. Dr. Bates, the assistant professor of surgery in the Renaissance School of Medicine at Stony Brook University, claims that even mukbangers who retain their weight may struggle to maintain their blood sugar levels. As these creators are constantly in a “fast or feast” mode, it can be difficult for their bodies to adjust to such erratic eating patterns. Mukbanger Nikocado Avocado stated that he “puts his body through hell for most videos” and that he saw an 80-pound weight gain after starting his mukbang journey. Because mukabangers indulge in massive amounts of food in short time frames, binge eating habits may develop, furthering health complications and putting them at risk for diabetes, high blood pressure, obesity, and heart disease. Controversies Mukbang videos have become an increasingly popular way of earning money on YouTube. This fame does not come without controversy. Mukbangers have been accused of faking their mukbangs and utilizing their large platforms for profits without true efforts. Some mukbangers appear thin despite eating generous portions in front of their audience and have thus been suspected of editing their videos and cutting out footage of swallowing food. Meesh La, a popular mukbanger, was accused of not eating in her videos as footage of her swallowing foods rarely appeared. Additionally, in one of Nikocado Avocado’s videos, he supposedly finishes 10 packs of nuclear fire noodles in the span of just 14 minutes, a scary “accomplishment.” Soon after, fans began to speculate whether Nikocado actually ate the noodles due to footage of him swallowing the food in his mukbang videos being omitted. Mukabang controversies are especially destructive for mukbangers because they make their living off of eating and being accused of not eating essentially indicates that audiences do not believe they are doing their job. Thus, it is easy for these mukbangers to become “canceled” and quit making videos altogether. Making content behind a screen can accommodate a mukbanger’s desire to conceal reality, but it is, in fact, difficult for them to regain audiences’ trust after rumors and evidence emerge. These controversies, however, do little to get in the way of audience appreciation of mukbangs. Effects of Mukbangs Even with past controversies and accusations, mukbang videos connect viewers and emphasize the importance of shared meals that are often lost to busy schedules and stressful workloads. Meals are often a time of conversation and family bonding, for other times of the day may be piled with appointments, school, work, etc. Home is also associated with having meals because one usually eats in a familiar environment with those they care for. Think of eating while watching a mukbang video as a facetime date; you eat your meal while watching your date do the same and hear them talk about their life or piping tea in the media. You get to know them better and just having some company can easily subdue loneliness and anguish. So next time you’re feeling you feel lonely or tired, try grabbing some snacks and eating with a mukbanger! - Josie

I. potatoes hungry bonfires gaping dragon maws and red hot eyes he slashes the earth, plays cat and mouse chasing that final drop of sweat his body is shaped by cicada years and freshly caught crabs and the lack of chocolate a taste he still does not enjoy school comes first but soccer follows and when he plays he can almost kick the bridge of the moon and take the ropes of moonlight and bask in the celestial glory knowing that he is a certified future and when the game ends, his hungry mind returns to ember-fueled studies piping-hot he burns the fields down he consumes the sun to work another day II. trains he goes to a place untouched by his brothers and sisters separated only by a few hundred miles and the disappearance of fresh morning dew he learns the taste of mapo tofu spicy is new but so are the days of closed doors in the library and open gates in the city he becomes a new man, meets mama and is wed in three months plows through university research in Hawai’i and purple sweet potatoes are good but not enough he takes the train back to his family gets a seat when he’s lucky stands on his own shoulders when he’s not III. silver rings he told me that we come from royalty kings and generals from two wing-spans ago once, under siege, he said the general fattened up the bulls with the last of the city’s food which, shaped like the enemy, trained the bulls well and then the general attached knives and sent them out he told me that we come from clever thinking and when the red floods came they buried our family’s heritage in the safe hands of their original owners moon pearls, night calligraphy, and silver rings and when the red locusts came moon pearls became money and calligraphy became warmth and silver rings became life he taught me that my name is the legacy of long lost jewelry IV. the german physics professor Utahan mountains replace Taishan he is alone, I am in the pomegranate and one-child-policy void of nothing mama and gege are in infancy stuck in