dear asian youth, tamad ka. you are lazy. wala kang magawa para sa sarili mo. you can’t do anything for yourself. nanay, tatay, when will it be enough? i thought i’ve been doing everything right. all you ask of me are respect and good grades, and that’s exactly what i’ve been giving. i’ve been working hard on my own. i’ve been trying to become independent. i thought that you would be proud. accepting. loving. but when you see that my room isn’t spick and span when you see that i’m checking my phone instead of folding my laundry why do you say such things? why is it so easy for you to criticize me judge me? disapprove of me yet every time i tell you of my achievements you say, “yun ang inaasahan ko.” that’s what i expect. i don’t understand. i no longer know what you want from me. i know what i want to do or who i want to be. i’m doing so much on my own that you can’t even see. yet i cannot provide perfection. is that why? do i have to be perfect to live up to your undecipherable standards? am i no longer your pride and joy? tamad ka. you are lazy. tears well up in my eyes when you utter these words like clouds waiting for their rain to fall the countless nights i stay up until sunrise the spotless report cards do these mean nothing to you? lazy. lazy. lazy. it loops in my mind over and over i type and delete write and erase and cover my face with my hands as a faint pitter patter is heard on the keys of my laptop. wala kang magawa para sa sarili mo. you can’t do anything for yourself. my stomach drops to my feet a bitter flame ignites within me to you i’m helpless, dependent like a parasite latching onto a host for dear life how could you say that? mom, dad, when will i be enough? -julianne Cover Photo Source: The Teenager Today

Dear Asian Youth, A new year: a time for new beginnings, hopes, and change A time for resolutions, improvements, and gains. But changing to be a better you? For what? For who? Why? How? What must ensue? After a year like this year, I question the reason: Why the new year must be the season For change, improvement, and a new fixation? Let’s scroll back a year, and take a moment to reflect, On how change itself sometimes isn't direct. We started the year on fire; climate change was to blame. As lands grew dryer and dryer, animals' homes were in flames. An election tore our nation apart: Spread a message to divide and hate; it's my side versus yours. A virus swept the world, closing down nations. Yet countries in the west decided it was better to name-call and debate. China-Virus and Kung-Flu, they said, while their people died in the thousands, While graphs showed the death toll climbing like a mountain. We saw our cities lit aflame as police pillaged, murdered, and killed, With titles like “peace officer” and “peacekeeper” written on guns and truck grills. The irony is how our society turned a blind eye, To decades of collusion and corruption, while black people died. Decades of violence, fearmongering, division, and hate, Decades of foreign meddling, endless wars, and divisive debate. Those in power squabble and fight, The poor, the sick, the needy die left and right. In a dark year, with little light, Some glimmers of hope brought us life. When thousands marched in the streets over centuries of racism and oppression, When thousands of people masked up and helped out their community members, When people came together to talk, discuss, and learn, People came to organize and discern. While a new year may be a time for a new beginning and change, So was last Tuesday and Friday in May. 2020 showed that change is rarely steady. It shocks us in most unexpected ways. While a new year may be an occasion for change, Know that you are growing, learning, and changing each day. Change begins with a start, But how we continue it everyday will affect how our world looks, In each and every way. Notes: The new year, a time for new beginnings. Out with the old, in with the new. A new year, a new me. There are countless cliches written for the new year. And yet, after a year like 2020, I find myself wary of these words. 2020 has been a hard year for many. And after such a tumultuous and incredibly challenging year for everyone, the significance and meaning of a new year have changed. - Chris Fong Chew Cover Photo Source: https://www.drseussart.com/secretandarchive/incidental-music-for-a-new-years-eve-party

Dear Asian Youth, It’s a compliment, I tell myself as I plaster on a thin smile in place of the small frown that twisted my lips moments before the sound of, “Of course you got a good grade, you’re Asian.” “Of course,” my classmate tells me, spoken as if achieving good grades is expected of me, and that should be a compliment, right? Expectations are nothing new to me, and I should feel happy, even proud, to fulfill them. Yet when the word “Asian” tumbles off his tongue, it feels like a brand; it’s hot and scorching as it sears itself onto my forehead, etching itself into the soft golds and beiges of my skin. For all that it’s supposedly a compliment or a joke, it doesn’t feel quite right. It feels wrong in a way that makes my skin itch and causes my small 13-year-old fingers to grip the smooth white paper of my test hard enough to leave creases on the previously unblemished sheet. “Duh,” I casually respond, as if my pretense at acting unbothered doesn’t dig a salt-covered palm into the burned skin of my forehead, “Asian,” no doubt still emblazoned above my narrow brows. I even laugh lightly for good measure, unknowingly leaving behind slightly larger, sharper creases into the edges of my test paper with each strained chuckle. I am not able to put my feelings into words at the time. My brain is still too naïve, too young to understand the turmoil of emotions flitting about me. I can’t understand my hesitance at accepting the joke; after all, this too is nothing new to me. Jokes about my inherent ability to excel in math or achieve straight A’s