How To Continue Awesome

Some of you may already know, that I've always been a "Plain Jane" and last  year I wrote this blog every day for a year, challenging myself to find opportunities to demonstrate activism in small, ordinary ways every single day.  I look forward to returning to that which is so very comfortable for me!

Words can not express my gratitude for your support and belief in me over the last few months.  While countless Bereans and Berea-inspired folks have offered me beautiful, kind words of support, I want to challenge each and every one of you to really embrace the beauty of your own words.  Funny thing is, if you really read all of your texts, e-mails, and messages, they are not about me - they are about YOU.  They are about your voice and desire to build a beautiful, inclusive community - I was just one small channel that could have possibly helped amplify your voices.  These are your own words.  Hear your own voices.  I do.  This community does.  The world does.  

An ethical, empowering, community-based campaign 

What local politics has the potential to be

Beautiful, loving and incredibly inspiring community driven world-changers

A classy, issue-focused, people-driven, community-loving campaign

Love the hope and strength in our community

A beautiful campaign

Represent the conscience of those who care about civil rights 

Honorable and full of integrity

The winds of change are in the air

Deep pockets are not required to reach people

Boldness is inspiring

Passion is contagious

Breath of fresh air

Community, mutual responsibility and above all, awesomeness

Positive and forward thinking

Continue to change the world  
Continue to change the world 
Continue to change the world 
Continue to change the world.  

   

          

What Happened When We Asked Rape Survivors To Share Their Stories at A Charity Ball

When I was 15, a girl named Anna got up in English class to give an oral presentation.  I don't remember what the assignment was, but other kids that went before her, spoke about things like their position on the death penalty and the political climate of the country.  Anna got up and talked about being raped by her uncle.  Looking back now, I'm absolutely appalled at what went through my 15-year old mind.  How dare she expose me to that "explicit" content without any warning.  How inappropriate for her to talk about something so personal in such a public setting.  I didn't offer her support.  I walked out of that class incredibly uncomfortable, and just eager to shove all of those horrific images out of my mind.  Because I had the privilege to do so.

Twenty-five years later, I find myself directing a local rape crisis center, one that is in the midst of  a 40th anniversary.  For the last 12 months, we've been planning our signature celebratory event, and it finally took place last night.  And it was grand.  It was held at a castle.  There was a red carpet. There was a community art piece where attendees were able to share their connections to the anti-violence movement. People passionately poured their hearts out affirming the courage of survivors and offering them heartfelt encouragement.  There was a special program honoring the most extraordinary advocates over the past 40 years.  There was a live and silent auction with all proceeds benefiting survivor services.  This all probably sounds much like any typical charity fundraiser you've attended.  Except for one thing - we invited two survivors to talk about their experiences.

You've probably been to plenty of charity events where students are asked to speak about the impact a college scholarship has had on them, or where children with disabilities come out and thank guests for their support.  While it's easy, maybe even inspirational, to hear someone talk about overcoming things like poverty or physical limitations, for the most part, it's still excruciatingly uncomfortable for us to hear someone talk about overcoming a sexual assault....just as it was for me to hear Anna share her story with me over two decades ago.

You see, there's no good way to talk about rape, and there's no way to sugarcoat a survivor's experience. It's horrific.  It's painful.  It's uncomfortable.  There's just no getting around that. But for some survivors (and we honor the different healing journeys of all survivors), being able to share their voice is the very difference between seeing oneself as a victim and seeing oneself as a survivor.  Imagine the freedom you might feel, not carrying that burden around with you all by yourself.  Imagine being able to reclaim your silenced voice by owning that part of your story.  Imagine the power of a community of people surrounding you, affirming to you that it never was your fault, that your courage is inspirational, that your very willingness to speak out could be helping someone else right there in that room.  That YOUR STORY is not unworthy and has a place at a fancy charity event for a non-profit whose mission is to eradicate sexual violence.

