The number of deaths is increasing due to Covid-19 at an alarming rate, due to which the crematoriums are seeing a deluge of dead bodies specifically in the bigger cities of India. The workers there are working day and night putting their life at maximum risk. There are different stigmas related to these morticians due to which their work has always been neglected in the Indian society, but in this time of hardship we must come together to deal with this pandemic. It is estimated that India may face a third wave of Corona virus which will be more fatal, if we still keep ignoring these crematorium workers, things might get worse for these invisible corona warriors of India and my goal from this project is to break the notions about them bring them their well-deserved acknowledgement from the society. Biography: I'm a freelance Documentary Photographer/ Filmmaker. Since last few years I'm actively capturing the resistance happening in different parts of country. Currently I'm Documenting the ongoing Farmers Protest in India and also how India is dealing with covid19 .

I carry a veil with me wherever I go, To protect me from the other, The otherness, whom I fear and want at the same time, A forbidden fruit I wanted to devour but now I know its ways. To procure a gem hidden in the deep darkening moor, It seemed like I was gaining something in the process over the years, Steering into the glory of assimilating into other, Becoming other was a goal, I spoke, I read and I communicated with the gifts from other, It made me believe without those gifts I was nobody, The element I was uneasy about, Being A misfit, savage, and an alien, I consumed without a qualm or query, I was taught the virtue of others as an infant, I didn’t see the sins and saw only the privilege, I didn't possess or was versed to be critical or analytical, I was taught the contrary, I was taught to be regaled with other, Or gratify the otherness, inturn I will be rewarded, Reward meant many things a prestigious throne, A place offered among the ones to be reckoned blessed, But in return inquired for a greater stature, The very essence of my soul, Rust that floods throughout, Rust leaving a man immobile, I am gradually stirring from comfort, Striving to annul what has been commended, To cease the cycle of assimilation, To return to the core of my being. I belong in nature among the birds, sky, and the river, Surrounded by highlands and my kins, I presently depart hind to the locale I have always belonged, To liberate from the shackles of the other. This poem is personal to me. I came to the U.S in 2011, now 10 years ago. I come from a small Himalayan country with a unique culture. But I was always taught that speaking English and being white was the epitome of power, prestige, and wealth. I value my culture but with the changing world, it is difficult. In my poem, I write about struggling to stay true to myself and hold dear to what is precious to me. I question our society and its standard of what it means to be a successful human. Henceforth staying from family and one’s home to pursue education and a career our society deems worthy, is worth it? Biography: Sonam Wangmo was born in Bhutan and is currently living in New York. She graduated from Bard College At Simons Rock and she is currently pursuing her career in writing. She is a women, person of color, and an immigrant from Asian decent. I am currently trying to publish my poetry book and I would like to know if there are any grants please let me know. My instagram is handle is @peggywangmo Cover Photo Source: The Nation

Dear Asian Youth, I’ve spent quite a while criticizing and condemning systemic racism in the West. News articles and social media videos constantly remind me of all the racist hate crimes in the United States and Europe. But only recently did I finally understand the full extent of racism against Black people within the Chinese community. In China, there seems to be an inherent prejudice against Black people, a prejudice that we don’t even recognize as problematic. It terrifies me. When I scrolled through the comment section of a video depicting police brutality against an innocent Black man, I did not see words of anger or sympathy like I’d expected. Instead, Chinese users were saying “I hope Black people would stop coming to China” or “good job to the cop for firing the bullets so fast and accurately”. I was appalled. I scrolled past hundreds of comments - hundreds of similar comments. No one was reflecting upon the very real and very horrible social injustice issue the video aimed to portray. Users were either making fun of the situation or defending the cop. I couldn’t believe it. When did racism against Black people become so normalized in China? Even more, why does no one seem to recognize the problem? Quoting Bonnie Girard from The Diplomat, “racist sentiment may seem prevalent simply because it is so blatantly and matter-of-factly expressed when and where it does exist.” Racism against Black people in China is an issue deeply rooted in colorism. In East Asian countries specifically, a lighter skin tone is often more highly desired. All the skin-whitening products being advertised far and wide is a direct indication that “being lighter is better.” Hence, the normalization of colorism in China contributes heavily to racist beliefs against Black people. However, this issue does not just happen on smaller platforms, it occurs in mainstream Chinese media as well. China’s biggest news channel - China Central Television Channel (CCTV) - broadcasted a live skit during the 2018 Chinese New Year celebrations displaying Chinese actors in blackface mocking African cultures. With faces painted black, thick accents, and over-the-top costumes, actors danced and sung dramatically. The skit stereotyped the African continent as a place with uneducated people that lived with only wildlife animals. The skit also portrayed the idea that Africa holds zero opportunities and everyone there must move to foreign countries such as the United States or China in order to have a satisfactory life. It is truly shocking that this skit got a green pass to be shown on national television. Not only is it a seriously offensive case of cultural appropriation, it also displays Chinese organizers’ lack of awareness