Privilege

Privilege. It’s the ability to not have to make decisions based on race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender…

There has not been a time when walking into a room of people I have not quickly taken a glance around to count how many folks look like me. Not once since I can remember as a child – that number sure has skyrocketed since moving to the west coast!

I can count on one hand how many teachers/professors I have had that were Asian – really there was only one. I can’t even say Chinese because then there would be none.

Can you imagine how devastating that can be to someone’s identity. I spent my high school years searching for acceptance. I spent my college years attempting to be a leader. There were few, if any asian women leaders – and if there were, I didn’t know who they were during my college days or how to find them. After college we found a small “multi-ethnic” church – the pastors were Korean, black, and white – all men, of course. But this was much better than nothing.

Sometime along the way, I found my voice. I began to speak out against anything and everything based on social justice and principle. And then, I became the angry asian. I became the bleeding heart liberal. I became some other misnomers. I became the girl with the unique experience and unique voice. For a while, I embraced this “unique voice” of mine, until I realized, it’s just a pleasant way to say you’re really different. And, oh sure, we want to hear your perspective, but really only because if we shut you up, we would blatantly be tuning out diversity.

I learned to quiet myself, I learned to compartmentalize things in my brain, I learned to only be inwardly offended.

But then we had Olivia. And then Lucy. And that voice came roaring back. Because I refuse to bring my girls up in this world where we are second class citizens as women and as “model minorities”. I refuse to teach them that it’s better to be quiet – “to keep the peace” than to speak out against hate. I refuse to raise bi-racial/bi-cultural people that take advantage of privilege instead of calling it out. I refuse.

They will be raised in a home where both of their parents share the burden of leading the family. They will be raised in a home where differences are celebrated and valued. They will be raised in a home that is inclusive. A home that does not fear or judge, but loves.

So, privilege. If you see it, name it. And this lady right here, Kathy Khang, she saw it. She named it. And now her name is being dragged through the crapper for it, but this is what speaking out as a minority looks like.

Read it.  NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE OF THE GOSPEL CONFERENCE

So, we love.

carry your candle, run to the darkness
seek out the helpless, deceived and poor
hold out your candle for all to see it
take your candle, and go light your world

Sometime in college, I learned this cheesy song. It stuck. I think S and I even put it somewhere in our wedding program. I think. I mean, that was almost 11 years ago. Pre-kids, I would have known, but post kids? I’m lucky if I remember what I did over the weekend.

But, there was a time when S and I were very green. We looked forward to the future in a way that’s a bit embarrassing to think about now – with eyes wide open, with our palms up, with our hearts broken for others. We dreamed about being a doctor and social worker without borders. We believed that with our love, kindness, and empathy, we could change the world. We thought as long as we carried our hearts on our sleeves, no one could dampen our passion for people. No one could make us second guess what we thought we were created to do. With everything we were, we stood firm.

Along the way, pieces of these strong convictions started chipping away. Looking back, I see two incredibly naive 20 something year olds. Sometimes, I feel embarrassed for them. Because everything that is happening in our world today? In our country. In our community. It would appear that we can’t survive on love. It seems to me, that at every turn, we’ve been told some way or another, that love is not enough. That compassion is not safe. That kindness is too much work. And equality? Might cost too much.

We question how we can raise our daughters in this environment. Where we laugh at peoples names that are different from what we are comfortable with. Where we draw conclusions on a person’s character solely based on the color of their skin. Who they praise. Who they love. Or how they identify themselves. Where we fear what we do not understand. Where we draw lines – us versus them. Legal versus illegal. Good versus bad.

It takes everything within us to continue to love. To continue to pursue our naive dreams of changing the world. To continue to have hard conversations with each other. With our friends. With our children.

The good thing about growing up and developing calluses is being ok with what people think of us. Good or bad. Lots of bad lately, it seems. Though sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it’s devastating. And I wonder – who is with us? Who is against us? And we may never know. But in the end, does it really matter? Because we are living out what we believe to be true. What we believe whole heartedly:

Love the Lord your God with all your heart. with all your soul. with all your mind. This. is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it. Love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:37 – 39)

So, we love. Even when it hurts. Even when we are fearful. Even when it’s ugly. And especially when it’s hard. We love.

