The pandemic has exposed Chinese Canadians to new levels of hatred and abuse. Here are just a few of their stories. Words and pictures by Jessica Lee
In May 2020, Human Rights Watch compiled a list of xenophobic acts stemming from the coronavirus in countries such as England, Australia and Russia. It found that in some instances, government leaders have directly or indirectly encouraged hate crimes through anti-racist rhetoric. Case in point: United States President Donald Trump continually refers to COVID-19 as the “Chinese virus.” But even cultural icons fuel the hate. In May, Canadian singer Bryan Adams blamed “some f–king bat-eating . . . greedy bastards” for putting the world on hold. Adams later apologized.
That same month, UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres urged governments around the world to enact measures preventing discrimination and violence against Asians due to the pandemic.
From a global perspective, Canada flies under the radar when it comes to racism, maintaining its identity as a welcoming society for immigrants. But the numbers tell a different story. In early February, the Chinese Canadian National Council began recording incidents of anti-Asian racism. By the end of June, there were more than 300 cases.
Racism toward Chinese minorities is nothing new: the head tax, implemented in 1885 after 15,000 Chinese workers were brought in to help complete the Canadian Pacific Railway, is just one shameful example of systemic racism perpetuated by the Canadian government; in early 2003 and 2005, respectively, Chinese Canadians also endured xenophobia related to SARS and the H5N1 bird flu. Now, there’s COVID-19.
While acts of violence have occurred in recent months, much of the discrimination Asian Canadians face is more subtle: microaggressions, discrimination in professional settings and the normalization of problematic stereotypes.
Here, seven Chinese Canadians share their experiences of racism during COVID-19.
Gallery
Inthida Ngeth, 40, vice-president of operations at a financial company, and her two daughters, Emily, 11, and Audrey, 8
Waterloo, Ont.
When my daughters listen to the news with me, I try to make sure they understand what’s going on around the world. I explain that because the virus originated in Wuhan, some people believe Chinese people carry the virus. I want to make sure they stand up for those who face discrimination. When they go back to school in September, I worry other children will say You were the cause of the virus. This may affect how they feel about being Chinese Canadians. I tell them to stand up for themselves; to explain that it came from China, but that the virus doesn’t choose based on race.
Children say a lot of things they don’t mean. I tell them to invite the conversation, to ask questions, like Why do you believe that? It’s not like racism toward Asians has never existed before. Now, it’s different—it’s fuelled by the pandemic and by fear. We need to raise awareness about racism and talk about it. I volunteer with the North American Association of Asian Professionals, a non-profit that develops Asian talent and promotes diversity in the workplace. Since the pandemic started, we’ve held several online campaigns aimed at dismantling the association of Asians with the coronavirus.
Ka Kit Fan, 29, assistant parts manager at an auto company
Markham, Ont.
In late April, during the lockdown, my girlfriend and I were picking up food from BarBurrito in downtown Toronto. I was waiting for her in the car when I saw a man knock her phone out of her hand inside the restaurant. That’s when I knew something was wrong. The man who did this to her was a Black male in his early 20s. He was on crutches. I got out of the car and ran to help her.
“What’s your problem?” I said. “Look, it’s her Asian boyfriend,” he remarked to his two friends, who were also there. They were two white men in their early 20s, and one was carrying a skateboard. They began punching and kicking me, then they hit me with the skateboard and crutches. As I tried to defend myself, they knocked my hand, hard. I later learned it was fractured.
I grew up in Markham and have always felt that Toronto was a safe place, but this has affected me, both physically and mentally. Showering and putting on a shirt have become difficult tasks all because of a racist attack.
Bonnie Ip, 30, flight attendant
Markham, Ont.
In March, I was at a Shoppers Drug Mart in North York, Ont., with my boyfriend. We were cashing out and there was a Caucasian lady cutting in line behind us. “There’s a gentleman behind me waiting for the cashier,” I said politely. “The line starts over there.” Before I could even finish that sentence, she pointed a finger at my face. “You can’t talk to me; you’re Chinese, you have coronavirus,” she said. I was shocked. She continued spewing insults: “You’re dirty, you’re disgusting, and you have coronavirus.”