regarding race and respect. However, it doesn’t just end there. A 2016 Chinese detergent commercial faced backlash from foreign audiences due to its racist storyline. A Chinese girl starts to get intimate with a Black man as she feeds a detergent tablet into his mouth and forces him into the washing machine. Seconds later, the Black man became a glistening Chinese man with very fair skin and a white t-shirt. Though the company was presumably trying to advertise the detergent’s cleansing abilities, its execution was wrong in every possible manner. This commercial suggests that having a darker skin tone is undesired and that dark skin has to be cleansed lighter to be appreciated. In China, Black people face scrutiny on a daily basis. I understand this from first-hand observations of my peers and strangers too. Chinese people stare at them in public, they point and whisper horrible comments. Public perception of Black people in general is that they are impoverished, uneducated, violent, and the long-running Chinese beauty standard of fair-skin above all only made matters worthwhile. They are seen as violent and unruly. In my decade of living in China, I can say that the atmosphere of "political correctness" in China has been almost non-existent in comparison to Western countries. It sounds terrible, but some people simply don’t care about racism (unless it is against themselves). They don’t seem to understand the true implications behind condoning hate and perpetuating negative stereotypes. Though Western nations may have more serious hate crimes against people of color, there is still an overwhelming awareness to combat racism. In China, however, there is a general lack of recognition about the issue at all. Mainstream media and the Chinese government can be blamed for not doing enough to educate the masses. If Chinese people keep taking in false information biased against Black people, racist sentiments will never fade away. As a Chinese individual, I am both ashamed and angered at this current predicament. We have allowed racism against Black people to become so common that the severity of the problem lessens and lessens. This needs to stop now. If you live in China, I urge you to begin conversations discussing this problem. Combatting racism against Black people in China will undoubtedly be highly difficult, due to the overall lack of awareness about the problem itself. We need to change the Chinese public's image about Black people and promote empathy towards our fellow humans. 生来为人，生来平等; 肤色从来不分高低贵贱。We are all born humans, born equals; skin tone should never and will never determine a person’s worth. - Eva Cover Photo Source: https://membic.org/racejustice

When summer comes, it brings a sickly-sweet yellow that sticks to the back of your tongue. It seeps through the ceiling and into the floor. The sun burns brighter and brighter every day, like she wants to make our lungs explode into flames to have just a minute of peace, like she wants to shove us down her 27-million-degree throat to keep us quiet. The ozone layer never stood a chance, not against the sun. Not against its own people, who built buildings to scrape the sky and screamed when we wanted more. Really, I think the universe is tired of us. The Earth stopped spinning in March, hasn’t budged in its orbit in months. We never stood a chance. Maybe, when all of this is over, we can be a little more careful. We can try again, let the flowers grow back and wait for the stars to return. We can do it right this time – hold hands, speak softly. And when we pass each other strawberries in the cafeteria, I won’t miss a second of your unmasked smile. But I know this is just wishful thinking. It’s too late to change the past. Still, when we die, maybe we can do it together. Maybe we can move to Mars together, sitting too close for comfort (but close just because we can), in the spaceship that’ll rip us from this life and take us to another. Your warmth will bleed into mine, thigh-to-thigh and denim-against-denim, and I’ll die happy. Maybe this was the plan all along. When the sun rises, she opens the door to a house that hasn’t breathed in months. Maybe not ever. It sees a girl, splayed awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, choking on her maybes. It takes one look and walks out, stoic. In her defense, this is how it’s always been. There is no other version of this story. I wish life was kinder. I wish summer would have offered a helping hand, smiled soft and warm instead of turning on its heel. Maybe it does, in another life. In a past life. I hope it does. I hope it did. There is a boy, and there is a girl. He likes her more than the summer heat, and the sun shines happily on them, kind and not jealous. He would do anything for her, I’m sure. They’re high school sweethearts, had a making-out-under-the-bleachers kind of love that made everybody jealous. Then, they were college sweethearts; then, both doctors. Now, they live on Main Street with 2.5 kids and a golden retriever. When they die, it’ll be within a day of each other. The sun will mourn their bodies and celebrate their souls. A plane shakes in the sky, halfway between Seattle and Singapore. The pilot comes on the intercom and says, “The turbulence wasn’t forecast, apologies from the crew. It should be smooth sailing – flying – from here on out.” The passengers laugh out of kindness. No one is angry, no one is in a hurry. This flight is about the journey, not the destination. It’s summer. I press the boom mic to my ribs, live-stream my heartbeat. The neighborhood dances to it. I’m pulsing with sweet red blood, unafraid of life. You live in a two-story house. It has a nice-sized backyard, but not the big front porch you wanted. That’s okay. This life is about compromises. But maybe you shouldn’t have bought the house, excited because they sold it to you seventeen thousand dollars below market price. Maybe you shouldn’t have compromised anything at all. Compromises brought us here. We were too happy in our past lives; we used up all our luck. Now, the world is diseased, on fire, flooded, corrupted, unkind. It has to be this way. That’s how it works. We lay on my childhood bed, blankets tossed to the side to make room for the heat. You tell me that we’re done for. I listen wide eyed, try not