Holy Anger

Acceptance. Acceptance of me. Acceptance of who I am. Of who I was created to be.

If I believe that we are each made equally. If I believe that we are each made in the image of God. Then I must believe that this part of me. This part of me that has always made me feel different. Feel misunderstood. Feel like I never could fit in. This part. This is a reflection of him. So to hate it. To want it gone. Wiped away. It’s to hate that part of who he is.

But honestly? I’ve been wanting that, praying for that often. Hoping and wishing it away.

I distinctly remember talking about equity (with much smaller words) when I was very young. Talking about “fairness” in terms of how people are treated, how people are accepted, how people are perceived. This stuff has been running through my head since I was little. I know a lot comes from being raised by immigrant parents who worked more than half the hours in a 24 hr day and ends seemed to still not meet. I know a lot comes from knowing what government cheese is, and thinking that it was a treat. I know a lot comes from English being my second language. I know a lot comes from doing every. damn. school. assignment. on my own. I know a lot comes from working at a young age and paying for everything by myself. I know a lot comes from paying my own way through college. I know a lot comes from managing bills and healthcare and all those other adults things for my family beginning at a very young age. But. I also know that this part of me is God given.

I’ve made a career-ish out of it. I’m a social worker. I’m pretty good at it too – since it’s innate, seeing and hearing and believing comes easily. It’s in Olivia already too – I can see and hear it from her. And I love it in her. But truthfully, I know it’s a burden too.

Because I cannot not see. I cannot not feel. I cannot unsee. I cannot unfeel. I cannot compartmentalize injustice and move on with my life. I feel every bit of it. I sit in it. I am overwhelmed with it. And it can become debilitating.

I see every single homeless person on every single street I travel down. I try to meet every single one of their eyes. I wonder about their life. Their childhood. Their family. Where they stay at night. If they are receiving some sort of health and mental health care. What they eat. When was their last meal. When they last showered in a private bathroom. Who pays attention to them. And for what reason. What they think of me and the girls chatting with them. I see my parents in every single elderly homeless person. I feel a personal connection to all refugees and immigrants I encounter. I feel a deep connection to ethnic minorities almost instantly.

Break my heart for what breaks yours.

This is real life for me. My heart is broken. Because I believe in a God whose heart is broken for these very same individuals. I believe in a God who suffers when we suffer. I believe in a God who created us in his image. I believe in a God who created us to be equal. So when we aren’t treated equitably, I believe it breaks his heart.

And to justify injustice BLOWS MY MIND. To pass off racism as not a real problem pisses me off. To say that refugees and “illegal” (OMG. NO HUMAN IS ILLEGAL) immigrants shouldn’t be here as if each of us documented people earned our place here is infuriating. To discount people who believe in any other religion that is not our own is detestable. To hate people solely based on who they love is abominable. And I believe that this anger I have is God given. I believe whole heartedly it is a holy anger and I am to reject oppression and work for justice and peace.

I write all this for several reasons. Because I am coming around to finally accepting this large piece of me that has ostracized me from so many communities – a lot of them Christian circles. Hopefully this giant purge will allow me a full night of sleep and I’m sure S would love to get a break from me crying about it to him (he is just the best). To encourage others who think and see and hear similarly. And to say to those who are angry. It’s ok. It’s ok to be angry. Stop telling us otherwise. Anger can be justified and it can start revolutions for good and for love. And to encourage others to be respectful. I try. I try hard to still be respectful because who knows why people think the way they do. But don’t take that respect for agreement or approval. It is neither. But I believe you are also made in his image.

If you feel anger and frustration, don’t let that be diminished – maybe that is God’s image reflected through you. And when you feel a connection to someone different, someone the world tells us doesn’t deserve love, don’t dismiss it. Don’t ignore it. Love.