In Chinese mythology, the Rat won first place in a race against other animals by hitchhiking across the river on the back of the Ox and jumping to shore at the last second. As a reward, Lord Buddha made the rat the first animal in the 12-year zodiac cycle.
As much as I love Lunar New Year (春節), and Chinese folk stories, this zodiac story never made sense to me. First of all, wouldn’t Lord Buddha know the rat cheated and disqualify him? Second, rats are filthy creatures. They are known to most New Yorkers as subway lurkers and trash scavengers that skitter across the sidewalk past our feet at night. For Chinese Americans, an association with rats even has roots in racist propaganda: in the 1800s, white settlers propagated the myth that Chinese people eat rats, so much so that general stores sold pest extermination products with labels that had Chinese people on them:
Pretty racist, right? But to be frank, the symbolism seems fitting given that 2020, the Year of the Rat, has been a total disaster for Asian Americans in a way that feels almost like a cosmic conspiracy.
News of the life-canceling coronavirus first arrived, of all times, on the eve of Lunar New Year. This is arguably the single most important holiday for Chinese, Taiwanese, Korean, and Vietnamese immigrant families all year, marked by mass travel, large family gatherings, parades, and ostentatious displays of Asian-ness. That was the first bad omen.
At the time, I was working for an advocacy organization on the brink of winning a long-fought legislative victory for immigrant workers. I was tasked with organizing a large group of Chinese delivery workers for a series of rallies and lobbying visits, but this time, not a single one of them dared attend. The reason? They were too scared of the virus. For me and many others who experienced similar things in their lines of work, that was the second bad omen.
The third bad omen came when President Trump himself, convinced for once to follow a script, crossed out the word “corona” in “coronavirus,” and wrote in “Chinese” for his press briefing. Trump and Republican leaders began using the terms “Wuhan virus” or “Chinese virus” regularly. Sure enough, as the death toll from the virus climbed, hate crimes and bias incidents against Asian Americans also spiked dramatically. Asian-owned businesses shuttered. People began wearing masks everywhere. The Year of the Rat had ushered in a plague of global proportions.
The grief alone has been overwhelming: As of mid-May, COVID-19 has claimed almost 90,000 lives and counting. Our country is also experiencing mass anticipatory grief due to the uncertainties around the trajectory of the virus. There isn’t a single decision in the day, or a thought of the future, that isn’t somehow laced with the bitterness of our current reality.
But the anger is just as debilitating. All the things we were already upset about: inequities in healthcare access, education, and mass incarceration, bailouts of major corporations while small businesses shrivel up, exploitative labor practices, and the disproportionate burden that people of color have borne as frontline workers and victims of the virus, have now been magnified under the harsh light of this crisis.
Under other circumstances, we would most certainly be out in the streets protesting these injustices. But our collective rage can no longer be amassed within a physical space. Under this regime, hard-learned mobilization strategies we have developed during the last four years have been rendered difficult to operationalize even by the nimblest of civic and activist groups.
At the same time, it has suddenly become much more difficult to fight for our rights on other fronts: before the pandemic, Asian Americans were already the least likely to fill out the Census, putting us at a chronic disadvantage for federal resources and representation. We’re also the least likely to vote, so organizations are now also facing the challenge of doing voter education and potentially GOTV during a time when the prospect of getting in line in a public place is its own form of voter suppression.
As if Asian American mental health wasn’t already a concern. Right now, people in the Asian community -- myself included -- are scared to go outside alone. We’ve seen one too many videos of people throwing fists, knives, and substances at Asian people. Some of us are not able to visit family members living or visiting abroad. On the other hand, staying inside has its own drawbacks: these days, depression and anxiety is practically the norm.
It goes to show what utter nonsense the model minority myth is. Even if we grant perpetrators of anti-Asian violence the benefit of the doubt (i.e. perhaps they were experiencing a temporary insanity brought about by coronavirus paranoia), we can’t forget that the leaders of the land couldn’t wait to throw us under the bus to save face (which by the way, I thought was our thing). Campaign rhetoric hinging on candidates’ “tough on China” cred could also have foreign policy implications, including those that prohibit immigration.
I don’t mean to be glib about this terrible moment in our nation’s history. I am well aware that people are dying and that our economy may take a long time to recover. But in the spirit of drawing from my cultural resources to make sense of this moment, I want to try and rescue the Year of the Rat from ending up in the compost heap of Asian American history:
Asian American elected leaders have never been more active, visible, and central to the current political conversation. Grace Meng, Judy Chu, Mark Takano, Tammy Duckworth, Kamala Harris, and Ted Lieu practically LIVE on Zoom calls these days. Trust me, I’ve tuned in to a dozen of these town halls on “Anti-Asian Racism & COVID-19”, “COVID-19 and Asian Small Businesses”, and every permutation of those events possible.
For what it’s worth, it’s still Asian Pacific American Heritage Month (APAHM). PBS’ Asian Americans documentary came out last week, which has the potential to shift the narrative around Asian Americans for generations to come. Every person of color in America needs to see their history reflected back to them. It’s not only validating, but a necessary part of fostering belonging and community, as well as giving us a framework for mobilizing for the changes we still want to see. It’s not just a film. It’s a claim to our rightful place in American history and democracy.
Asian Americans are waking up to the fact that our “model minority” status isn’t going to protect us: we have to protect ourselves and be good allies to others. The rampant anti-Asian discrimination we’re seeing is a painful lesson we’re learning the hard way, especially for those of us whose families immigrated here after the end of Asian exclusion laws. With the scapegoating, “Go-backing”, and constant threat of violence, we’re now coming to a clearer understanding of how white supremacy affects and implicates us. This is a tough pill to swallow, but it’s ultimately a good thing if we can change our perspective as a result.
We can take immediate action to make sure our communities never fall through the cracks again. 2020 is Census year AND a presidential election year. Fill out the Census (I have a video and FAQ on that here). Look up what your state is planning to do for the November election (i.e. mail-in/absentee ballots, or early voting), and tell your family and friends.
There are also bills being introduced every week that would help support those who are most disadvantaged by this pandemic. Call your local and state representatives and tell them what you want to see in those bills: support for artists and musicians? Forgiveness for student loan debt? Medicare for All? Tell them what you want to see.
This year can be more than what happens to us. It can be the start of a new era if we choose to make it so. I hope the beginning of this next 12-year cycle brings about the changes and renewal we’ve been waiting for for far too long, and that we can reclaim this moment with grit, resourcefulness, and tenacity. 財源广進，暑運亨通: may good fortune and prosperity follow in all that you do.