because I’m Asian are common. What is there to be hesitant about when I fit into the Asian stereotype perfectly? I get straight A’s, I like Algebra, I cut my nails on the weekends for orchestra, and I attend bi-weekly Math Olympiad meetings. As if I’m that cheap red clay we use in art class, each passing day, I continue to mold myself to fit into their standards and image of a typical Asian. I don’t like it. I don’t like it because who is my classmate to decide my potential? Who is he to tell me what is expected of me? With a shaky sigh, I glance back down at my paper. The fat red “A+” and smiley face stare back at me as if mocking the invisible word “Asian” engraved on my head. Settling into myself takes time, and throughout this process, I am forced to endure the seemingly insignificant ways that my peers taunt me with my identity. It seems that this smile will have to be a trademark of mine. There’s a thin smile stretched across my face reminiscent of the last time my classmates sought to remind me of my race. I listen to my white classmate explain to me the idea of Asian privilege—to walk into a room full of Asians and assume that they are all smart, nerdy, and successful— and what can I say? In some twisted way, it makes sense (a lie my mind hisses), and the young, insecure 13-year-old that I am merely nods, never breaking my facade of blending in. Despite this, images of late nights spent tiredly sprawled over the dinner table, ingraining numbers and numerical equations into my head, flash before my eyes. Baba is at my side explaining the theory behind some formula, an undercurrent of amusement seeping into his eyes each time he catches my poor attempts at hiding a yawn. “I don’t get it,” I tell him, bitter at my inability to fully comprehend the problem before me. I cower slightly under his huff, a mixture of impatience and exasperation bleeding into his tired countenance. “What don’t you understand,” he grits out with a mildly forced calm, and I shrink back from the displeasure lacing his words. I wonder if he thinks I’m stupid, incompetent perhaps, but when the clock ticks 11:42 pm and I’m hit with a sudden sense of understanding, he murmurs, “See, you’re smart. It only took you so long because you’re not paying enough attention.” The whispers of an “I’m sorry for being upset, it’s late, and I’m tired” are almost tangible in his words. I can’t help but bite down a pleased smile. I work hard, but through it all, Baba is always by my side, grumpy attitude or not. A moment of dissociation, and then I bring my focus back to the present just as the harsh chime of the lunch bell rings. The boy sitting to the right of me is already walking out the door, his own white privilege trailing at his heels. I carry expectations for myself, and so does Baba. He has seen what I can do, been at the forefront of each discovery I made of myself and my limits, and set his expectations for me with that knowledge in mind. I frown. Is it truly a privilege for people to assume that I am smart or an overachiever simply because of my identity? Are they not overlooking my efforts in the face of the unfounded biases that mark my race? I make my way to the door, questions, and a myriad of conflicting emotions trailing at my heels for the rest of the day. “It wouldn’t make sense for you to be bad at math. You’re Asian.” Again and again and again. Perhaps it is the lilt of their voice or the way they enunciate my identity so confidently, but it makes my skin itch and my teeth ache from the force of my tensed jaw. “You’re Asian,” and they say it so offhandedly, so casually, as if we’re discussing the sky. It’s not incorrect, per se, but there is an unbidden weight to the term “Asian” that they’ve plastered on me. (A weight that I did not ask for, but one that I must accept is inevitable.) I blink up at them, ebony eyes searching theirs, listening to the muted chatter of the class reverberate throughout the room as the dim school lights cast a yellow glow across the tanned skin of my classmates. Shifting my eyes, I flick my gaze across the faces of my classmates like a broken lamplight in the middle of the street, and as if illuminated by its short spasms of light, my thoughts are slowly unveiled. The gears in my head shift into their proper positions, and my obsidian orbs return to the bright 97% inked onto the top of my unit test. No, I think. It wouldn’t make sense for me to be bad at math after all the work I put into it. It wouldn’t make sense for me to be bad at math considering all the time, late nights, and studying I dedicate to it. I’m not good at something because I’m Asian. I’m good at it because I work for it, and it is simultaneously infuriating and insulting to have my achievements be undermined for the sake of perpetuating a racially insensitive stereotype. I can feel the subtle burn of the “Asian” on my forehead steadily fade into something warmer, softer, as I revel in the newfound clarity of my emotions. Settling into myself takes time, but I settle. No, I think, firmer, more assured in myself this time. I will no longer let their idea of Asian define me. I will define myself. I gently place my test in my backpack with a slight smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Baba will be pleased. - Feileen Li Cover photo source: https://www.npr.org/2018/10/16/657499646/what-to-know-about-affirmative-action-as-the-harvard-trial-begins