to believe you too much. When the sun sets, I look away. When the boy goes through life, he never meets the girl. He meets another boy, though. But all he ends up being is someone else to watch him die. A plane flies off of the edge of the Earth and is never heard from again. When people need a distraction from the fire, they’ll trade stories of what they think happened. I should tell someone that I’m not afraid to die. You live in a two-story house. It has a nice-sized backyard, but not the big front porch you wanted. That’s okay. There’s no one to share it with, anyway. The city makes a graveyard out of the public park. The sun doesn’t bat an eye at the body bags. When summer comes, it brings death. The people are used to it, so they throw parties at the beach. I wish this life was kinder to us. I’m sorry – sorry about my awkward knees in the doorway. Sorry about the mess in my room and at the bottom of the stairs. I’m sorry there’s no Diet Coke; I didn’t think that far ahead. Sorry about the sun dripping down the walls. Sorry that we ruined it all. Cover Photo Source: Oyvind Lien

This piece is dedicated to the strength of finding who I am as a woman of color who has Alopecia. I lost my hair when I was 6-years-old; as a child, all I remember is the fear of looking at my reflection. When I entered a women's restroom, people would scream at me, saying that boys aren't allowed in the girl's bathroom. When I would order food, people would yell, "Sir, your order is ready." When I walked my sister into the mall, people would say that I looked like a wonderful brother. Everywhere I looked, my femininity was erased from me solely due to a lack of hair. When I was not misidentified as a boy, I was ridiculed and ostracized due to my appearance and outspoken nature. Although, I had to work to find my self-love, to see that just because I was bereft of a societal standard did not mean I was not beautiful. My name Megha in Hindi means clouds. I see clouds as a symbol of both potential and strength which is what inspired this piece. This piece is purposefully unfinished, for the potential I and everyone else have is limitless; societal standards do not define us. Biography: Megha is a 17-year-old first-generation Indian American girl. For the past year, Megha has used art as an outlet to express herself and her journey with Alopecia. She wants to battle against the stigma of hair-loss by showing the beauty of being unconventionally yourself. Megha has applied herself in the public speaking realm by conducting motivational speeches about self-love and actively fighting for human rights. Instagram: @megthyagarajan.

Dear Asian Youth, The Model Minority notion has been prevalent for decades and describes Asians and our ‘achievements’ as immigrants compared to other minority groups. This idea is used as a stamp of achievement or validation for one's work to assimilate to American society and ideology. Simultaneously, however, the Model Minority phrase indicates an enervating narrative of tiger parents and their straightedge, academically gifted children. A simple bystander may see nothing wrong with being known for being educated and academically talented; however, they fail to see how the stereotypes and expectations that come with the phrase debilitate Asian youth. Pop culture is one of the main contributors to the Model Minority myth. Many youths, mostly white, use celebrities and television/ movie characters as role models for their behavior and outlines for their older selves' envisions. To white youth, pop culture provides a fantasy that anything is possible. However, Asian children and teens do not have the luxury to look to pop culture for help and clarification as to their white counterparts. In countless films and literature forms, Asians are portrayed as antisocial nerds or quiet office workers. For white children and teens, white characters inspire. Still, for Asian children and teens, Asian characters only portray a role to fill, a box or parameter they must stay in to be socially accepted. Pop culture enforces the notion of a Model Minority as the roles mentioned teach Asian youth what their roles are in society and develop non-Asian youth's harmful perspective on Asians. Those who believe there is nothing wrong with the Model Minority myth, I ask you to understand how discouraging it can be for a young teen trying to discover their role in society to realize that their role has already been picked for them. The Model Minority Myth is prevalent in the education system and teaches Asian youth that their ancestral history of oppression, injustice, and perseverance is trivial and insignificant. The education system has adopted the Model Minority notion as truth and, therefore, fails to educate students on Asian American histories such as Yellow Peril, The Chinese massacre of 1871, The Rock Springs Massacre, and The Chinese exclusion Act. This makes Asian students feel like they are forgotten as a minority and forgotten as victims of oppression and injustice. This is not the only time the education system imposed a notion of Asians being a forgotten minority. Many schools and universities have started grouping Asians with white students. Some such cases are the discrimination of Asians in college admissions, most notably in Yale admissions. More recently, a Washington School District, North Thurston Public Schools, removed Asians from the category of students of color in a presentation meant to outline a goal of “Continuous Growth — All Students, All Subjects.” The school removed Asians from the category to maintain a narrative that minority groups are not performing as well as white students. The ignorance of these actions preaches that Asians have the same privileges and status as Caucasians. We are now grouped and regarded in the same category as our historical oppressors. This conveys a message that Asian success erases Asian’s minority status and erases the fact that they are a minority that suffers from abuse and prejudice. The Model Minority notion also teaches Asian youth to tolerate rather than take charge and be assertive. The term at its core preaches the idea of an immigrant group that has succeeded in the United States by means that were without confrontation and violence. Violence is never the answer by