To Vote or Not To Vote

Dear America: Please Vote

This post isn’t about the candidates. It’s about voting. I’ve heard quite a few reasons people are considering not voting this November, such as “It’s against my conscience” and “I don’t like either delegate” and “My state’s always _____ (insert political party), so what’s the point?” These aren't new statements; one site claims only 57.5% of the eligible American population voted in the 2012 elections, with reasons ranging from disinterest to not liking the candidates. Regardless of whether we're fans of the candidates or not, we need to address some misconceptions and consider why we vote in the first place.

First off, this election is not the apocalypse.

It is not the end of the world. A certain candidate being elected does not mean the world—or America—will certainly come to an end.

Could it (the world or America) come to an end during the next president’s term? Absolutely.

Could it come to an end tomorrow? Umm, yes.

With all the mind-boggling acts of terrorism, shootings, and major international tension, I don’t think I have to convince anybody we simply don’t know what the future holds. We don't know what next year holds or what tomorrow holds, and the truth is, we don’t even know what our next breath holds. Or if we’ll have a next breath. Ask anyone in healthcare, or law enforcement, or that one friend who always watches the news. We don’t know what our future holds. The chaotic state of the world can and probably will continue no matter who is elected president.

This election is not the be-all, end-all. 

Living for six months in a country where people have a “vote” but have no confidence their vote counts in the midst of corruption changes one’s perspective on politics.

We are electing a leader for four years. Four years! The person who is elected will move into the White House, and then in just four years we’ll do it all over again.

This isn’t forever. I recently stayed in a country where the prime minister has been in power for 30 years, and frustrated citizens are convinced nothing but natural death will get him out of office. My guess is there are more countries than not where it is a miracle if power is handed off to another leader without bloodshed. In light of this, four years is so little time. In light of this, waiting for another election is a gift, not a chore. 

It makes sense practically to vote.

The vast majority of America is crying out this is a choice between “the lesser of two evils” (I hear you, Facebook posts, memes, and small talk comments from just about everyone I know). That may be true. What I also know is true is this:

We have to select someone to run this country for the next four years. We have our choices before us. It’s up to us to look at our options and then choose who we believe to be the best candidate.

It’s like if you enter a restaurant with your child, and no matter what, you know your child will be fed. Your child has to eat, and if you don’t feed him, someone else will. You can slam the menu shut because you can’t believe the only options are brussels sprouts or liver, or you can look at your options and choose the best one.

Our vote is that simple. We look at our choices, and we make a decision. It’s a practical action.

You may think your options are like brussels sprouts and liver (you either love it or you hate it), but you still have options. Someone will be president for the next four years, and the fact we have options at all is pretty amazing in itself.

Voting is a privilege—with a price too high to count.

Remember the part in the last line of our national anthem—“the laaand of the free” (the part where the vocalist’s voice soars as high as the following fireworks)?

We are free.

We are free to vote and elect a leader for our country and yell and scream our opinions in the street, no matter if they support or condemn the government. This freedom—including the ability to vote—came at the price of human lives. From the Revolutionary War all the way up to now.

Some may find this hard to swallow, but we are not entitled to vote. We, as humans, are not entitled to live in America or have air conditioning or have the ability to vote. As American citizens, it is indeed our right to vote. But as human beings, there is nothing different between us and the human beings around the world who don’t get a say in who runs their country.

If you want to arrive at the polls and write your own name on the ballot, please do! By all means, follow your conscience—don’t vote for someone you feel you cannot morally support. Write your name or your grandma’s, or vote Third Party or Republican or Democrat, whatever you are comfortable with. To me, what matters more than whom you vote for is that you cast a vote. 

Some argue that people who don’t vote lose their right to talk or complain about politics. While this does seem fair, I believe when we don’t vote, we lose so much more than that. By not voting, we are taking for granted a gift paid for by very lives, a privilege for which millions don’t even have a thread of hope. Perhaps the only vote truly "thrown away" is the one that was never cast.

Dear America, you have a privilege. On principle, maybe you can’t vote for either political party. On principle, please still show up at the polls. Oh America, please vote.

To find out how to register to vote in your state, click here.

References

Harden, Seth. "Voting Statistics." Statistic Brain. Statistic Brain, 25 Aug. 2015. Web. 27 July 2016.