So we didn't ask the speakers to focus merely on how they "overcame" such an atrocity - you know, to focus only on what happened after their rape.  We didn't ask them to keep it "PG".  We didn't ask them to try not to "bring the mood of the party down". In other words, we didn't ask them to tell their story in a way that wouldn't make others feel uncomfortable.  Because let's face it, rape is uncomfortable.  And everyone should be uncomfortable with the fact that every two seconds someone is sexually assaulted in America.

Last night, two incredible survivors spoke - one about being raped by her boyfriend's father, and the other about being molested as a child.   And we honored their healing journeys by encouraging them to express the real and raw emotions that they experienced, and continue to experience.  We encouraged them to tell their stories in a way that was authentic to them - not in a way that would make it easy for the rest of us to hear.  Because after all, isn't that what the 250 people in attendance were there for?  To support survivors and to raise funds for programs that provide counseling and advocacy for them? A friend of mine who attended came to this conclusion - we, as a society, seem to have a low tolerance for raw exposure to certain realities.  When we watch atrocities in movies like Schindler's List or Slumdog Millionaire, we can just turn it off and not face it.  But it's harder to do so when someone in the flesh and blood is telling you what they experienced.  It's even harder when you're at a charity event whose sole purpose is to raise funds to prevent those atrocities from happening in the first place.

Maybe if we allow ourselves to embrace the discomfort, we might start talking about rape and sexual violence more.  Because no matter how much we want to pretend that it's not happening, it is.  A lot. Maybe if we talk about it more, a greater number of survivors will come forward to seek help.  Maybe more offenders will begin to hear how intolerant we are of sexual violence - how we refuse to accept this as our norm.  Maybe by finding our voices in this movement, we might help survivors find theirs.

I think about Anna often.  I long desperately to go back in time and catch her at the end of class to tell her how much I admired her courage.  How brave I thought she was.  How her strength might have made it possible for others to find the courage to speak out and seek help that day.  I still hope for that one in a million chance that I have the opportunity to do so.  Until then, I hope we all are willing to experience a little discomfort, and  to hand the mic over to any survivor who is ready to have their voice back again.

Note:  At the event, we provided trigger warnings to those in attendance, and crisis counselors were available throughout the night.

Dear Grown-Ups Working Hard to Break Down Racial Barriers

Dear Grown-Ups Working Hard to Break Down Racial Barriers,

I see you at the peace rallies, going out of your way to shake hands with everyone two shades browner than you.  I see you at church, walking way across the pews to welcome the new African-American family.  I know that you attend the MLK breakfast every year and some years you even bring your kids to march with you.  And was that you I saw at the Human Rights Commission banquet last fall?  Wasn't that you who showed up at the Trayvon Martin community discussion a few years ago too? And you always, always call the servers at China King and Mariachi's by their full names and ask them how their kids are doing.  The server at Olive Garden rarely gets that kind of love.

Here's the thing.  I think you might be complicating things. You see, I'm not even in second grade yet, so I can't do most of the things that you do - that is unless my parents make me.  And boy, they sure do.  Because like you, they also want me to live in that magical world that Dr. King speaks of in that children's book they read to me every January.  You know, where kids of all different colors play together. The funny thing is that, they keep talking about that world like it's one of those mythical realms on my favorite show, Adventureland, with rainbows and talking unicorns.  I don't understand why grown-ups always seem to be trying so hard when I already live in that world.  And really, it's no big deal.