any means; however, the term teaches youth to be bystanders to their injustice and to tolerate the microaggressions hurled against them. This toleration and lack of assertion have led to others thinking that there is nothing wrong or consequential with toying or making fun of Asians. An example of this can be found in the unspoken lines created from racial battering. Other races often have an unspoken line not to cross unless you want to be rightfully labeled as ignorant and racist; however, I struggle to find the line for Asians and question if there is one at all. Some believed the Model Minority label was a shield around us, protecting us from the type of racial injustice African Americans face daily. However, as the novel Coronavirus continued to ravage the country, we quickly saw the shield crumble beneath our feet. The phrase Model Minority seemed to be forgotten and replaced with terms such as “Chinese Virus” and “Kung Flu,” turning us into a scapegoat for President Trump's flawed approach to the virus. The praise we were once receiving for our 'impeccable mathematical ability' turned into hostility and unsolicited violence. Throughout the entirety of 2020, we also began to see how grossly underrepresented Asians are in the media. During this time, the only support and exposure we received were from other Asian community members and organizations; everyone else simply didn’t care or weren't aware. I, personally, have felt the effects of the fabrication the Model Minority label conveys. For a large part of my life, I was constantly disappointed that I couldn't be the Asian American people expected me to be. I was tired and frustrated with people reminding me of the stereotypes Asians have chained around their feet. I constantly felt as though the term Model Minority was plastered across my forehead and was how people perceived me no matter what I did to change their minds. I felt the majority of this at school. A small example was whenever someone asked me what grade I got on a test or quiz, they would always use my race as an explanation as to why I did well, and if I did not, they would chastise me for not fitting my race's stereotype. Even the people around me who I thought were going to tell me to be my own person and not let the stereotypes define me preached a life of tolerance and obedience towards Asian stereotypes; I felt like I could never escape the weight the stereotypes had created and I ultimately felt like I was locked in a cage with a predetermined life and progression. My frustration slowly turned into rejection and hate towards my Asian American identity and spurred me to many times wish I was white so I could cowardly hide away from my problems and frustrations. Once I saw how the Pandemic was violently affecting Asian Americans and people's perspectives on Asians, I decided that it was time to embrace who I was and treat my Asian identity as something to boast and preach than let it act as a constraint. To those who have felt the way I did, I hope you can find support to embrace your Asian identity and avoid rejecting your heritage to rebel against American ideology. - Thomas Kuo Overall, this piece's meaning is to provide insight into the perspective of Asian Americans on their beliefs and views on the popular term "Model Minority" and how it has affected them. Through this piece, I also hope for others who have had the same feelings as I did to know that they are not alone and to encourage them to find acceptance for themselves and take the first step towards embracing and understanding what it truly means to be Asian. Biography: Thomas Kuo is a third-generation 17 years old Chinese American living in New York. English being his favorite subject, he loves writing, whether it be book reports, weird he knows; creative writing pieces; or personal narratives and essays. Instead of going to parties, he spends his Friday nights listening to music and binging K-Dramas with a fistful of shrimp chips. Instagram: @kuo_________________ Cover Photo Source: SAGE Journals

red it’s supposed to be this simple, isn’t it? we live, so we bleed crimson. we are women, so we flower and fruit and crack open like overripe pomegranates waiting to scoop out their seeds for hungry men. our love spelled out in the lifedeathflesh the bondsmen paint along their doorways. so maybe this is a love letter, mother— you inscribing yourself upon the writhing muscle of my heart before i knew to own it. your name and the thousands that came before flowing through my veins, thicker than water. a simple truth: i belonged to the dead, faceless masses living in your arteries before i could belong to myself. brown the stain on the cotton. the hue of decaying ichor. the life that’s given all it has. cut open a tree and you’ll find concentric circles hugging each other like the lie that’s supposed to be family. go to an orchard and you’ll find apples littering the dewy grass, the fruit borne of women made full and hollowed time and time again. so have they fallen far from the trees? the longer they linger, the less they love. an apple forgotten browns with time, like a bleeding wound that stills and scabs. the winds will come, you know. the gales will ravage the orchards and leave the trees weeping, their branches reaching upwards to grasp at nothing but air, pleading with the skies. blue another filial lie: blood living in dermis. scarlet masquerading as a muted indigo until we prick our tender fingertips. see, blood knows to be ashamed of its true colors. we are all rotting apples, all daughters. all ashamed. tell me, do you see progeny dilating in your reflection? do you feed off your offspring the way they suckled you in infancy? we are cannibals. we are all cannibals haunted by nightmares of our mothers cracking one too many times, breaking over and over until they shatter. in the end, we take more than we can give, forever indebted to our roots. red i have my father’s bones. my mother’s eyes. his skin, paling in the moonlight like a ghost. her hair, cascading down my shoulders in a cursed waterfall. his fire, his temper, his hands that could hold me and break me in the same breath. her calm, her voice, the way her mother told her she’d never be enough. so are we enough? will we ever be enough? i am my mother, my father, never myself. i hate this; i love this; i hate this more than i love this. i know that someday i’ll leave them the way they left their parents, break them they way they’ve broken. still i’ll bleed, carry on the infinite cycle of life. it’s supposed to be this simple, isn’t it? - Joella Kay In a patriarchal society, it's easy to feel like our parents relate to us as only as extension of themselves. I wrote this piece about bloodlines and the struggles of familial connection; existing as your own person but also as another link in a line of ancestors. Biography: Joella Kay is a Korean-American poet and songwriter with an affinity for run-on sentences. When she isn't writing or playing piano, you can usually find her in the throes of an existential crisis. Find her on twitter @joelleche_. Cover Photo Source: https://www.artmajeur.com/en/ouabbi-geo/artworks/12822671/blood

