When I heard the heartbreaking news about the tragic loss of eight lives in Atlanta, six of whom were Asian women, my heart sank. The recent surge in violence and discrimination against people who look like my family and me had reached a horrifying crescendo. A wave of anxiety washed over me. Was this a pivotal moment? Would the situation deteriorate further?
After expressing my distress and fears to my wife, who is Caucasian, we decided that I should speak with our older children about these events. Discussing such senseless violence and tragedy with kids is challenging, but unfortunately, I’ve had to navigate tough conversations before — from the murder of George Floyd to the Capitol insurrection and the ongoing racism faced by Asian Americans.
My wife and I strive to ensure our children are informed and aware of current events, especially those that resonate with our family’s values of social justice and our biracial identity. While I may not always find the right words, I believe that creating imperfect learning moments is far better than leaving my kids uninformed or allowing their understanding to be shaped solely by hearsay.
I didn’t want to rush into the conversation, so I took a day to process everything and manage my feelings. The next day, I gathered my two eldest daughters, ages 10 and 8, and told them I needed to discuss something troubling.
Adapting my explanation to their developmental stage, I shared that a man had killed eight people, six of whom were Asian women. I expressed my sadness over the loss of life and how it impacted me since some victims looked like us. I reminded them of our previous discussions about hatred and violence against Asians, particularly during the pandemic as a result of the virus’s origins.
As I concluded the conversation, I hit the hardest point. I wanted to end on a hopeful note rather than leaving them frightened. So, I assured them they would be safe. Deep down, I knew I couldn’t promise that with certainty, but I felt it necessary to say. To further reassure them, I mentioned that these events occurred far away, on the other side of the country.
Once our talk concluded, I realized I had not been truthful. There was no way I could guarantee their safety. Recent statistics from Stop AAPI Hate indicate a high number of hate incidents in California, and just a week prior, I had heard about an attack on an Asian man in a nearby community. Beyond physical violence, my family could face various forms of hate, including verbal abuse and vandalism.
So, why did I reassure my children they would be okay? Firstly, I felt a strong urge to protect them. As a parent, one of my responsibilities is to prepare my children for the world’s challenges. I wanted to discuss these tragic events to help them understand harsh realities, but I didn’t want to instill fear that could paralyze them. So, I misled them and said they would be okay.
Secondly, as an Asian man, I often struggle with recognizing and expressing my emotions, which has led me to suppress my feelings. I feared that sharing my anger and despair about this violence would cause me to lose control. So, I lied and told them they would be safe.
Lastly, I felt powerless, unsure of what was being done to address the situation. If I had known about concrete actions to combat anti-Asian violence, I would have gladly shared them with my kids. However, in that moment, I had no hope to offer. It often feels like only Asian Americans care about this issue. The best I could do was deliver vague reassurances that sounded comforting. So, I lied and assured them they would be okay.
I long for the day when telling my children they will be safe will be the truth. In my darkest moments, I fear that day may never come for either them or me. Yet, in my more optimistic moments, I believe that families like ours speaking out and working together can help bring about the necessary changes.
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Summary
An Asian father reflects on the challenges of discussing violence and racism with his children after a tragic event involving the deaths of Asian individuals. Despite his desire to protect them, he grapples with feelings of fear and helplessness, ultimately recognizing that he lied to reassure them of their safety. He hopes for a future where such reassurances can be genuine.