The Great Banana Split (Growing Up as a Banana, Part II)

Last week’s post highlighted experiences I had as a child which shaped how I view myself, my race, and my community. Today’s post is a collection of thoughts on this same topic from my sister, Christina. Christina just completed her Bachelor of Arts in Intercultural Studies with a minor in applied linguistics, and she is currently working on her Master’s in Linguistics and Biblical Languages at Biola University. In this post she shares some of her unique childhood experiences and explains her take on walking the divide between Chinese culture and American culture, or in other words:

The Banana Split

By Christina Toy

PC: Megan Carlson

For the past few months, Allison has been sending me some of her blog posts to proofread. When I proofread the last one, I had some time (okay, so I was procrastinating on homework), and I started typing a response to a couple of her follow-up questions. Almost an hour later, I concluded my email and realized that I had a lot more to say than I originally thought! This is an important topic to me, and I hope through discussions like this, it becomes important to many others too!

What I’ve Experienced

One time, I was in a vocal competition in high school, and my judge started giving me feedback after I sang my solo. She said, "I don't see many Asians in choir because they're usually all in orchestra." Then the expected, "Where are you from?" I was so nervous because I was competing, and I wanted to be polite, so I gave the answer I knew she was expecting and said, "China." Which is hilarious. We aren't from China. She also mentioned how many pianos families have in Japan and made some other broad, sweeping generalizations about Asians. 

Another time, I was at a Wycliffe Bible Translators event in Dallas. It exposes people to linguistics so they can see if they're really interested or not. At the dinner table in the cafeteria, one of the other students asked me, "What's your real name?" I replied, "Christina." He said, "No, like what's your real name? Your Chinese name? I have a lot of Chinese friends where I'm from, so I was curious what your real name was." I shamefully told him that I don't even know my Chinese name (now I do because I asked Yin-Yin [paternal grandmother] last year). It was example of how I'd failed my Chinese heritage. I was so incensed that he would tell me what my culture was like. It's the tension of being Chinese American.

Sometimes, my friends in college (who are intercultural studies majors) will joke that I'm not really Chinese because I don't speak Chinese. Others, both students and professors, will ask me if I speak Chinese, and I have to shamefully tell them, "No. I never learned. My parents don't even speak Cantonese." I think to myself, “Ask me about Spanish. I've been studying Spanish since I was eleven years old. I grew up in Houston, where 40% of the population is Hispanic.”

Overseas, the discrimination can be even worse. I've gotten comments in almost every part of the world I've travelled (Eastern Europe, Central America, SE Asia, the Pacific), about my ethnicity. "You're not American," they say, based on the color of my skin, not the color of my passport or my Western worldview. "Are you Mestizo?" asked a woman in the middle of the jungle in PNG, because she'd heard me say that I was from Texas in my testimony earlier, and I definitely wasn't white. The kids in Panamá chanted, "China!" when they spotted me at a ministry site in the mountains. As I anticipate moving to Papua New Guinea in a year and a half, I'm bracing myself for the stereotypes or downright racism that I will probably experience because locals don't like the entrepreneurial Chinese who capitalize on the shaky economy.

“Can't I be both?”

These experiences shape my perception of self be telling me I'm not ____ enough. When I have to tell people that I don't speak Chinese or know my Chinese name or that I get tan because I don't care about having super pale skin, I feel like I'm not Chinese enough. It contravenes their expectations. People don't like ambiguity. We like clearly defined borders, and somehow Chinese American is like swirling the paints together and making the picture muddled. Often, people like the ones I mentioned want to see only one facet of who I am, making sweeping generalizations based on what they know about "Asians" or typical Americans, who in their minds are white. The question I've been asking myself since I was little is, “Can't I be both?”

Sometimes I think we get tired of the race issue. We don't like to keep rehashing the same questions or issues. As an Asian American, sometimes I feel like I can't complain about being a minority. Even though we have a history of racial oppression in the States (Japanese internment camps or the San Francisco railroad, anyone?), it pales in comparison to centuries of slavery. So I think we're afraid to speak up. Microaggressions can seem "micro," insignificant. If we're offended, we're making too big a deal about it. But even if it stems from ignorance, awareness can combat the ignorance.

A lot of times growing up, I didn't know what was "normal" American culture and what was Chinese. Sometimes I still catch myself and realize that, no, not everyone grew up eating tofu on a regular basis. 