"will you come with us to visit your lolo?" i shrugged my father's question off with a grunt about my classes. "I'll go on the next trip." now, i sit on my way to your wake as the winds of agoo, la union sing their taunting breezes, "you're too late, anak. you should've come back sooner" i know; i know i should've come back when i had the chance. now you're gone, yet i don't know how to grieve. how do you mourn someone you haven't made time for, in six years? i didn't expect to shed a tear, but as the navy set off the honorable gun salute, a wave of woe immediately overwhelmed me. i didn't have to fully know you to love and appreciate you; that love has always been ingrained in me. i remember you, kapitan, as a man who served and loved our nation, and in turn, who served and loved us. now, all i can offer is my gratitude. thank you for loving me in spite of the selfishness i chose over you. every time i look at my father, i will be able to see you through his eyes. thank you for giving me a family. like you, i have been gifted a father who has made it his duty to serve the country. i know you are just as proud as i am of him, if not, more. papa, forgive me. i took your love for granted. i thought you would wait until i came back to see you once again, yet we got the unfateful call that night. i refused to believe that you left without allowing me to smile next to you, one last time. but i believe that you are at peace, therefore as am i. your life was a full, colorful work of art; you did not waste a minute at all. “we thank you and your family for the service your father has provided,” the officer whispered to my aunt. thank you indeed, papa. you dedicated 40 years of your life to our home. it is without a doubt that your place with our Father in heaven, as a respectable man, is secured. i know you and mama have finally reunited, as soulmates always find their way back to one another. i know that the first thing you did was dance together on the clouds above with the whistling willows and the sound of angelic tones. the angels are happy to welcome another. enjoy the sky, papa. the breeze will finally allow you to fly freely, with one hand clutching mama's. “mahal na mahal kita, papa.” i kissed the white lily and dropped it onto the soil you laid. you are not gone for you did not desert us. i know that you are with me, because my father has you as his guiding star. although I do not have vivid memories with you, a piece of your soul and a drop of your blood proudly run their courses through my being. saludo, kapitan. My grandfather passed away last February 24th, 2021. When he passed, I didn't cry. It was only when I said my final goodbyes that it finally sunk it; God had called him back to be reunited with my late grandmother. My grandfather served in the Philippine Navy for over 40 years. As a military veteran, I watched the Philippine Navy pay an honorable tribute to him by offering 21 shots at a gun salute. As a writer, this will be my tribute to him. Biography: Isa, or Isabel (she/they) is a proud 16-year-old Filipina. After living in Indonesia for 5 years for a posting, her family are now back and living in the Philippines. She plans to become both a doctor and a writer; her passion lies in both Science and Writing, thus she's made it her duty to pursue both. She believes that writing is an amazing way to provide platforms for both creative expression and educational awareness. Instagram: @claraisabelnovicio Cover Photo Source: De Windstoot

age 8 - oblivious: my almond-shaped eyes crinkling, smiling and giggling on the monkey bars elementary school: a time of simplicity a time of blissful ignorance he looked at my eyes and brought his fingers to his temples pressing and stretching his lids like they were some type of toy “you look just like me!” i exclaimed he laughed they laughed and so i laughed while ignoring my blurring vision and closed up throat because they were still laughing at me age 10 - ashamed: my vibrant pink lunch box bounced in my hands as i made my way to the cafeteria tables the cacophony of students adds to the usual colorful chaos but they sneer at me their noses upturn and i see them squirm nanay told me it was rude to criticize that i’m supposed to keep my thoughts to myself so why did they do it to me? was the rice not white enough for them? so i turned my nose up at the dishes my mom made and opted for food that my peers accepted too stuck up to notice my mother’s sullen face when i refused her food too naive to realize my mistakes age 13 - normalized: at last, my teenage years for me, with adolescence came assimilation i wanted to fit in and tried so hard no matter the cost people would say “of course you’re smart, you’re asian!” “you play the piano? that’s such an asian thing to do!” “i got a better score than you? i’m practically more asian than you!” and i laughed. can you believe that? i made a fool of myself hid my cultural insecurity behind a glass mask that cracked with every word every remark why speak up anyway? there wasn’t anything wrong with this right? age 15 - terrified: a time unlike any other covid-19, we called it cases rise and fall and rise and fall but what if there is another virus i’m afraid of? our brothers, sisters mothers, fathers grandmas, grandpas Assaulted Struck Ignored Abused Neglected our identity is being shaped by those who fear the unknown who feel the need to blame someone anyone for issues they cannot control as the cases rise so do the hate crimes. it isn’t our fault it never was and yet i am still so afraid afraid of how my almond eyes the eyes that people now envy to possess the eyes they paint on their faces to imitate us without the fear without the repercussions may be the death of me. - Julianne Tenorio Cover Photo Source: https://www.behance.net/gallery/41853087/Race-and-Identity-Asian-America