This weekend I turned 7 and the grown-ups threw a birthday party for me.  They told me I could invite anyone I wanted to.  So I invited my friend Viktor, who was my very first friend in my very first daycare class when we were both just three months old!  Our moms keep in touch on Facebook and we've managed to have a few play dates since then even though we don't go to the same school.  And I invited my classmate, Gregory who was just as shy as I was in kindergarten.  His big sister helped translate my mom's directions into Spanish for Gregory's dad over the phone.  And I invited Telson, this totally awesome kid (from New York City just like in Home Alone!) that my mom introduced me to.  He goes to my school, but we're in different classes.  And Thurgood with the cool haircut, who sat with me at morning assembly everyday during first-grade.  And I invited my neighbor Elijah, my friends Colin, Jack H., Jack P., my classmates Rian and Wiley.  And the grown-ups wanted me to meet some friends of theirs who had two kids - Karston and Sadie.  And since the grown-ups were showing us a kids movie in the backyard, I told them to bring their whole families - brothers and sisters and all!  And at the end of the night, there were 20 kids from ages 3 - 12 running around my backyard, gulping up 80 beef, turkey, and tofu hot dogs.  And I never really noticed, but 12 of those kids (including me) were all different shades of brown.

And that's just my world.  It's not some magical land that I dream of, strive for, work towards.  It's my reality.  These are my friends that I play with, exchange toys with, make s'mores with, and play freeze tag with.  Sometimes I even fight with them, but we always make up.  These are the people I invite into my home, not to make some point or some big social statement, but simply because I like them.  And they like me.  Period.  I wonder when the grown-ups will figure out that they too can be a part of our "magical" world.  All they have to do is live it.

Signed,
Jack M., Age 7

Photo credit: Jessica H.

If You Let Her In

If you let her in, one day she will tell countless young women that they can - because if someone had told her that, maybe it wouldn't have taken her 40 years to finally believe it.

If you let her in, on a cold, rainy day she will hand you a dollar, her wool coat, her tax refund, because she knows first-hand that the kindness of others can replenish a soul.

If you let her in, she will defend your child, speak up for your daughter, advocate for you, because she knows too well, what it's like to have a voice that doesn't count.

If you let her in, she will never let those high school boys who circled her when she was 6 and told her to go back to her own country, the customer who requested an "American" front desk worker instead, those men who called her gook, chink, chinamen just a few months ago - she will never let them represent all that is good and just in this country.

If you let her in, she will pour her heart and soul into your community, her community not merely by filling out some mandated tax form, but by actively participating, volunteering, maybe even running for an elected position that might allow her to do even more.

If you let her in, she will choose to take a pay cut, drive 40 miles away from her family every day, if she thinks there's a slight chance she can become part of the solution.

If you let her in, some day she will end up standing next to you at a peace rally in Washington D.C., fighting for the same justice that you seek. 

If you let her in, she will grow with you, build with you, dream with you.  Like you, she will do everything in her power to create a world that is beautiful and fair for your children, for hers...and for all the children across those imaginary lines we keep drawing to separate us from one another.

I was 14 when my parents stuck an "unaccompanied minor" tag on me, put me on a plane 9000 miles from home, and sent me to live with a distant relative in Kensington, Maryland.  While I was born and spent the first 8 years of my life in the suburbs of Chicago, my family moved to Thailand when I was 8.  The Asian stock market crashed, along with millions of Thais, my dad lost his job, and a series of other hopeless, option-less events took place far away from the land of the free, in the developing part of the world.  And just like that, my parents were faced with the hardest decision of their life.

Thank you for letting me (back) in 28 years ago.  I hope we don't miss the chance to always open our hearts and our borders to the young people who most desperately need us to embrace them.  You never know who they might become.  If we make a little room in our hearts, to let them in.

Actually, I'm Not Being Defensive, I'm Just Being Right

Be who you are.  Own what you know.  Speak your truth.  