Little things, like the fact that we make a distinction in our kinship terms for our maternal and paternal grandparents, made me realize, growing up, that we were different. And I had to wrestle with the question, “Just because I'm different, does that make it bad?” Now, having just received a BA in Intercultural Studies, I can say with conviction that it doesn't make it bad. But to Christina of ten or fifteen years ago, these were very real questions with less clear-cut answers.

I live with a tension between the "Chinese" and "American" parts of my identity. They're both very present. I like to eat lasagna and apple pie, but when I ate at a Korean tofu house with some friends on Sunday, I'm also reminded of our tofu, ground beef, zucchini stir fry we ate every Monday growing up. And I wouldn't change that for the world.

Growing Up as a Banana

“Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.” That’s what the term “banana” means. You guessed it: I'm Chinese American. 

I grew up in a primarily Caucasian Houston neighborhood, and though I wouldn’t say I faced discrimination, there are a few things I experienced simply because I wasn’t white. I dismissed those memories as unimportant for a long time, but today I want to recognize them because they do matter—especially as a child, which is when these experiences occurred.

 Memory #1: Playground Woes

We were playing a game of tag on the playground at the YMCA during my brother’s baseball practice. My sister and I joined the other players’ younger siblings to swing, show off our monkey bar skills, and finally play tag. It was all fun and games until one of the little boys asked what my ethnicity was.

“I’m Chinese American,” small, elementary-aged me replied proudly.

“Oh! China!” came the quick response.

Before I knew what was happening, this little boy egged on every child on the playground to chant with him: “Chi-na! Chi-na! Chi-na!” (And not in a kind, we’re-cheering-you-on way.)

Unfortunately, I happened to be “it” at the time, so I tried extra hard to tag another person and get rid of this unnecessary attention. Confused and upset, I just couldn’t catch them, and all of a sudden, as kids do, this little boy changed the rules of the game. 

“You can’t climb on the playground when you’re ‘it,’” he announced. “Only the other kids can climb.”

The rule change was accepted without second thought.

Thus began the real frustration. Somehow my younger sister also ended up being “it” (another unfair rule change in the middle of our game?), so the two of us ran in circles on the ground while the other boys and girls stood on the structure, taunting us by hanging off platforms until we got close, and then scurrying back into the middle of the play structure, out of reach. 

Over and over it happened. The little ringleader boy would stick his foot out. We’d see it and feverishly lunge toward it to tag him, and he’d pull back just in time and retreat to safety to laugh at us. All the while, the chanting continued.

“Chi-na! Chi-na! Chi-na!”

Suddenly, baseball practice was over. Parents came to pick up their children, and everyone dispersed. Practice ended, the game of tag ended, and so did my innocent pride for my heritage. I was humiliated.

I held my dad’s hand as we walked across the grass toward the parking lot.

“What country were they shouting?” he asked gently.

“China,” I mumbled, and then all was quiet.

Up until now, that’s the last time I spoke of this event to anyone, ever. Shame has that effect. As a child, I learned many things that day, but most of all, I learned to be ashamed my heritage was different.

Memory #2: The Eyes

This isn’t necessarily a single memory as it is a collection of them. It happened so many times I can’t even count or recount them all. But basically each time was the same:

Chinese anything came up in conversation—Chinese culture, Chinese names, Chinese food—and one of my little Caucasian friends would impulsively put their fingers to their eyes and squint to make it look like they had “China eyes.” Sometimes gibberish would come out of their mouths as they spoke “Chinese.”

Occasionally moms and dads would scold their children, but most of the time parents weren’t present. To say it was awkward is an understatement. Sometimes the kids didn’t even know I was Chinese, and after a few initial times of telling them to “please stop because I am Chinese and it isn’t nice to make fun of people,” my spunk shrunk and I shut up.

Now, much later in life, every once in a while close friends and I will joke about my eyes, but there’s a definite line between mutual joking with a friend and mocking someone’s (or a whole people group’s) appearance.

It took me a lot longer than the playground incident to learn this lesson as a child, but learn it I did: it’s not cool to look different from other people. I learned to be ashamed of my appearance because I wasn’t white.

Here and Now

Were those children trying to make me ashamed of who I was? No, I don’t believe so. Children do and say inappropriate things all the time. That’s how they learn. I’m sure I said and did plenty of offensive things too when I was young. There is grace for all.

Why then am I even bringing this up? Because although there is indeed grace, there’s also a very real impact these events had on my perception of self. Today, I am so grateful for the diversity of my upbringing. I’m proud of the fact I grew up in a Chinese American family, and I’m proud of my heritage. Yet it’s taken some time to regain this pride.

