Why I’ve Stopped Telling People I’m Not Chinese
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/opinion/coronavirus-chinese-asian-racism.html
以下是节选，由本人翻译。
So a few days before the trip, I emailed my (white) hairdresser frantically: “I know this sounds crazy but can you can make me blonde? I’m traveling next week and I’m worried about being mistaken for Chinese and blamed for the coronavirus.”
临行前几天，我发邮件给我的理发师说，“虽然很突然，但你能不能帮我染成黄色？我下周要出远门，我怕路人把我当成华人，要我为肺炎负责。”
My panic was a humbling reminder that I should never be overly confident that I would do the right thing in the face of fear. Sure, wanting to avoid racial profiling is a survival instinct. But survival instincts are often amoral and, if unchecked, can easily turn ugly.
这种慌张让我意识到，在恐惧面前我未必总能作出正确的选择。诚然，避免被他人贴种族标签是一种求生本能，但求生本能经常是不道德的，而且如果不作限制，很快就会走向丑恶。
I ended up not dyeing my hair because a sudden allergy attack made it ill advised. Also, it was stupid.
最终我还是决定不染头发，因为临时出现了一些过敏症状，也因为这想法实在是很蠢。
But I shared my anxiety with a half-Chinese-American, half-white friend. What if I get stopped at the airport for extra screening? I asked. She messaged, “Carry around a copy of your books to prove you’re Korean.” (Two of the books I wrote have the word “Korean” in the title.) She added: “I’m serious.”
我向我的中美混血朋友表达了我的焦虑。如果我被机场安检刁难怎么办？她回复：“带上几本你写的书，证明你是韩国人。”（我写过两本标题含有Korean的书）。然后她加了一句：“我是认真的。”
When I was a kid in late-1970s suburban Chicago, anti-Chinese taunts were a daily occurrence. It was a frequent topic at Korean church — the only place we clapped eyes on other Koreans outside our own homes. Our parents and Sunday school teachers told us that the correct response was, “I’m not Chinese; I’m Korean.” (This didn’t even work, it should be noted: When I informed a mean kindergartner that I was Korean, he responded, “There is no such place.”)
70年代的芝加哥市郊，我当时还是个小朋友，遭遇反华言论是一种日常。这成了韩裔教堂（除了自己家之外，唯一能让我们认真注视其他韩国人的地方）的日常话题。我的父母和兴趣班老师都告诉我们正确的回答方式是：“我不是中国人，我是韩国人。”（其实没有效果，此处应该加备注：当我跟幼儿园一个刻薄的同学说我是韩国人的时候，他回复我，“根本没有你说的这个地方”）
None of us kids were proud of being Korean-American back then. The grown-ups tried to counter this shame by instilling ethnic pride. But despite their good intentions, they invited pride’s ugly sibling: implied permission to step on other people.
那时候没有哪个小孩以自己韩裔美国人的身份为傲。大人试图通过强调民族自豪感来对抗这种羞愧，虽然是出于好心，但同时他们也带来了自豪的兄弟：对歧视他人的默许。
For an inarticulate child, maybe “I’m not Chinese” isn’t an especially meaningful retort. But a grown woman should know better.
对于一个不善言辞的小朋友，也许“我不是中国人”的说法无伤大雅，但一个成年女性不能把自己跟小朋友比。
So what finally brought about my moment of self-reckoning? It was a T-shirt.
最终是什么让我开始自我反省的呢？是一件T-shirt。
Last month, a Chinese-American friend of mine posted on social media about a targeted internet ad that had outraged her. In the wake of Covid-19, some clothing vendor saw a business opportunity: a series of T-shirts with slogans like, “I’m Asian but I’m not Chinese,” “I’m not Chinese, I’m Korean,” “I’m not Chinese, I’m Malaysian,” etc. Her friends’ comments under her post were equally indignant. (So much for predictive algorithms, by the way.)
上个月，我的一个华裔美国朋友在社交媒体上贴出了一个令她愤怒的定向投放网络广告。一些服装商家在covid-19中发现了一个商机：一系列印着“我是Asian不是Chinese”、“我不是Chinese，我是Korean”，“我不是Chinese，我是Malaysian”，等等。她帖子下面朋友的评论也同样愤愤不平。
My first thought was, “I wish we’d had these shirts when I was a kid.”
我当时第一个想法是，“我小时候要是有这样的衣服就好了”。
And then I stopped myself, horrified.
然后我被我的这个想法吓到了。
I started bookmarking tweets and news reports of racist incidents. A sample:
我开始从推特和新闻上收录与种族仇视有关的事件。比如说：
An Asian woman pressed an elevator button with her elbow. A man in the elevator asked, “Oh, coronavirus?” She said, “Don’t have it, but trying to be prepared.” As he was leaving the elevator, he said, “Don’t bring that Chink virus here.”