Algorithmic injustice is representative of the programmers behind 21st-century technology. This op-ed is meant to dig into the relationship between Indian-Americans in the tech field and their potential involvement in this discriminatory technology. Indian American men are foundational to the current global tech force. They hold thousands of software engineering roles at almost every major institution, yet their powerful influence on advancements in technology and potential complicity in creating injustice often go unnoticed and unchecked. Code is a reflection of the programmers who write it, and it is time we start taking a deeper look at the harms that high-caste, privileged Indian men perpetuate as the architects of our technology. From the social media filters on our phones to the satellite systems that surround our planet, technology has become a ubiquitous part of human society. Contrived by some of the most complex algorithms and mathematical equations, technology is often perceived as a feat of innovation void of human error—when in reality, it is a reflection of all the flaws that are ingrained in human society. Humans design A.I. systems and algorithms, and as a result, it is saturated with their biases. The discriminatory impacts of A.I. and algorithms have been shown and proven countless number of times, through harmful beauty artificial intelligence, criminal justice surveillance systems, discriminatory hiring and recruitment processes, and bias in healthcare tools. This technology adversely affects marginalized communities around the world in all facets of their lives. While these examples are unsettling, they should not be shocking. If someone were to look into the demographics of the major tech companies and institutions, they would see that 92 percent of all software positions are held by whites and Asians, and 80 percent are held by men. Researchers and activists have showcased that the disproportionate number of white men in the software industry is directly connected to bias in our algorithms (“Diversity in Tech by the Numbers”). The most common cause of algorithmic bias happens through deep learning. Deep learning algorithms make decisions based on trends found in large quantities of data, which reflect the racism, misogyny, and classism rampant in society. Growing up as a woman interested in technology in a community of Indian-American software engineers, I was exposed to deeply ingrained forces of misogyny, casteism, and classism from my male peers. Experiencing and seeing these behaviors present within individuals from my community brings me to question the role of 3+ million Indian software engineers might play in perpetuating algorithmic injustice. It is time we start questioning how their values and ways of thinking lead into the code and technology frameworks they are responsible for. Harvard professor Ajantha Subramanian, states in her book, “The Caste of Merit: Engineering Schools of India'' that current Indian American software engineers hold significant class and caste privileges in Indian society. She explains that those belonging to lower castes in India face structural barriers that prevent them from pursuing higher education in a similar way to how America’s long history of racism has created institutionalized barriers in education for low-income, black and brown communities. Factors such as fewer academic resources, discrimination within classrooms, a lack of proper physical and emotional support, and lack of meaningful familial engagement prevent students of lower caste backgrounds from receiving the same merit of education as higher-caste students. The educational inequality in India’s schooling systems triggers a domino effect that leads to higher ratios of upper caste individuals in elite engineering schools, further allowing them to pursue well-paying careers in technology and utilize the H1-B visa to immigrate to the United States. Equality Labs, a South Asian American human rights startup, reported that “two-thirds of members of the lowest caste, called Dalits, said they have faced workplace discrimination due to their caste. Forty-one percent have experienced discrimination in education because of it. And a quarter of Dalits say they've faced physical assault — all in the United States” (NPR). Unfortunately, it does not stop there. Indian Americans are fervent Modi loyalists, and privileged Indian Americans applaud Trump’s and Modi’s actions the way privileged White-Americans uplift Trump. What this essentially means is that when it comes to algorithmic injustice, we must hold the Indian American IT sector accountable alongside other professionals. Just because Indian Americans are not white or because they are immigrants does not mean they have not benefited from oppressive institutions. We must understand their individual relationship to various social forces such as caste, race, gender, and ethnicity and how their personal role within these systems of oppression negatively influences their point of view, ultimately leading to biased and discriminatory technology. Our next steps are twofold: to increase awareness and understanding of the problem alongside actively pushing for true diversity in STEM. As aforementioned, many researchers have examined the effects of a disproportionate amount of white men in technology and have drawn links to how their population promotes algorithmic injustice. We need more researchers and digital rights activists assessing how Indian-Americans specifically contribute to algorithmic injustice with their unique set of biases and prejudices, and how each of us might as well. Furthermore, we need to create educational and professional pathways for underrepresented minorities to secure jobs in technology to make sure our technology serves all Americans and not just the privileged. Sources Allen Smith, J.D. “AI: Discriminatory Data In, Discrimination Out.” SHRM, SHRM, 28 Feb. 2020, www.shrm.org/resourcesandtools/legal-and-compliance/employment-law/pages/artificial-intelligence-discriminatory-data.aspx. Booz Allen Hamilton. “Artificial Intelligence Bias in Healthcare.” Booz Allen Hamilton, Booz Allen Hamilton, www.boozallen.com/c/insight/blog/ai-bias-in-healthcare.html. Contributors, Et. “H1B Visa: The H-1B Saga – Much Ado about Something.” The Economic Times, Economic Times, 7 July 2020, economictimes.indiatimes.com/nri/visa-and-immigration/view-the-h-1b-saga-much-ado-about-something/articleshow/76808871.cms?from=mdr. “Diversity