Sounds simple enough, right?  Well, I have a confession.  For the first four decades of my life I did NONE of these things.  I'm not sure if it's fair for me to completely place blame on my cultural upbringing, but I certainly cannot deny the fact that I was immensely shaped and molded by these values:

To, at all costs, "save face" in order to keep the respect of others
 
To always pretend that it's the first time I've heard a great idea (even if I've voiced that same idea a million times prior)

To allow people to "teach" "dispel wisdom" and "dispense advice" on things I already knew or had more experience with than they did

To put a smile on my face even if I was simultaneously imagining slapping someone square across the face

And then one day I turned 40 and (for a wide range of reasons mentioned throughout this blog) woke up completely incapable of being anything less than authentic.  And there I was at "the table" - board meetings, among other professional colleagues, in committees. I still had that same smile on my face, but I no longer acted bewildered and amazed when someone shared their "innovative" and groundbreaking idea with me.  Now I never humiliated anyone or acted like a know-it-all. I was always respectful, and I always thanked people for their contributions. But I also gently let them in on the fact that other bright and talented people had been operating with those same "groundbreaking" ideas for some time now.  When a well-meaning person without the slightest grasp of the complexities of my work tried to offer unsolicited advice on how I could be more successful in my job, I no longer nodded politely and said, "Gee, that's so insightful.  Why didn't I think of that?"  Instead I courteously, but directly - told them that it's a bit offensive that they would assume that I haven't considered the breadth of MY OWN job.  Or the fact that I was actually being compensated to provide leadership and vision for an organization.   And when someone was abrasive, confrontational and acted like a bully, I no longer just smiled and took it in order to "save face".  I called them out and held them accountable for their lack of professionalism, and their unwillingness to learn to disagree respectfully. 

And while my husband has been acting in this direct and honest manner for his ENTIRE professional career with no one missing a beat, when I began to do this I was met with remarks like these:

Aren't you being a bit defensive Mae?  
I'm just trying to help.
I didn't mean to upset you.

So, let it be known from this day forward, that when I speak with authority and authenticity, I'm not being defensive - nor am I upset.  And please make no mistake, that I am grateful for continued opportunities to learn from others, to see value in perspectives different than mine, and to embrace the wisdom of those that surround me.  But after 40 years of wasting my time, your time, and passing up on chance after chance, for ALL of us to make progress on a multitude of things, I'm done being "accommodating nice" just to spare and validate condescending feelings of inferiority.  There's a whole world out there that desperately needs us to step up to the plate, and act in ways far beyond any personal need to self-affirm. 

So meet me at the table with the assumption that I am just as capable - or perhaps (gasp!) maybe even more capable than you.  Go ahead and get comfortable with the notion that the ideas of others might also be innovative and groundbreaking.  And that yours might not always be that great.  And for the love of God, don't bring your baggage of privilege and power to the table in order to force yourself to be heard.  You will be heard - or more importantly, you will be respected if you too speak your truth with authenticity.

See, I told you, I'm not upset at all.  I'm just right.

Photo courtesy http://www.parexcellencemagazine.com.

Why I Own My Prejudices

Recently, I have offended a few people with some of my social media postings. Not because I took part in a highly politicized discussion thread.  Not because I "liked" a controversial page.  But for one reason and one reason alone:  I own my prejudices.  Not all of them, and not all at once.  Good Lord, I do have real feelings (that may or may not have had me crying in fetal position in a corner at various points in my life).  But as a general rule, if there is ever an opportunity for me to publicly share my own limitations, I do - and today I'm going to try to articulate exactly why I do this.

So I'm that person who talks openly about what feelings the confederate flag symbol incites in me.  I talk openly about those things that have come to define me as "Asian" and I don't apologize for claiming them as my own.  I talk about how complex social systems like poverty and privilege have come to frame my perspective on so many things - sometimes in valuable and necessary ways.  Many times in non-productive and hurtful ways.  

This blog has provided me with an extraordinary space to do this.  But why on earth would I want to expose my personal vulnerabilities and my despicable prejudices to the world?  It's simple.  Because I want to change it.  I want to help make it a better place where hate crimes don't exist, love is universal,  gender-based violence is eradicated, heck, where all violence is eradicated, and the opportunity to live a safe and happy life is equally accessible to everyone. 

