Olympians or Not, We Deserve to Be Here
No medal or score is as important as putting an end to the violence occurring right now
Every Asian American kid in the country knows the feeling: When your classmates ask if you eat dogs and cats. When someone pulls at the corners of their eyes to imitate Asian faces on the playground. When you’re called “Ching Chong” or “Ling Ling.”
Some of the comments might seemingly be well-intentioned, like when people say, “You’re pretty for an Asian” or “You’re like a banana — yellow on the outside and White on the inside.” It almost feels like a compliment. You’re expected to laugh along, and you’re afraid not to — after all, you don’t want people to think you don’t have a sense of humor. You might even wonder if you should put on that fake accent for a laugh, too, so everyone knows you’re in on the joke.
All of that has happened to me — and more. Since the pandemic started, I’ve been told to go back to China, have had parents pull their children away from me in the grocery store, and have seen my entire Asian American community branded as vectors for a disease that devastated the country through widespread government mismanagement — not because of Asian Americans.
Through it all, the silence has been resounding. When attacks against Asian Americans started rising, it took weeks for many to notice because the violence we face has become so pervasive and normalized that it feels like the price we have to pay to be accepted as Americans.
This past year of hatred not only against Asians but also against Black and brown Americans has shown the country what many of us already knew: We can spend our whole lives living in this country and even wear the American flag on the world stage, but it won’t be enough for people who don’t see us as human.
During the racial justice protests last summer, I learned that speaking out no longer felt optional to me.
It should no longer be optional for any of us.
No medal or score is as important as putting an end to the violence occurring right now. People’s real lives are on the line. Every voice has power, and there’s immense power in the growing number of people coming together to demand change. For our friends who are allies, it is time to move beyond reading lists and performative social media posts. There’s a role for everyone to play, whether organizing a petition to affect change, attending a rally to draw attention to an issue, making a donation to a cause you care about, or using your platform to educate others about an issue.
As Asian Americans, it is more important than ever to see our struggle in the context of the treatment that Black and Brown Americans have faced in the United States since its inception. I have struggled with the need to advocate for the Asian American community while recognizing the unique experiences of racism Black people face in this country. But the work of incredible Black and Asian American activists across the country shows us that our fight is intrinsically connected and that we are strongest when we are united. We have to reject policies that aim to create a hierarchy of people of color and remember that frameworks like the model minority myth were created to keep us divided.
We also have to remember to take care of ourselves and celebrate each other not only during Asian Pacific American Heritage Month but also the other 11 months of the year. The joy and beauty of being Asian in America can be overshadowed by the reality that the next attack could be on our friends, family, or neighbors. But the sense of community and safety I feel when surrounded by other Asian Americans reminds me that we will always be stronger than those who aim to make us feel like we don’t belong.
Drawing attention to the atrocities that people of color face is so much bigger than my career, the Olympics, or even gymnastics.
In the past, I have worried about how speaking about inequity could affect my career and my spot on the national gymnastics team. But seeing so many gymnasts find their voice gives me the courage to advocate for the issues impacting our communities. Drawing attention to the atrocities that people of color face is so much bigger than my career, the Olympics, or even gymnastics.
Competing for Team USA is an honor in an Olympics year and every year. This country has shared in my successes and cheered me on as I competed on stages around the world. But I am often reminded that there are people who don’t want me to wear a national team uniform because of my race — and that I represent them, too. These people don’t have to claim me, but I won’t let their hatred silence me or deter me as an athlete or an activist.
I hope to be a role model for young Asian Americans and especially young Asian American athletes, providing the outspoken representation that I needed to see when I was younger. These younger Asian Americans are my motivation. I hope that my work enables the next generation to devote their energies toward making history and achieving their dreams without also having to fight for their humanity to be recognized.
In just a few months, the eyes of the world will be on the Olympic stage as Asian Americans win medals under the U.S. flag. But when the Olympics are over, we will still be here. This country can’t just love us when we win. It also has to stand by us. We deserve to feel welcome here, Olympians or not.
