By Robin Jester Wootton
A
n open apology to my Asian family:
I am so very sorry.
I am Korean American. Have been for 40+ years. I was adopted into a white Protestant family, and though I was raised in New York (Long Island suburbs), I attended mostly white churches and mostly white schools. My own struggles with ethnicity and Asian-ness were profoundly affected by my adoption. Being interracially adopted has its own particular set of issues; though there is overlap for all of us, a Venn diagram, if you will, of how we relate and move through our spaces.
For me, I was constantly grieving a sense of loss and confusion about identity and heritage, though I couldn't have said that in so many words as a child. I became resistant to pursuing this heritage and almost became embarrassed by it all. I hated being "different" and made every effort to not be. I didn't pursue cultural education or learn the language. I tried to stay away as much as I could, even as a New Yorker who had many resources at my fingertips. This makes me so remorseful in hindsight, especially now that I live in a place where these experiences are hard to find.
I hadn't really put this into its right context until this past year. This past year was so very 2020 for me and my family. We had not only suffered loss from a tragic, sudden accident in January, but by November, we devastatingly and unexpectedly were out of work. It was during this time that certain parts of my story—namely, my race and its profound impact on my life—came front and center in my circles.
Like many churches across the country, the church my husband and I worked for engaged in heated debates on questions of systemic racism. I expressed my concerns on social media, not just generalized observations or vague discourse, but personal experiences that I have faced throughout my life. I was then publicly attacked, gaslighted, and reported by members of our congregation to the elders of our church. My white husband, a pastor in good standing with the church and local Presbytery, went to bat for me. He used his position and power to stand up. He had long one-on-one conversations and met with the leaders of the church on more than one occasion to discuss the social issues dividing the church. It got us fired.
Racial discrimination is pernicious and evil. Not calling it out every single time is a mistake. A very large, painful mistake.
So with this in mind, I apologize. I apologize to Asian people I have dismissed, consciously and subconsciously. I apologize for participating by silence. I apologize for the times I did not stand up for you more aggressively. I apologize to Asian men for when I gave into the culture of what masculinity looked and acted like. I apologize for the way I categorized Asians as brainy, but not strong; meek, but not fierce. I'm sorry for all the times I didn't call out anti-Asian aggression or objectification. I didn't speak out against the de-sexualization of Asian men and the hyper-sexualization of Asian women. I didn't make more noise when non-POCs belittled and demeaned Asian experiences. I’m sorry for not calling out microaggressions and letting people joke about Asian-ness. I've let it all co-exist in my spaces and it just cannot be any more. In too many ways, I have benefitted from perpetuating white supremacy and white-centeredness at the expense of my Asian family and I contributed to them by my silence, looking the other way.
I have come to love Asian people, particularly other Koreans. As I have matured, and became a mom late in life in my 40s, I realized that not only do more people look like me than my husband in the world, their cultures are more beautiful, richer, and more colorful than most of the traditions we have celebrated over the years. I have a lot of lost time to make up for and I hope anyone reading this will help guide me if you can.
Meanwhile, I am more aware and more equipped to spot and call out the anti-Asian sentiment that so many have felt, particularly in recent weeks. I am sorry that I am late to the party. I am sorry it took me so long to see, but more importantly, I seek to change. Please forgive me. Help me redeem the time. Let’s amplify each other’s stories and calls for equality and justice, and repair each other’s broken family trees. Let’s help people like me who don’t know where to go and don’t know how they fit in to find a place at the table to fight the hatred and fear of the foreigner and the unknown. I am so sorry for our churches. I am concerned for them. I know that this cancer has been allowed to grow unnoticed. But we’ve noticed now. And we do what is best and necessary to keep it from spreading. We have to fight wherever we stand. For me, it begins here. With my Asian family. Saying I’m sorry. Forgive me. Will you let me join the fight?
I fully anticipate some pushback to my renewed commitment to celebrating ethnicity and calling out racism in my circles. I fully anticipate non-POC’s accusations of playing the race card. I accept the challenge. Embracing my Asian-ness has been a long, winding journey, one that is finally coming to a place of beauty and strength—the beauty and strength Asians have embraced for millennia.
By God’s grace and strength alone,
Your sister,
Robin
Robin Jester Wootton is a prodigal turned pastor’s wife with over a decade in church ministry. She has served as Music Director, Event Planner, and Conscientious Objector. She and her husband live in Billings, MT, with kids and a big dog. Her blog can be found at RobinWootton.wordpress.com.