It is amazing to behold the great amount of power something as trivial as physical appearance wields over daily life. It is also boggling how easily this power is overlooked. America has come a long way in terms of racial acceptance, but progress does not equate to equality. There is ground yet to be covered and barriers still to be broken.
As an Asian American, my membership as a minority in the United States is primarily punctuated by small acts, not hate crimes. Dialogue and actions that are not intended to be prejudiced or racist, but nonetheless are display how intolerant and sheltered this country continues to be.
In the six months since I have arrived to college, I have been mistaken as an international student more than once or twice. It is not this misdemeanor that frustrates me. I am perfectly capable of understanding that mistakes happen and assumptions are made. It is the fact that those making the assumptions have remained steadfast and refused to be corrected. Once they arrived at the conclusion that because I am Asian on a white majority campus, I must be just a temporary visitor to this continent, no amount of refutation from me could move their minds.
I once spent five minutes attempting to inform a very friendly woman that I did not need her brochure on international student events to attend. I do not need to meet others in my situation of being new to this country and improve my English speaking skills because I am not new to this country and I am an English major. She was not swayed, so I eventually just said thank you and took the brochure to enable me to go to class.
Although I grew up in a racially diverse city and school district, these experiences are not new or unique to this area. I have frequently been asked about how long I am staying here and am told my English is pretty good. I have been in the United States for over seventeen years with no intention of leaving and English is my first and only language so I hope it is more than pretty good.
At Wal-Mart in my hometown, a woman stopped me in the checkout line to inquire about my very interesting accent. My Midwestern accent is neither interesting or any different from her own. If I answer the question “Where are you from?” with “Kansas,” the immediate successor in the dialogue is dependably, “No, where are you really from?”
Something as trivial and unconnected to my character as how I look possesses the ability to convince strangers that my English is broken and my dialogue is delivered in a foreign, unfamiliar accent. Onlookers see me and the immediate assumption is that I do not belong here. They do not have to say is explicitly for the message to be communicated.
Across the country, violent and xenophobic acts have occurred in headline-making and explosive events. Just as revealing of the intolerance in America are the dialogues and the actions that lace their way into daily life and casual conversation. My race does not dictate where I belong or how I should speak. Just as my parents are not the blood relations who reside in Korea, my nationality does not lie with my country of origin.