in Tech by the Numbers: Age, Race, & Gender.” Recruiting Innovation, 1 Dec. 2020, recruitinginnovation.com/blog/diversity-in-tech/. Julia Angwin, Jeff Larson. “Machine Bias.” ProPublica, 23 May 2016, www.propublica.org/article/machine-bias-risk-assessments-in-criminal-sentencing. Paul, Sonia. “When Caste Discrimination Comes To The United States.” NPR, NPR, 25 Apr. 2018, www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2018/04/25/605030018/when-caste-discrimination-comes-to-the-united-states. Radhakrishnan, Vignesh. “'The Caste of Merit' Review: A Disconnect between Engineering Studies and the Profession.” The Hindu, The Hindu, 20 June 2020, www.thehindu.com/books/books-reviews/the-caste-of-merit-review-a-disconnect-between-engineering-studies-and-the-profession/article31867391.ece. Report • By Emma García and Elaine Weiss • September 27. “Education Inequalities at the School Starting Gate: Gaps, Trends, and Strategies to Address Them.” Economic Policy Institute, www.epi.org/publication/education-inequalities-at-the-school-starting-gate/. Service, Tribune News. “Trump-Modi 'Friendship' Driving Indian-Americans towards US President: Survey.” Tribuneindia News Service, www.tribuneindia.com/news/diaspora/trump-modi-friendship-driving-indian-americans-towards-us-president-survey-145817. “The Disturbing Truth about AI and Beauty.” Dazed, 1 Oct. 2018, www.dazeddigital.com/beauty/head/article/41605/1/ai-beauty-face-scanning. As someone who has grown up in a community of Indian American software engineers, I have been exposed to the deep misogyny, casteism, and classism embedded within our community and its members, and recently, I’ve spent a lot of time questioning the implications of these behaviors and its effect on technology and society. Through this oped, I hope bring awareness to this unexplored intersection and further examine the relationship between this demographic and modern day technology. With Indian- American men being a large backbone of the current tech infrastructure, it is imperative that both Asian-American and tech communities acknowledge this issue and develop further research on this crucial topic. Biography: Sreya is a 17 year old activist from Atlanta, GA and is passionate about South Asian and tech advocacy. She is the founder of South Asian Students For Progressive Action, an organization for Desi-identifying youth to prioritize social and political change within their communities and aspires to do more community organizing in her future. When she’s not busy with advocacy work, Sreya loves to play with her dog, watch baking shows, and try out different types of boba. Instagram: @_sreyan Cover Photo Source: The New York Times

I’d like to think if I were to believe in a deity it would be Taiwan. It would be 95 degrees in July, the cicadas melting off of treetops. It would be the English fading on my tongue, the bright red of my fingers after burning the tips on fried mushrooms from the night market. I’d like to think if I were to believe in a deity it would be the kind of deity that loves you back. Taiwan would be the kind of deity that convinces the Auntie selling dragonfruit not to bump up her prices when she sees me. Taiwan would be the kind of deity to make me from blood that is just as pure as everyone else’s. Maybe then I’ll be able to take out the trash without coming back covered in mosquito bites — I wonder if even the bugs are taught how to spot a foreigner. When I say Taiwan is a deity, I mean Taiwan is the kind of deity that feeds me stinky tofu without flinching, without second-guessing my American Girl taste buds. Taiwan is playing on the scrap metal piles outside my uncle’s factory. Taiwan is the soles of my feet remaining unscathed like the other kids. Taiwan is my ankles exploding into boils from the heat. When I get heatstroke from eating ice cream at Sun Moon Lake, or brown rice stuck between my back teeth, that is Taiwan too. Taiwan as a deity is unforgiving. It’s the cockroaches scuttling under the tv set, and the set of instructions I memorize to guide taxi drivers to our family home. It’s my grandparent’s friends, who emerge out from behind their screen doors to watch us drag our suitcases past the iron gates. Taiwan is the girl at the Lancome counter that calls my mom dark when I am darker and tries to sell her a cushion compact in the same breath, looking at me all accusatory. Taiwan is the lady at department store pushing tone-up cream into my hands, telling me it can make my complexion brighter. (Brighter is a euphemism for lighter, so I take the jar.) American Girl needs the extra help to get rid of her California tan, so she can be pretty again. Have you ever seen a Taiwanese Girl as dark as she is? Taiwan as a deity is my grandmother telling me to remove my ring before we go to the market. She tells me it’s too flashy, and that there’s no need to show off. People talk, she says. I know. They always talk when the American Girl comes back into town. But above all, no matter how American I am, Taiwan as a deity claims me. It’s the swell of pride in my chest when I see the rainbow flags in Taipei. It’s the double takes when I hear Mandarin in the crowd. It’s the familiar smell of humidity that hits my nose when I step off the plane. And so, when it is 95 degrees in July and I am sweating, sitting at the dining table with relatives I don’t recognize, I know that is Taiwan, watching over me: The best kind of deity. As a Taiwanese-American girl, my relationship with my motherland has always been complex. Taiwan is summer break and pearl tea, but it is also verbena mosquito repellent and betel nuts. With this poem, I wanted to dig into both the good and bad memories I have associated with Taiwan, in order to put my identity into some sort of order. Biography: Jasmine Kapadia is a teen poet from the Bay Area. She has work in Malala Fund’s Assembly and Cathartic Youth Lit, among others. When not writing, she can be found blasting Beyoncé or watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. Instagram: @jazzymoons Cover Photo Source: CNN