Dear Asian Youth, What defines something as American? Is it the people? Is it the language? Is it the food? Or culture? The word “America” can conjure up different ideas for different people. Answers might change depending on where they live, the culture they grew up in, or the people they surround themselves with. That is, in my personal opinion, the beauty of the U.S. There is no singular definition to what “American” is. America in itself is a plethora of languages, cultures, races, and identities. Yet, while some may pride themselves on the country’s diversity and multiculturalism, there are still moments that remind some of us that we have never quite belonged. About a month ago, the film Minari was released in virtual theatres around the world by production company A24. First premiering at the beginning of 2020 in the Sundance Film Festival, Minari is a semi-biographical movie reflecting on Lee Isaac Chung’s childhood growing up in a Korean immigrant family in rural America. The film follows the Yi family as they move from California to rural Arkansas during the Reagan Years. The husband, Jacob, played by Steven Yeun, hopes to start a farm where they will grow Korean vegetables, to sell to the influx of Korean Immigrants moving to the U.S. at the time. The movie follows his wife Monica, played by Han Ye-Ri, and their two kids David and Anna, played by Alan Kim and Noel Kate Cho respectively, as they face challenges on multiple fronts. Adjusting to living in a predominantly white rural town, the family struggles to find a sense of community. In the beginning of the film, we see some very awkward interactions between the white people in the town and the Korean family. From befriending some very unique characters to facing subtle microaggressions, the movie insists on challenging racial biases, as most people in the town––while seemingly intimidating––are fairly friendly. Monica's mother, Soon-Ja, played by Youn Yuh-Jung, moves in with the family and shares a room with David. This is where we begin to see the generational divide between the older generation that grew up in the home country (in this case, South Korea) and the younger generation that grew up in the U.S. There are several scenes where David and Anne struggle to get along with their grandmother, complaining about how she's “not a real grandmother” or that she “smells like Korea”. There is also one moment in particular that shows the cultural division between Jacob, Monica, and Soon-Ja. When a Korean ballad is playing on the TV, Soon-Ja says that Jacob and Monica used to sing the ballad to each other when they were a young couple in Korea. In that moment, they both look up in confusion unable to recall the memory. As if the couple had forgotten about their lives in their home country. In that moment, the grandmother says, “They come to America and forget everything,” a retort over the feelings that America has changed the family in a negative way. Later in the film, as the family falls on hard times, we see the family both torn apart and brought together over love, loss, and struggle but eventually learning to accept and love one another for who they are. The film ends with the family, after witnessing the building where their crops were stored burn down in a massive blaze, sleeping snuggled together on the living room floor. A reference to a scene in the beginning of the film, when Jacob says to the family they should sleep together on the floor their first night moving in, to which Anne replies that she doesn't want to because her dad “snores.” All things coming to a full circle in the end. Minari portrays the quintessential American immigration story: pursuing the American Dream and risking everything you have in the hope of a better life, while still experiencing the pains of being an immigrant in the U.S. There is a constant external struggle to find a community and sense of belonging. While there is also the internal turmoil of trying to let go of past traditions, while still wishing to cling onto your roots. Yet, controversy was struck up a few weeks ago when the Golden Globes decided to categorize Minari as a “Foreign Language Film” due to the majority of the dialogue being in Korean. The categorization felt like a slap in the face for many within the Asian community. Minari is a film written by an Asian American screenwriter, produced and filmed in the United States, telling the story of a Korean-American family pursuing the American Dream. Being categorized as a Foreign Language film, “because it didn’t meet the 50% English language requirements” speaks to the sheer racism and hypocrisy within the American film industry. The New York Times published an article by Maya Salam and Robert Ito titled, ‘Minari’ wins best foreign-language film, but not without controversy. The article describes how the stories categorization was not only a sidelining of the film but also revealed how hypocritical the categorization was: “because “Minari” was in the foreign-language film category, it could not contend for either best-picture awards. (Worth noting, the film’s distributor, A24, submitted “Minari” in the foreign-language category.) The cast of “Minari” was eligible for acting nominations but did not receive any. The classification drew accusations of racism and favoritism — Quentin Tarantino’s “Inglourious Basterds” (2009), for example, did not meet the English language requirement either, and yet was nominated for a best-picture prize — and calls for changes to the rules.” Lee Isaac Chung, in his acceptance speech at the Golden Globes after Minari won in its category, said, “Minari is about a family. It’s a family trying to learn how to speak a language of its own,” he said. “It goes deeper than any American language and any foreign language; it’s a language of the heart.” The choice words “American language” ring true because, while the