the whirlpool of fluent in Chinese, but thinking of Salt Lake City he cooks for himself now pork meatballs and cabbage, when he can dreams of white-picket fences, when he can’t beer flows from the stores, but even that is deceiving and bittersweet oh, root beer. he learns nothing in class, is a PhD student but can’t make out the endless lines of sauerkraut and bratwurst and advanced physics in the heart of arches and canyons in the land of Seinfield he learns everything, alone V. he loves our cat just as much as I do he is stubborn, refuses to admit what we all know eats too much of mama’s bread and pretends to offer it to us but we let him because it’s good to see him smile and because we know he would give his favorite bread to us if we asked and when we finally adopt Ivy he tells me of his favorite childhood kitten who fought off the Rat King and I make a secret promise to become even better than that and when he thinks nobody is watching I’ve seen him coddle Ivy like the rest of us thank you dad I love you

Dear Asian Youth, Have you ever been to Hawai’i? Guam? How about American Samoa? Maybe you haven’t traveled to the Pacific, but chances are you’ve tried the most popular foods from these regions. What do you think of when you think of Pacific Island foods? Probably SPAM, Loco Moco, or maybe you think of the Hawai’ian plate lunch that often consists of various BBQ meats from different Asian cultures, rice, and potato mac salad. We enjoy these foods (because yes, they are delicious), but have you ever stopped to wonder where these dishes came from? What was their origin? By questioning the history of the foods we love, we have the opportunity to gain a deeper appreciation of the beautiful cultures from which they originate. However, in learning these histories, it is also important to be conscious of the oppressive forces that contribute to these foods and determine the lifestyles and health outcomes of so many people. To understand the history behind many of these foods, it is important to understand the greater global history that has long affected the Pacific Islands. While many of us from the mainland US think of these places as a tropical paradise or vacation destination, these islands have a much more extensive and problematic history than many of us realize. Hawai’i is a prime example: “the 50th US state”. Did you know that Hawai’i was illegally annexed into the United States? Yes, you read that right, the Hawaiian Kingdom was unlawfully invaded by United States marines on January 16, 1893, which led to an illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian government the following day. Similarly, you might have heard of an island called Guam, a US territory well-known on the mainland for the US military base it houses. Guam was annexed as a military strategy due to its proximity to Asia. And so, like Hawai’i, Guam also entered the hands of the US through histories of militarism and imperialism; as did American Samoa and the Northern Mariana Islands. These islands all have so much to offer as they are each so uniquely beautiful and rich in culture. However, this was not the reason the US chose to acquire them. The US stole these islands, so that they could have control over the land for their own military agenda; in doing so, they have oppressed the islands’ peoples and tried to strip them of their cultures over the course of generations. Allow me to elaborate. When these islands were colonized, the Indigenous people were encouraged to adopt western culture, giving up their traditional forms of healing, art, music, and more. While many Indigenous folks have worked hard to preserve their cultures, they still live under a colonial power that does not include them in its systems. When an entire race of people is encouraged to abandon their traditional lifestyle, it becomes difficult to keep the culture alive and well through generations. On top of that, the US continues to take advantage of these islands, trying to steal what little they have left. A prime example is what happened just last year, when the US tried to build a giant telescope at a sacred mountain called Mauna Kea. Fortunately, in this case, the protests were successful, and the US decided not to build the telescope; but this is yet another example of the US prioritizing their own scientific and military domination at the expense of Indigenous people. However, Mauna Kea is also an excellent example of the resilience and resistance of Pacific Islanders. To this day, Pacific Islanders are still fighting for sovereignty and independence as the US continues to exploit their islands’ resources and erase their cultures. You might ask, what does this have to do with food? Well, as we can all agree, food is such an important aspect of culture. If you have read my previous articles, you know that we have extensively explored the ways in which cultural foods are an expression of love, a tool of communication, and a tie back to our roots. So, what do you think happens when these foods are actively erased by an oppressive power? I first