TW: Physical Abuse, Bullying, Racial Slurs Dear Asian Youth, My father immigrated to North England when he was six years of age. He arrived with no prior experience with the English language, lived in a working class family, and was the youngest of six. His experiences growing up as a ‘minority’ in the Western hemisphere had a large impact on the person he is today, and a lot of these encounters have made their way into anecdotes that he would tell during my childhood. Although not all the stories he told were necessarily positive, they still resonate with me. I recall one story in particular that struck me due to the overt racism my father was subjected to. He was around seven when a group of Caucasian boys from his year started to hurl racial insults at him daily. One day, however, the boys became physically aggressive, and my outnumbered father had no choice but to defend himself. The teachers eventually split them up, and they were taken to the headmaster’s office. My father and the boys involved were asked to explain the events that led to the fight. Unable to do so due to his limited English abilities, my father was suspended. Despite being an academically competent man, the headmaster had somehow concluded that the singular, scrawny (at the time), person of colour who was also according to my father himself was “the butt of the jokes”, was completely responsible for the brawl against three, larger-sized, Caucasian boys. When my father reflects back on this experience, there is always one point in particular that he highlights: the headmaster knew that my father was being bullied, yet he chose to turn a blind eye and support the racist antics of the boys bullying him. A man in charge of an educational institute, a place of learning and general betterment taught those boys that what they were doing was right and that their racism was justified. To this day, it is an experience that my father remembers with resentment--it is a reminder of how although societal attitudes have improved dramatically in terms of racism, there was a time when racism was normalised. This story falls under the subject of sinophobia (hatred or fear of China, its people, its diaspora, or its culture) and institutionalised racism, and taught me that my racial experiences pale in comparison to my father’s due to the era in which I live in. Campbell reports amidst the outbreak of Covid-19 that “Britain’s 390,000-strong Chinese community have noticed a markedly racist response to the global health crisis”, highlighting the underlying prejudice that still exists amongst us. Although it may not be acceptable to be openly racist nowadays, what people believe internally is always adjacent--ready to be locked and loaded for when an issue arises. This behaviour is normalised through stereotypes and microaggressions which are further perpetuated by academic institutions. Some of this normalisation is due to a common institutional attitude that liberal academics are “over race”, an attitude which implies that racism is such an archaic belief, that it no longer exists at all. Professor of Sociology at Duke University Eduardo Bonilla Silva describes this as ‘colourblind racism’. Sian adds to this, writing that “the liberal, post-racial culture of denial… has meant the daily realities of racism experienced by non-white academics are obscured, as white faculty members are unable to conceive themselves as perpetrators of racism”. Only through holding those who display microaggressions accountable will we be able to denormalise these attitudes in institutions. Educating those unaware of their wrongdoings can be a positive experience when we educate in a respectful and non-patronising way with clear and concise reasoning. If you are a white academic, the best way to combat your own underlying prejudice is by educating yourself further on your own subconscious behaviour surrounding your colleagues of colour. This does not mean being so “mindful” that you treat them differently though. Adopting self-awareness is powerful and can affect those around you positively when you put it to use. This is what true education is. - Cathay Lau Sources: https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/feb/09/chinese-in-uk-report-shocking-levels-of-racism-after-coronavirus-outbreak https://theconversation.com/extent-of-institutional-racism-in-british-universities-revealed-through-hidden-stories-118097 Cover Photo Source: Daily Californian

i remember green-backed tiles clacking onto our water-stained table the feeling of glossy plastic sliding under my fingers yawns stifled in the pursuit of victory i remember playing mahjong ‘til the birds stopped chirping ‘til my eyes fogged over ‘til my world become our rickety table the clatter of tiles a game of taking and giving i never learned how to read the characters correctly north, east, south, west were unfamiliar to my weary eyes my mouth stumbled over unfamiliar sounds as i called out my victories in a language that i had lost and found forgot and remembered blamed and forgiven mahjong was home that i know was my path back to my heritage was my airplane ticket to a family i rarely saw mahjong was a language that could never be replaced here’s another thing i know not a day goes by that i don’t think of rebranding myself but i can’t you see? because i am so firmly stuck in this skin of mine and when i look in the mirror i see generations of women who have been in this skin too who have tossed plastic tiles onto their tables who have feared, loved, hated, and fought to find themselves in their skin i see a legacy that can never be rebanded - Kaitlyn Fa Cover Photo Source: https://www.cbc.ca/life/culture/the-beginner-s-guide-to-the-greatest-pastimes-mahjong-1.4739808