一位亚裔女士在电梯里用胳膊肘按按钮。旁边的男士说，“哦！因为肺炎吗？”她回答：“没有，但是在做准备”。男人离开电梯的时候说，“别把支那病毒带过来。”
An Asian woman walked into a park and a group of mothers screamed for their kids to get away from her.
一位亚裔女士走进一个公园，一帮母亲马上开始吼她们的孩子，让他们离她远点。
A middle-aged Asian woman wearing a mask was going for a walk when a woman screamed at her to get away from her.
一位戴口罩的亚裔中年妇女在散步，另一位女士一边对着她尖叫一边绕路走。
A man spat on an Asian man waiting for the subway.
一位亚裔男士在等地铁时被另一名男士吐痰在身上。
A man spat on an Asian woman walking to her gym.
一名亚裔女士在前往健身房的路上被另一名男性吐痰在身上。
A woman refused a coffee from a barista because she thought the barista was Chinese. When the Asian man behind her started telling her how irrational that request was, she snarled, “Are you Chinese?” He retorted, “No, but your ugly-ass knockoff purse is.”
一名女士拒绝咖啡师端上来的咖啡，理由是她认为咖啡师是中国人。当他身后的另一位亚裔男士指出她的这种想法的荒谬时，她大声吼道：“你是Chinese么？”于是他反驳道：“不是，你那个土到掉渣的冒牌包才是。”
I never would have thought that the word “Chink” would have a resurgence in 2020. The word was supposed to be as outdated as those sinister little Chinamen saltshakers I saw in thrift shops. It still thrived among bottom feeders on the internet, but I hadn’t heard it directed at me since I was in my 20s. But now I was encountering that word every time I read about an anti-Asian incident or hearing about its use from friends. I couldn’t process the fact that Americans were hurling that slur at us so openly and with such raw hate. In the past, I had a habit of minimizing anti-Asian racism because it had been drilled into me early on that racism against Asians didn’t exist. Anytime that I raised concerns about a racial comment, I was told that it wasn’t racial. Anytime I brought up an anti-Asian incident, a white person interjected that it was a distraction from the more important issue (and there was always a more important issue). I’ve been conditioned to think my second-class citizenry was low on the scale of oppression and therefore not worth bringing up even though every single Asian-American I know has stories of being emasculated, fetishized, humiliated, underpaid, fired or demoted because of our racial identities.
我从未想到Chink这个词在2020年会回光返照。虽然网络蛆虫们一直在不断内循环这个词，但在现实生活中，从我20岁开始就已经没有人对我使用这个词了。然而现在我每读到一篇仇亚事件都能遇到这个词，要么就是从朋友嘴里跑出来。我无法接受美国人如此开放、如此充满原始怨恨地把这个词用在我们身上。在过去，我总是习惯性地忽视仇亚种族主义，因为我这么多年深入脑髓的信仰就是：针对亚裔的种族主义并不存在。每当我对一条歧视言论表示关注，别人就会说那并非种族仇恨；每当我提起一起仇亚事件，一个白人就会跳出来说，这是从更重要问题上转移视线的手段（而且永远会有一个更重要的问题）。我已经习惯性地认为，我作为一个二等公民，在被压迫榜单上排的很后所以没什么好提的，即便我认识的每一个亚裔美国人都有一个因为自己的种族而被弱化，被物化，被侮辱，被扣薪，被炒，被降职的故事。
After President Trump called Covid-19 the “Chinese virus” in March, the Asian Pacific Policy and Planning Council said more than 650 incidents of discrimination directed against Asian-Americans were reported to a website it helps maintain in one week alone. Even after seeing that number, I wondered if anti-Asian racism would be taken seriously. On Twitter, when the novelist R.O. Kwon talked about the surge, an in-law asked doubtfully, “Is it really happening?” Do the reports have to rise to 1,000 a week? 2,000? How many is enough so that the hate will be seen?
在川普2020年三月把covid-19称为“中国病毒”之后，亚太政策与计划委员会表示，近一周内他们维护的网站就收到了多达650起针对亚裔美国人的歧视事件。然而即使看到这个数字，我也很好奇仇亚行为是否会被严肃对待。在推特上，当韩裔小说家R. O. Kwon提到排亚潮时，一个亲戚充满怀疑地问道，“真的有那么严重吗？” 数字是不是要提高到每周1000起？还是2000起？到底要多严重才能让大家“看到”仇恨的存在？
全文 https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/opinion/coronavirus-chinese-asian-racism.html