predominant language in the U.S is in fact English, the United states (unlike many other countries) does not have an official language. The American language is no singular language. Placing things such as language requirements on films is not only racist but also incredibly damaging to the plethora of American produced films that aren't in English. Still, it's clear that organizations such as the Golden Globes are willing to make exceptions for certain films. The categorization comes at a time when the Asian community in particular is coming to terms with the deep racism and anti-Asian sentiment within the U.S. We are reminded that we are still the “perpetual foreigner”, and that our place in American society is conditional based on how we are viewed by the white majority. Asians have been seen as adjacent to whiteness while our issues and stories have been swept aside. Minari is a prime example of this. The sheer irony that a film that has America plastered all over it is written into the foreign language category. Minari, a film written by an Asian-American screenwriter, produced, filmed, and set in America, telling the story of a Korean-American family pursuing the American Dream categorized under foreign language only reminds us how inherently racist the film industry still is. How are Asian American stories too often swept aside? Which brings me back to what defines something as American? Is it the people? Is it the language? Is it the food? Or is it culture? Minari reminds us that the American story is not just a white story. It is an Asian story, it is a Black story, it is a Latine story. It is a story that at its best transcends the barriers of language and culture. It's a celebration of diversity and finding community and commonality within one another. As we are living through a particularly divisive and violent time in American history, we need stories like Minari that remind us of what it means to be American, and it was an absolute failure of the Golden Globes to say otherwise. - Chris Fong Chew Sources: https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2021/02/minari/618009/ https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2021/02/minari-lee-isaac-chung-visual-melancholia-american-dream/618064/ https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/28/movies/minari-foreign-language-film.html Cover Photo Source: Angelus News

Dear Asian Youth, BCC released an article a couple of hours after the Atlanta shootings saying, “Officials cannot yet confirm if the attack, in which six Asian women were killed, was racially motivated.” Can we all agree to call it like it is? A fact is something that is known or proved to be true. Here are some facts: I have been both nervous and excited to return to my predominantly white boarding school. It is raining here in Taiwan. The sky is blue. Six Asian women died. Robert Aaron Long committed a hate crime. Yet according to Long, he had a “sex addiction.” It is crucial that we talk about this. One white male had a “sex addiction”, so six Asian women paid for it with their lives. When have our bodies ever been our own? I don’t want to get too caught up on specific words in this short piece right now. No, I actually want to focus on the fact that this attack on our community has come in the middle of a sharp rise in anti-Asian hate crimes. I am furious right now. I am gnashing my teeth. But I have already been afraid for so long, and I know many of you have felt this way. I am so sorry. I wish I could reach around this screen and offer words of comfort or encouragement. I am the 15-year-old girl who is quaking in my rain boots right now. I am the 15-year-old girl who is crying in the streets while it is raining in Taiwan and the sky is blue, and I am a 15-year-old girl who is tired of crying. I’ll admit it: I am scared of having to return to my boarding school, but what haunts me in the middle of the night is not dreams of being shot but of having to watch while someone shoots my little 13-year-old sister. What haunts me is visions of my 13-year-old sister who yesterday picked out a mirror for her dorm room (we’re supposed to go to Boston together come September of next year) being shot over and over and over again because they have no mercy. She’s my 13-year-old sister who yesterday sent me a text to make sure I was okay. She’s my 13-year-old sister who today told me she kind of liked cottagecore. She’s my 13-year-old sister who I love like poetry. She’s ONLY 13. My fingers are trembling like matchsticks. I wish I could light these words on fire - light their limbs on fire, so that they can’t touch a single hair on my sister’s head. But I am small, bird-boned, and meek. I am Asian. I have learned that that is weak. My vision is blurring over because I am crying so hard. The rain is ripping this page apart. I saw my mother in one of those women - her gentle laughter. I swear, she wears makeup like a burn victim. Meanwhile, my diary entries have begun to resemble the notes of a person who’s drowned. But what do you expect me to say? That I’m fine? I am so, so afraid I’m going to lose someone. I don’t think 15 was supposed to feel like this. - Amber Ting Cover Photo Source: https://whyy.org/articles/teenager-traces-continuum-of-racism-against-asian-americans-in-pandemic-play/

Dear Asian Youth, Inaccessible healthcare first and foremost affects lower-income individuals. The fight over the right to have an abortion is no different. In places like the United States, the abortion rate has declined almost 40% since the 1990s, and yet while in 1994 only about a quarter of women who had abortions were low-income, half of all women who had an abortion in 2014 lived in poverty (NY Times). The growing number of people who live under the federal poverty level, along with the lack of access to effective contraceptives, are often cited as possible factors for this shift. Most importantly, these statistics point out that restricting access to abortions will have a significantly more profound effect on lower-income women. The 1973 Supreme Court ruling Roe v. Wade set the precedent that abortion is a constitutional right. Although the right to a safe and legal abortion is not in immediate danger, as of January 2021, 19 abortion-related cases were close to being reviewed by