From the editor: stop Asian hate (for 44:4)

There has been a growing concern about the surge of racial violence, hateful incidents, and discrimination against people of Asian descent in the U.S. amid the COVID-19 pandemic. A new study released by Stop AAPI Hate (Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders) showed that there were nearly 3800 incidents targeting Asians in the U.S. during the past year beginning in mid-March 2020

This has only intensified after a gunman killed six Asian women and two others in a senseless attack on a spa in Atlanta, Georgia, on March 16, 2021. Although uncertainty remains about whether the perpetrator will be charged with a hate crime as well as murder, the killing spree became a flash point leading to nationwide protests to #StopAsianHate. However, this is more than a problem in the U.S.

According to U.N. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, “The pandemic continues to unleash a tsunami of hate and xenophobia, scapegoating and scare-mongering.” He asked governments worldwide to take action “to strengthen the immunity of our societies against the virus of hate.” This is indeed a global problem with increased reports coming from Canada, Italy, Russia and Brazil, for example. Research by the New Zealand Human Rights Commission revealed that “54% of Chinese respondents had experienced discrimination since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, and 55% of Māori respondents had also faced discrimination since the start of the pandemic.” (Haynes, 2021, March 22).

Notwithstanding that this is a global phenomenon, there is a long history of Asian bias in America. A week before the mass shootings in the Atlanta spas, at a March 8, 2021 forum on anti-Asian racism hosted by the Washington Post Chinese-American activist and journalist Helen Zia stated that, “We have seen this terrible nightmare before,” referring to the troubling increase in verbal and physical assault against Asian-Americans. (Washington Post, 2021, March 8).

Zia recounted some of the brutal milestones in the recurrent nightmare, beginning with the interning of Japanese–Americans during WWII from 1942 to 1945. This was an episode in U.S. history that has long been considered one of the most dreadful violations of American civil rights in the 20th century.

Forty years later, in 1982, Vincent Chin, a Chinese-American draftsman was murdered in Detroit by two white men who worked in a Chrysler plant. Asian-Americans of all backgrounds were targeted when auto makers from Japan who were producing more fuel-efficient cars were blamed for layoffs.

Looking back, “people knew from personal experience that we were lumped together,” said Zia. “But in terms of identifying as pan-Asian, the key thing was that a man was killed because they thought he looked like a different ethnicity” (Washington Post, 2021, March 8).

There is no concrete governmental response in the U.S. toward protecting people of Asian descent from pandemic-fueled racist attacks, despite their growing number. During the presidential administration of Donald Trump, slurs like Wuhan Virus and Kung-Flu were routinely used even at the highest levels of government. When officials used the term “CHY-NA virus” it was never purely descriptive and always pejorative.

It was recently brought to my attention by a concerned parent that a 5-year-old Asian-American child on Long Island, New York near my office headquarters was on the receiving end of a coronavirus-driven tirade while playing in a park. The child was left in a state of shock, not fully understanding why a perfect stranger, an adult, was raging at him.

Parents are worried about racially motivated attacks ranging from teasing to physical confrontations against Asian-American students when schools fully reopen in the fall of 2021. They want to know if their children will be returning to a safe environment.

Historically, immigrant communities have been singled out in times of public health crises. Their passages to the U.S. have been given derogatory labels such plague and invasion, objectifying migrants as infected, dirty and carriers of disease.

In her new book Caste, Isabel Wilkerson (2020) cites anthropologists Audrey and Brian Smedley who explain, “We think we ‘see’ race when we encounter certain physical difference among people such as skin color, eye shape and hair texture. What we actually ‘see’ are the learned social meanings, the stereotypes that have been linked to those physical features by the ideology of race and the historical legacy it has left us” (p. 67). Indeed, most of the attacks against people of Asian descent in American are not against Chinese but anyone who looks East Asian.

Law enforcement surveillance and vigilance are necessary; however, nothing less than empathy will lead to lasting change – “radical empathy” as Wilkerson (2020) explains – “the kindred connection from a place of deep knowing that opens your spirit to the pain of another as they perceive it.” (p. 386)

It behooves us, as group workers, to help the group to tune in to ethnically and racially charged events (Malekoff, 2014). This includes an awareness of local, national, and international events with racial–ethnic overtones, such as the attacks on people of Asian descent in which they are blamed for the coronavirus.

As group workers, it is also important that we confront prejudice, stereotyping, and oppression in the here-and-now. This includes issues such as stereotyping and the use of racial–ethnic slurs as they arise in the group, workplace or community. Facilitative confrontation involves addressing issues and problems in a direct, caring, and forthright manner. When the group replicates the oppressive or prejudicial behavior of society, group workers must skillfully intervene to raise consciousness, stimulate interaction, foster understanding, and motivate change.

Only our solidarity with those who are targeted will prevent community spread. We must all stand tall and together against the toxic pandemic of racism whether individual or systemic.