heard the term “Food Apartheid” when I was on a UCLA Summer Travel Study Program in Guam with Dr. Keith Camacho, who defines food apartheid as, “the systematic support for cheap processed foods over locally produced foods.” For Oceania, this is a unique situation. Because of their climates and geographies, islands like Guam or Hawai’i cultivate very different types of produce than the mainland, but since they are controlled by the US government, they are held to the same food guidelines as the rest of the US. In 1962, the US came up with The Needy Family Food Program, which focused on providing food to poor communities in the US. While this program was introduced with inner city, low-income communities in mind, it also included Pacific Islands, as the island communities were considered poor in comparison to the wealth on the mainland. However, programs like these have historically ignored the best interest of the people they are supposedly “helping” by providing food that is simply surplus or food waste and labeling it as “food aid.” The food they sent to the islands was often rice and canned meats overloaded with fat and sodium. What’s even worse is that these programs measured their success not by the health outcome of the participants but rather by the number of people who engaged in the programs. As a result, food aid programs like The Needy Family Food Program were considered to be extremely successful. In reality however, they devalued the natural foods on the islands in favor of canned meats that catalyzed major health problems within these island communities that still persist today. In addition to the damage these programs have done to health and wellness in Oceania, the entire rhetoric around food in the US is not inclusive of Pacific Island cultures and does not consider their differences in resources. Dr. Keith Camacho notes that “nothing on the USDA food pyramid is locally available on islands even though nutritional local foods do exist on the island.” This has impacted Indigenous families by assuming they needed guidance in determining their diets and creating a guideline for them that is unrealistic given their natural environment. What are you supposed to do if you are told you need to eat apples and pears to be healthy, but these foods do not grow on your island? All of these mainland foods must be imported onto the island, which drives up the cost significantly. I remember my utter shock during my first week in Guam when I saw how expensive the supermarket fruits were. The local, nutritious produce like breadfruit and coconut were systematically devalued by the USDA, leaving island families to believe that if they could not afford expensive imported food, they had little else to turn to besides inexpensive canned meats like SPAM or corned beef and excessive carbohydrates like rice. This is largely the reason why many of the most popular dishes on these islands contain so much fat and sodium and often involve canned meats. However, other aspects of US control and imperialism have contributed to this as well. SPAM, for example, became very popular during WWII as inexpensive and non-perishable foods are perfect for feeding soldiers in the military. Hawai’i at this time was a war zone and as Mark Noguchi points out, “during the war, there was this constant fear of shipments of food suddenly not making it to Hawaii anymore, so a lot of people during that time had a tendency to hoard things like Spam and toilet paper.” Sounds familiar right? SPAM is now a major staple of Hawai’ian cuisine, largely because of the US militarism that created conditions that forced islanders to adapt by making use of what was available to them. All of the island dishes we order at Hawai’ian BBQ are delicious. No one can argue with that. I love SPAM musubi just as much as the next person (probably more). However, they are also packed with way more fat, sodium, sugar, and carbs than any healthy person should be consuming on a regular basis. Pacific Islanders have not only had their land taken by oppressive western powers like the US, but their diets have been colonized as well. Nutritious local island foods have been systematically devalued for generations and replaced with inexpensive and unhealthy alternatives through “food aid” programs and military influence. Because of this, these islands face public health problems that are directly caused by western influence. On top of this, so much of Pacific Islanders’ Indigenous cultures have been lost in the process of being colonized, and this includes food. As an Asian American, how would you feel if your cultural foods never had the chance to be passed down to you and were instead replaced with canned meats and excessive portions of rice? It is through resilience that Pacific Islanders have been able to utilize foods like SPAM to create new cultural dishes like SPAM musubi, so next time you order Hawai’ian BBQ, try to remember the origins of the food you are eating; because here at DAY, we don’t fill our bellies without decolonizing our minds in the process. - Olivia