One of the primary issues with our current political climate is the lack of communication. I often find myself prioritizing my anger and hatred over listening to other perspectives. While these emotions are justified, I also imagine that our society could be in a much better place if we thought our opinions through. To be clear, I fully support defunding the police. I believe in relocating police funding towards organizations that will take on responsibilities that the police are unqualified to handle. However, the defunding of the Seattle Police Department has been an unjust process that exemplifies issues of performative activism and the consequences of an unwillingness to listen and learn. It is crucial to address this failure when moving forwards with future plans to defund the police. Essentially, the Seattle City Council voted to cut the Police Department’s budget, without a vision on how to move forward, nor how to reallocate this money towards organizations that would lessen the burden on police officers and invest in marginalized communities. According to The Guardian, the cuts reduced the salary of Seattle’s chief of police Carmen Best along with her staff, and laid off 100 of the department’s 1,400 police officers. Carmen Best, the first African American to lead the department, chose to resign following this announcement. She lamented, “The idea of letting, after we worked so incredibly hard to make sure that our department was diverse, that reflects the community that we serve, to just turn that all on a dime and hack it off without having a plan in place to move forward, it’s highly distressful to me... It goes against my principles and my conviction and I really couldn’t do it.” Furthermore, the Seattle Police Department is now more unstaffed than ever. Even before the cuts, the department's small size was always a concern due to exponential population growth in Seattle. According to the Seattle Times, in 2019, only 1,419 officers were to serve a population of 764,000 residents. For comparison, in places such as Washington DC, the police department employed 3,809 in 2019, to serve about 705,000 residents. The police to resident ratio for Washington DC is three times as large as Seattle. The recent cuts have not only laid off many officers, but have also resulted in downsizing. The director of the Crime and Justice Research Center at Seattle University, Jacqueline Helfgott, argues that understaffing will require police overtime- which is both expensive and would also defeat the budget cuts in the first place. She goes on to state, “...I think the approach should be to take a step back and consider the police to be one agency among many in the community, and that all have to work together...To focus on one agency — the police — and defund that agency without anything in its place … that’s my concern.” Again, the idea was to use that funding for other organizations that would lessen the burden on police officers and invest in helping and rehabilitating individuals, instead of resorting to corporal punishment. But now, I am strongly against the fact that the Seattle Council’s mistakes are being used against the movement as a whole when it could have been a leader in defunding the police and showing other places how it is a step in the right direction. The protests in Seattle in light of the Black Lives Matter movement are inspiring, but Seattle’s Council did not take responsibility for making this vision happen. It feels like these budget cuts were made just for the sake of saying they were made, without a full outlook on how it is supposed to better its community. Although it is incredibly important to discuss federal policies and big picture visions for the future, the changes that we are searching for are in local governments and local elections. As a resident of Seattle myself, I feel disheartened by the irresponsible course of action that Seattle has taken, despite fully agreeing with the movement's intentions. The failure resulting from defunding Seattle’s Police Department shows the consequences of choosing blind hat32red over collaboration, communication, and education. I hope that over time we can resolve these issues because I believe that defunding the police is a necessary course of action. - Lora Kwon Cover Photo Source: https://www.forbes.com/sites/tommybeer/2021/01/09/seattle-police-officers-under-investigation-for-involvement-in-attacks-on-us-capitol/?sh=2e54bb4e6975

i have this distinct image of a Lowe's garden store sweet and soft greenery, buying mulch for a fleeting summer project and stacks and stack upon stacks of fertilizer piled beyond my height i remember- "blood soil" did you know? dried blood, blood meal as it is known in the botanical community, is a fantastic nitrogen amendment. in other words, it makes all greenery sweeter and softer it is a basis of flourishing a fertilizer a catalyst for growth. i remember, freshman year- we pasted stickers on the backs of our ID cards "in the event that i die from gun violence, please publicize the photo of my death" America, we are watching you. the fabled John Hughes high school movie was never brought to fruition, i don't ever expect it to be; life and liberty are intertwined like revolution and youth, and there are always things that seem bigger than your fantasies, things that are more important. i found solace in martyrs. they are the world- they are even greater than the world itself. there is blood laid upon the pavement. blood across these ancient burial grounds, there is blood in the hands of power and beneath our feet and woven into the bones of our great nation, our martyrs are saints, i convince myself meant to be venerated. honored. for to bleed is to love. to bleed is to devote fully, deeply, absolutely- our martyrs are more than people. they are godsents. their sacrifice is not in vain. the tendrils of change are fed with fertile soil. change is only enacted through the will of a soldier, blood soil