I was speechless, and I could feel my heart racing. I never imagined anyone would approach me so aggressively in public like that. I didn’t know if she would harm me physically. To me, Canada is a place full of welcoming, respectful and kind-hearted people. I’m a flight attendant, so I’ve been to 30 countries around the globe. I believe Canada is one of the safest countries in the world. I didn’t have it as bad as others; I have a friend who had to go to the emergency room after being attacked. This was just a verbal assault, but no one deserves it.
Andre Goh, 57,
workplace investigator
Toronto
In late March, I was walking near the Village in Toronto and a white couple were coming toward me. “You should go home,” the man said as they passed. At first, I thought they meant I shouldn’t be walking around. It was early in the pandemic and everyone was nervous. After thinking about it, I realized what they really meant—it was anti-Asian harassment in the form of a microaggression. I knew by the scorn on his face.
I was born in Malaysia and moved to Canada in the early ’80s. I was one of two Asian kids at my high school, which had about 1,000 students. The other Asian was born in Canada. I tried to befriend him but he immediately rejected me. “Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me,” he said. “You don’t exist.” He said that because I was an immigrant.
As a gay, Asian male, I’m very comfortable in my own skin. But incidents like these remind me I’m not the same—I’m an “other.” All it takes is one small thing. That’s how racism works—a lifetime of triggers. You can ignore it, but it eats at you inside.
Kennes Lin, 29, youth counsellor
Toronto
I’m a registered social worker and I provide mental health counselling to East Asian youth. The first incident I heard about from a student occurred when the pandemic started at the end of January. One of the student’s classmates said, “We better put on hand sanitizer because there’s a Chinese person in front of us.”
Another Grade 11 student I work with endured harassment from classmates; they would tell him he was the reason for the coronavirus. The student is a newcomer and his English isn’t strong. He experiences depression and anxiety because of a history of family violence. This is compounded by the fact that he’s self-conscious about his English skills.
Before the pandemic, Asian identity was invisible. Now, it’s hyper-visible. The incidents I hear about in counselling are microaggressions, but they can really affect youths’ self-esteem and confidence as they grow up. Adolescence is already a confusing time, but to be in a situation where you’re constantly blamed, put down or targeted can really affect one’s ability to see that there could be a bright future ahead of them.
Rachel Chen, 42, head of special education and ESL,
with her sons, Mason, 7, and Tristan, 10
Caledon, Ont.
In early February, before schools closed, my son Mason told me about something that bothered him at school. His classmate told him he had coronavirus because he’s Chinese, and Chinese people eat bats. Mason is usually talkative, but he had trouble telling me this. I think he was embarrassed.
Mason is only in Grade 1. At that age, they may not understand what racism means, but I think parents need to talk to their children about it and how it affects kids. If we’re not teaching children now, then we’re going to raise a generation of ignorant people.
My older son, Tristan, is 10. I hope he’s built up enough confidence in his identity as a Chinese Canadian to be able to handle racist remarks. I don’t think Mason fully understood what was happening. He internalized it.
There are nations that want to hold China accountable for the coronavirus, and children learn a lot about world politics at home. When they go back to school, I worry that other kids will make comments to my boys that will make them feel bad about being Chinese.
Rachel Phan, 31, communications specialist at a tech company
Toronto
I grew up in Kingsville, Ont., the southernmost town in Canada. The population was 97 per cent white. I was always aware of my differences, since I was one of only two non-white students at my school until Grade 6. I don’t know what it feels like to blend in. In Grade 9 history class, two classmates spent the entire time telling me I should be deported. Around 2007, a classmate called me “bird flu.” I never want to relive those moments.
Every time I go on Twitter and see #chinesevirus trending, it triggers a lot of my past experiences and I feel a lot of shame. It doesn’t help that Trump called the coronavirus the “kung flu” multiple times. I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. My heart starts racing and I start becoming red—it’s my fight-or-flight response.
When I’m walking on the street, I think, Are people looking at me? Do they think I have COVID? I don’t walk by myself outside anymore. I always make sure my husband is with me. I’m afraid someone will say something racist or hurt me, physically.
Article From: Maclean’s
Author: By Jessica Lee
