Anna Thielen
Perspective
The Amnesiac Fog
After the 2020 election I called my friend. She’s Chinese and we had grown up together, suffering embarrassing toddler documentation and seeing if we could dig to China, only to be thwarted by the extent of the sandbox. We talked about the future of social programs and about our first female Vice-President. We briefly discussed her racial heritage, but skimmed over the fact she was Asian, blundering on to talk about what might become of the national deficit. It was dark when I hung up the phone; and before I could set it down, I saw my screen light up again. It was my other friend, an African American classmate from college, calling to congratulate me over Harris’s election into office. I paused, confused by what seemed to be an overly specific congratulatory gesture. Hearing my hesitancy, my former classmate tried to explain. “I remember how excited the black community was over Obama, so it’s a big win for you, you know, being Asian.” I stammered an awkward thank you, realizing in that moment how utterly dismissive I am of my own racial heritage when it comes to politics.
To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever really considered my own race when operating in the political realm. This tends to perplex my African American and Hispanic friends; but among my fellow Asians, this doesn’t seem too out of the ordinary. My small nose wrinkles as I latch onto my identity as a woman or as a millennial trying to make it in this entropic world. I open my mail-in ballot and vote in regard to fiscal strategies and social values. I finish and fold my ballot, carefully placing it back in the envelope, eager for my opinion on economic and cultural matters to be
quantitatively expressed.
For a few weeks after the call, I wondered if something was wrong with me. Why was it that I never think about being Asian when I think about politics, an arena I find myself in daily both at work and at home?. I began frantically reaching out to all of my Asian friends, wondering if I had developed a terrible oversight. Deciding that my social circle was too small to trust the feedback I was receiving, I began accosting strangers. The result was nineteen case study interviews. Eleven of the interviewees were female and eight were male. Twelve were Chinese, three were Pilipino, one was Japanese, two were Indian, and one was Vietnamese. Nine were from California and seven were from Colorado, one was from Oregon, one was from Texas, and one from Virginia. Ten of the interviewees were Millennials, born between 1981-1996, and nine were Generation Z, born 1997-2012. Despite differences in ethnic background, state, and upbringing, all the answers had a similar ring: “Race? Oh, I don’t think about that when I vote.”
Clearly I wasn't an oddity, and yet my instincts were telling me I should be. Race is a stagnant and central part of a person’s identity. It’s part of a person's physical manifestation that dictates how the world observes them and how they interact with the world. It seems to be a documented statistical focal point for other ethnic minorities such as African Americans and Hispanics, not only for scholars but advertised in the major news outlets, such as The New York Times, The Washington Post, NBC News, The Wall Street Journal.
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