is only natural. it is only innate. it is all i know, all i come from. but i am sitting here, before my television set, watching the world go by, and I wonder: what happens when a martyr becomes a martyr? do they cry out for their mother? do they sob for all that is lost, all they could be? do they pray? or beg for mercy? or go in their sleep? in peace? for no reason but senselessness? in the system meant to protect them? a woman has died at the capitol building. they say she is a martyr for white power, the saint that they should venerate, and i am sickened but i am tired and she is a woman. one in many, never the last i am so tired of martyrs. there is no choice in becoming one. how will i know if i will be next? America, we are your children. we are watching you. "the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb." if we are all of the covenant, all blood spilled is our own. the soil for our graves reaped from our own flesh, the willows weep for all we could have been, all that we are and are not and gravestones, the weeds of this long-neglected garden they are all us, twisted beyond recognition. blood is acidic it burns if you are not cautious. and oh, how my heart bleeds. i wonder if i will be loved for it. still, i finally understand. the nation that feeds itself off of martyrs- bones bent into infrastructure, blood spilled in star-crossed love desperate, hungry- will eat itself whole. Cover Photo Source: Human Parts- Medium

“SPEAK ENGLISH!” they screamed. “You’re in America, we speak English here.” Yes, English— a language that originated in Europe. The language of the Anglo Saxon, Germanic people who conquered a tiny island almost a thousand years ago. The language of the Normans, the British, and Shakespeare. English, the language of colonizers, the language of the Puritans, the Scots-Irish, and Royalists. The language that eradicated thousands of indigenous dialects and languages in the Americas. English, the official language of 58 countries, from India to Australia, Canada to Botswana. English is the language I speak, write, and understand. It is what my family speaks, and how I communicate with my friends. And yet, it is a language I loathe. However, it is not the English language itself that I have grown to dislike, but the way it has become a tool of my own oppression. What more is a language except for a bunch of sounds we create with our mouths— a bunch of lines written across a piece of paper? A language is an intangible concept that is used to describe and bring tangible things to life. There is so much beauty in the way language describes, expresses, and explains. Yet, language can also be a tool of oppression. A tool to spread hate, belittle, demean, and insult. When Europeans first arrived in the U.S. That's exactly what happened. They tore the native people from their land and forced them into missionary camps and reservations. They put their children in schools and stole from them their language, culture, and ways of life. It's what our founding fathers did when they decided that slaves would be three-fifths of a person and black men unworthy of an education. It’s what the South did when blacks were given suffrage, but had to pay poll taxes and take rigged literacy tests. Yes, I loathe the language I speak because it is the language of oppressors. The language of colonizers. The language of people who have committed unspeakable horrors to the people whose land they conquered. And when a white man or woman screams at another person to speak English they too have weaponized their own language against another person. They see a person's inability to speak English as a measure of their intelligence, of their being, and of their worth. They forget one's accent or broken English means that they are fluent in another language- that English is not their first but their second language. Yet, we scream at these people, mock them, and tell them to speak English, the language of colonizers, oppressors, and people who have committed unspeakable horrors. I only wish that in that moment I could pluck the person out of their comfortable English-speaking environment and place them in a foreign country so I could watch them struggle learning how to speak and read in another language. I wish I could take them back in time to see how their language was used as a tool of oppression, ethnic genocide, and racial cleansing. But the oppressor has already won. I speak English. I am fluent in English. English is my native language. But the beauty of language is it does not belong to anyone, just as it is used as a tool to oppress, it is my tool to empower. And from this, I exist. The language that was used to oppress generations past, is now my own. A tool to fight back. A tool to educate. A tool to preserve. For my oppressors have handed me the very weapon that they have used against my ancestors. And with it, I wield the responsibility to enlighten, empower, and educate for the better. - Chris Fong Chew Cover Photo Source: https://humanparts.medium.com/talk-spanglish-to-me-5de344d6286c?gi=sd