I know now the “yellow on the outside” isn’t something to be ashamed of; it’s something to be treasured. I am not less beautiful because I am Asian, and the unique heritage I carry is a gift and an honor.

In a time when there is a huge push for “tolerance” and “acceptance,” perhaps it’s wise to remember the actions which seem most insignificant often have the deepest and most long-lasting impact on those around us.

Thanks for reading! There are many issues I didn’t address in this post, and I would love to hear your thoughts on them:

• Is there an imbalance between the passion around ballot issues for equality and the willingness to identify & adjust our personal, everyday biases and shaming practices?
• If so, how do we address everyday shame-creating actions/conversations?
• How do we help young people process these shameful moments/interactions?
• What are ways childhood experiences shaped how you view(ed) yourself (race-related or not)?
• How did you process these experiences?

Leave a comment, send an email, or come share a cup of coffee with me and tell me what you think in person!

Insta Authenticity (On Integrity & Social Media)

It’s no secret social media can be somewhat misleading when it comes to an accurate portrayal of our lives. Facebook and Instagram have been labeled “highlight reels,” but that’s not a bad thing. I prefer highlights over every single detail of people’s lives.

Yet because social media are geared toward showcasing highlights, they can easily become comparison traps (everyone else is always having more fun than I am) or self esteem damagers (either promoting sky high egos or tearing down healthy self confidence). We’re all about the number of likes, and we're all chasing that quick “double tap” to get more red hearts on Insta.

Since I’ve been overseas, I’ve started utilizing social media more in an effort to stay connected with friend and family back in the States. I’ve found I have to double check myself before posting in order to avoid the comparison and self esteem traps of social media. Here are some of the questions I ask myself before posting to Instagram.

To filter or not to filter? That is the question...

1. Is this post accurately portraying my day/life?

Have I had a terrible week and avoided posting, but now that I have ice cream I want to show the world how happy I am? There’s nothing wrong with being pumped about an exciting event (ice cream definitely makes the list), but is all I’m posting those exciting moments? If so, maybe I’m not giving an accurate portrayal of my life to those viewing my posts. I’m not saying I want to read sob stories or posts about how miserable you are. Really, I don’t. I’m saying if I only leave my house once a week but post pictures with dozens of friends each time, people will think I’m a social butterfly, which would definitely be misleading (and that’s a nice way of putting it). On and off social media, I’m a proponent of authenticity, meaning an accurate portrayal of life. There has to be a balance somewhere.


2. Do the filters make this scene seem more beautiful than it really is?

I’ll ‘fess up. I used to add filters left and right because hey, they really do make my pictures look better! Who doesn’t need a little Amaro or Perpetua in their life? However, recently I’ve stopped to wonder: am I adding filters because I’m afraid the landscape isn’t as pretty as everyone else’s #nature shots? If the filter brings out the true beauty in the scene or helps with the lighting—if it helps give the viewer a look that’s closer to reality—I’m all for filters and edits. But if the purpose is to impress, maybe it’s better to go filterless.

3. Is this picture offensive or harmful to anyone?

Especially overseas, we have a tendency to post pictures of the unusual, and those pictures may or may not include locals and their way of life. Those people may never see my post, but if I’d be embarrassed to show them or if the post (including the hashtags) is any way mocking their way of life, it’s time to close out my social media apps. Is our #winning making someone else feel like they’re #losing? In any community, I believe we should ensure our comments and posts are respectful and loving toward all those around us.

4. What’s my motive?

If my motive is to garner “likes” or, as I mentioned above, to impress, I probably shouldn’t post it. Mostly because it’s harmful to myself. It’s a red flag I’m feeling “not enough” and am looking for my value and worth in others’ opinions. It’s a setup for failure. In these cases, posts can very well be harmless to everyone except ourselves. We’re worth protecting, too; our motive is worth checking.

These are just a few of the guidelines I use when posting to Instagram. Often, I’m about to post a picture when I perform a quick mental review with these questions, and I imagine Fat Amy’s voice (from Pitch Perfect) commenting, “Mmmm…better not." And the post is discarded, edits and hashtags and all. Upholding my values must take a higher priority than the little red hearts. It’s simply the only way Instagram will ever be #worthit to me.

How do you decide what to post on Instagram and other social media mediums?

Are there any guidelines you go by, formal or informal?

I'd love to hear your thoughts! Leave a comment or send an email over to my inbox!