the Supreme Court (Planned Parenthood). Additionally, individual states are often looking for ways to not only limit abortion access but to reverse Roe v. Wade itself. The Guttmacher Institute claims 483 provisions that restrict access to abortion care have enacted between 2011 and 2020, while NPR points out that 22 states are likely to ban abortions if Roe v. Wade is reversed. All women will be affected by these potential changes. But fighting for the right to have an abortion is not just a a women’s rights issue: it is also a class issue. To start, the restrictions that affect accessibility to abortions vary wildly from state to state (Planned Parenthood). For example, in Alabama, patients are required to wait 48 hours between their state-mandated abortion counseling and receiving the abortion itself. Minors also require parental consent. In states such as Washington and Nevada, these restrictions are not in place. As a result, if necessary, many women will move across state borders for this procedure. The Guttmacher Institute details abortion during the late 1960s, when the only way to have a abortion in the United States was to recieve committee approval. By the late 1960s and early 1970s, affluent American women realized that they could travel all the way to the United Kingdom, where abortion was legalized, to recieve this procedudre. In 1970, Alaska, Hawaii, Washington, and New York legalized abortions; but all of these states, except for New York, required women to be residents of the state for at least 30 days prior to the procedure. Because New York did not have this requirement, wealthy women seeking abortions often made trips to this state. Over 100,000 women traveled to NY in order to receive legal abortions in the year before Roe v. Wade finally provided the right to an abortion for all women in 1973. The New York City Department of Health confirmed that the expense of traveling plus the price of the procedure itself ensured that only the most affluent women had access to these abortions in New York. Theoretically Roe V. Wade solved this issue, but similar events are happening today on a smaller scale. A Lancet Public Health Report used their data to create the graphic below. The differing colors represent the median distance to the nearest abortion provider by county in 2014. Evidently, finding a clinic to get an abortion is overhwhelmingly difficult in central United States, with many counties having the nearest abortion provider over 180 miles away. As abortion accessibility decreases, the more women will have to travel long disances just to obtain an abortion. This puts lower-income women at a huge disadvantage. Not only do lower-income women have greater difficulty obtaining abortions, but their socioeconomic status also suffers more from the burden of an unwanted child. After all, if a woman is unable to afford contraceptives or the $0-$1000 it costs to have an abortion, how in the world is she supposed to afford raising a child? (Planned Parenthood). The cost of the pregnancy itself -- which factors in regular check-ups, prenatal care, and delivery -- is anywhere from $5,000-$11,000 (SmartAsset). A middle-income family spends around $12,980 a year per child, with this cost increasing as the child gets older (USDA). Additionally the Brookings Center on Children and Families cites that “...unplanned childbearing is associated with higher rates of poverty, less family stability, and worse outcomes for children.” In other words, the women who are most likely to be unable to receive an abortion due to abortion restrictions, are the ones who need this money the most. It is not fair how abortion restrictions will force this financial burden on lower-income women and then criticize these same individuals for their inability to provide prosperous lives for their children. Finally, on a more extreme note, restrictive abortion practices will encourage more people to seek illegal abortions. The Guttmacher Institute cites a study by the Center for Disease Control, which shows that the number of illegal abortions in the US dropped from upwards of 130,000 to 17,000 between 1972 and 1974, the three year period in which Roe V. Wade was enacted. As a direct result, the number of deaths as a result of illegal abortions reduced from 38 to just five. A lack of accessibility will only further encourage these potentially lethal practices. Preventing women from having abortions is an unjust and unfeasible punishment. If pro-lifers really cared about lowering rates of abortion, they would focus on investing in marginalized communities to prevent the need for abortions in the first place, as opposed to preventing women in need from receiving necessary procedures. A study by BMC Women’s Health found that 40% of the women in the study cited financial reasons for having an abortion and 36% of women simply stated the timing was not right. Instead of trying to outlaw abortions, people should be foccusing on improving social welfare programs that will help out women who need financial help, or improving the foster care system so that women without enough money can feel comfortable that their child will be safe. In addition, improving sexual education and access to contraceptives, especially in lower-income areas, would reduce the number of unwanted pregnancies and in turn reduce the number of abortions. We all want to lower rates of abortions and rates of unwanted preganancies. However, outright banning women from an abortion is not the solution. About one in four women in the US will have an abortion by the age of 45 (Guttmacher Institute). This is a necessary, and incredibly widespread, procedure that many women choose to have. Abortion is not just a argument of morality or religion. People need to stop using this hot topic to push their religious and/or political agendas because restrictive abortion policies will have terrible consequences on millions of women, and these effects will be most profound in lower-income populations. We need to continue to fight for the rights granted by Roe V. Wade and ensure that existing social inequity does not spread as a result of abortion restrictions. - Lora Kwon Cover Photo Source: https://www.peoplesworld.org/article/abortion-and-class-inequality-reproductive-choice-is-only-for-the-rich/