“Ask Rachel she knows Chinese,” the blond boy beside me told my third-grade teacher.
But I don’t. I’m Chinese, I was born in China, but I don’t speak Mandarin.
Somehow the confidence with which this 8-year-old spoke made his words hurt worse. He didn’t even consider that what he said could be wrong; he just made an assumption because of my appearance. At the time, I didn’t even know that was what had happened, but I remember how I felt. I will never forget the turned heads, and the eager eyes watching me.
“Do you?” my teacher innocently asked.
As I answered “No,” I felt a mix of embarrassment, shame and guilt. I felt nervous because it seemed wrong that I didn’t speak Mandarin. Guilt washed over me and made my insides crawl. I didn’t know how to react, so I laughed it off, an instinctive response I still use today.
While I was not aware at the time, I learned later that I had experienced a microaggression, one of the earliest that I can recall. It’s a subtle act of discrimination against members of a marginalized group, such as myself. Little did I know, I would experience many more as I navigated my middle school, high school and now, college years.
Almost 99% of college students of color experience microaggressions, meaning they’ve felt that weird sense of uneasiness and discomfort.
At a surface level, microaggressions are seen as something trivial, an insignificant moment in the grand scheme of life. The word itself plainly suggests the minuteness of it. They are supposedly tiny papercuts that only sting for a short while. However, they more accurately represent scars, something that has faded with time but still serves as a reminder of the pain.
These subtle acts of discrimination have done more than consume the thoughts in my head; they’ve slowly chipped away at my self-confidence. With every judgmental, prejudiced word, I become more confused about my identity, and my self-doubt grows bigger.
I’ll admit, I have an unconventional background. Telling people I was born in China and then adopted into a family with a White mom and a Colombian dad facilitates some raised eyebrows. My peers were often taken aback or confused when they saw my family, which created these convoluted feelings I could not explain.
I struggled with my cultural identity, and microaggressions only fostered my insecurities. The desire to be someone else was extremely prominent during my youth, even though it should have never developed in the first place.
Fortunately, over time, I have learned that just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s wrong. What makes us human are our unique backgrounds and experiences. I don’t owe anyone their version of who I should be.
Microaggressions are more than just words or actions; they are harmful triggers. The lasting impacts they instigate and perpetuate are damaging, and they negatively affect people on a larger scale.
Whether they are intentional or not, microaggressions are a result of social conditioning. Through societal approval and norms, we have grown to believe that these statements and actions are acceptable.
Maybe it’s because a real confrontational conversation is too much of an inconvenience. If we truly took the time to acknowledge and analyze the weight of these words, we would have to challenge years of systemic discrimination.
Microaggressions are anything but micro. I don’t think my immense cultural guilt or self-identity struggles are micro. Neither are the feelings of invalidation and inferiority.
Disregarding aggression as “micro” does not minimize its damage; it just makes us ignorant.
This story was written by Rachel Lopera. She can be reached at @[email protected].