And I just don't think I can do that without taking a long, hard look at myself.  As you know, I don't claim to be anything but ordinary.  And let me tell you, this ordinary gal did not grow up in a bubble, immune from prejudices, hate speech, divisive thought, THE MEDIA, all the "isms", or her own privileged status.  But the beauty in all of this is that EVERY SINGLE TIME that I publicly admit my shortcomings and prejudicial thoughts - EVERY SINGLE TIME - someone on my friends list, or someone who follows my blog sees themselves in my story.  Someone stops working, scrolls down on their phone, and pauses to reflect on their own story.  Someone right there and then, vows to make an intentional change in themselves, in their children, in the world around them.  See for yourself.  Here are 6 blog posts where I am making generalized assumptions about entire groups of people.  And here I am owning my shortcomings, sharing my lessons learned with the world, and making a personal (and highly public) commitment to do better.  To BE better.

The Confederate Flag

Girly Girls

"Unsafe" Neighborhoods

Special Needs Kids

 Ron Paul Supporters

Other Asians

So here's my challenge to you.  How much progress are you making in your social circles and communities by suppressing and denying the existence of your own prejudices?  Perhaps, (like me for the first three quarters of my life) you are constantly walking around on eggshells trying NOT to offend anyone and everyone.  Perhaps you are constantly secretly beating yourself up when a racist, sexist, or just plain mean thought creeps its way into or from your subconscious.  Perhaps, like me - you attempt superficial ways to ease your burden of responsibility by buying your kid inclusive books, volunteering at the homeless shelter, wearing that "love sees no color" t-shirt.  But at the end of the day let me ask you this:  Do the people sitting around your dinner table still look and act exactly like you? 

DO THE PEOPLE SITTING AROUND YOUR DINNER TABLE STILL LOOK AND ACT EXACTLY LIKE YOU?

I do have a bit of good news.  You are not alone.  You are not a horrible person for becoming a product of your environment, your upbringing, your social dynamics.  Your character however, may be in question if you think you are walking around with NO prejudices and that you are NOT contributing (either personally or systematically) to disparity, inequality, and injustice. 

And so I challenge US with this:  Let's own it.  Let's do something about it.  Let's change the world by first changing ourselves.

To You, On Days Like Today

On days like today, I stand in solidarity with you.

You, who have for weeks, been overcome with dread and fear about facing the sun rise.  Not because you don’t cherish that role everyone around you is celebrating, but because days like this are like a million broken shards of glass that pierce and prod, and relentlessly remind you of the unbearable loss that leaves a perpetual void in your heart…and in your embrace.

You, who have yearned and yearned and tried and tried.  And have heard the heartbeat, saw the ultrasound, laid numb and lifeless on a hospital bed while that glimpse of your entire future was swiftly taken from your body, from your soul.  You have longed, with every fiber of your being, to wake up to finally claim days like today as your own.

You, who find very little reason, or perhaps no reason at all, to celebrate the woman in your life who really is no more than just a title on a piece of paper.  You, who walk around lost and dazed on days like today, desperately trying to find a sliver of a reason to celebrate her.  Desperately trying to find a way to free yourself from her.

You, who teach, mentor, lead, guide, and LOVE without ever even having to carry life inside of you.  You instinctively offer your gift of life to all those outside of you, around you.  So incredibly beautiful how you - even more so than many who carry the title – sacrifice, empower, and nurture the countless spirits of others.

Today I stand in solidarity with you. 

Mothers of the earth,

Nurturers of the human spirit,

Lovers of the entire village,

Broken,

Whole,

Hopeless,

Hopeful,

Extraordinary.

Today, while the world celebrates a role you may or may not feel worthy or comfortable claiming as your own.

I see you. 

I hear your voice. 

I see your worth.

I stand by you. 

And I celebrate your indomitable spirit to continue to carry love and light into the world, 

Even when it’s probably a bit harder to do so, on days like today.