To recap, we’ve established that capitalism pervades history and physical space in order to exploit as much as possible. It’s even turned the sanctuary of a home into a place of unpaid labor. The cult of domesticity - the old idea that women should stay in the home to cook and raise children - is really a product of families needing to cut back on their spending as much as possible. They needed to spend their money on food and other necessities. (Plus, it was beneficial for businesses to push this narrative because they could afford to pay their workers less. Remember - businesses wanted to pay their workers just enough for their families to survive. If women were working for free in the home, businesses wouldn’t have to pay their male workers to pay their wives. It’s convoluted logic, but it kind of makes sense in an unethical, capitalist way, of course.) The role of women is solely to give birth, raise kids suitable for the workforce, and do household chores. It sounds dramatic and crude, but here we are. You can still see the impact that these “old” ideas have on our society today. Gender roles are still prevalent in much of society. Gender itself, in fact, is rooted in the idea that one sex is better suited for unpaid exploitation than another. Shaming women for having casual sex stems from the idea that women need to be focused on producing as many workers as possible. Even sexuality - or the oppression of certain sexualities - is inherently capitalist. Think about it this way - the only reason that heterosexuality is the “norm” is because society needs it to be. Heterosexuality produces workers. We need workers. Therefore, we have to alienate any sexuality that doesn’t help us out. Apart from gender, sexuality, and women’s roles, capitalism is at the root of imperialism and colonialism. Remember, we want raw materials and labor for as cheap as possible. And we also want a market to sell them to. Wow. That’s a lot. I mean, at this point, you could argue that every bad thing in the world is somehow tied to capitalism. The case against universal health care, the existence of poverty, Reddit vs Wall Street, food insecurity… you name it. You can trace it all back to… capitalism. Well - yes. Hence the title. Still, you may be unconvinced. I mean, these are bold claims. You’re probably thinking that society influenced capitalism, not the other way around. Well - honestly, that’s probably just what capitalism has led you to believe. It’s made a lot of us think that this is just the way things are. Once you realize that society as we know it actually had a relatively clear beginning - everything comes crashing down. You’re left shell-shocked in this place of blissful ignorance. One good thing, though, is that it all comes crashing down. Since capitalism is so deeply connected to everything else, you can unlearn everything you’ve ever thought you knew about everything: American imperialism, privatized prisons, racial justice, climate change - everything. Maybe, if enough of us unlearn and relearn, we can begin to make real change. Yes, by “change” I mean socialism. Next up: Socialism is Actually Pretty Cool and Everything You’ve Been Told About It is Capitalist Propaganda!

Dear Asian Youth, I have something to confess: At 11:59pm on New Year’s Eve, I’d watched fireworks go off in an oversized sweatshirt and parka.. My hair had been tied up by rubber bands underneath a shower cap. I’d worn socks with sandals, too. Excuse my fashion sense. I hadn’t texted any friends or family. I hadn’t even put on an evening dress or attended a viewing party. Taipei 101 had exploded into brilliant technicolor. Fireworks had painted the city pink, purple, and blue until buildings had resembled the insides of a nightclub. Instead, I had stood on a tiny 5F apartment balcony, closed my eyes for exactly 59 seconds to savor the glow, then opened up a laptop to study. SAT Vocab. The Spanish Future Subjunctive Tense. Gas Stoichiometry. History. Math. Music. Art. Any subject I had neglected to pay attention to in 2020 received similar treatment. An hour and forty-five minutes into my study session, I’d written this into a notebook: 2021 will be my year. 2020 was awful. In 2021, I’ll put it behind me once and for all. I’ll be a better student. I’ll self-study. I’ll even write at least once or twice a week. I’ll become a better the best, most productive version of myself possible - starting today. I’m pulling an all-nighter. I’d been a verifiable mess of a human being but determined nonetheless. Unfortunately, I’d also been tired. Two hours and forty-five minutes into my study session, I fell asleep. So much for productivity. The next morning, I woke up. I brushed my teeth. I made my bed. I opened up a Spanish workbook… then, I closed that Spanish workbook and un-made my bed (by sleeping in it). I achieved nothing. And the morning after that? Nothing again. I’ll let you figure out for yourself how January 3rd went down. If I’m being fair, I hadn’t really accomplished “nothing.” I brushed my teeth. I made my bed. I breathed. I opened up all my textbooks and flipped through them… I’d completed all my assigned homework. But why did I still feel like a failure? . I’d still been recovering from an extremely difficult 2020. I’d read somewhere that goal-setting is most effective on important dates (birthdays, the start of a month, etc), so I’d really wanted January 1st, 2021 to be a fresh start. But my brain and body hadn’t been ready. To be honest, my brain and body still aren’t ready to get back to work. And that’s okay. I’m not going to say, “Oh. I messed up. Now, I have to wait until 2022.” I messed up. I’ll wait for however long it takes to get back on track. In my notebook entry, I’d equated my “best self” with the “most productive version of myself”, but our best selves aren’t our most productive selves. They’re our most brave or kind selves. They’re our most responsible or honest or fun-loving selves. They’re whatever-adjective-you-want-them-to-be. If that adjective is only productive? Well, you can’t be productive if you’re burnt-out anyway. On New Year’s Eve, 2019, we all had visions for 2020. 2020 didn’t really follow a set schedule. It’s okay if 2021 goes that way, too. Quarantine was and still is an awfully isolating experience that exacerbated many people’s mental health issues. It’s okay if you need to use up a considerable portion of 2021 to recover from 2020. If you need a permission slip, this is it: You are allowed to do whatever you want wherever you want. Go back to a normal schedule on your terms in your own time. Or don’t. Re-define normal. Happy Belated New Year’s. Happy January 3rd, 4th, 5th or whatever day it is for you because every day is just as good a do-over as the last. - Amber Cover photo source: https://bit.ly/36SLgwi