As a Korean American from Orange County, I’ve always been surrounded by my community — specifically the East Asian community. When I came to college, I was always told that I was “so lucky” to be surrounded by Asian Americans. There seemed to be an assumption that because I was a Californian in a predominantly Asian community, I would have a strong sense of activism and security in my Asian American identity. 

While it was a privilege to be surrounded by Asian Americans, I couldn’t help but be uncomfortable when it came to our activism because of the blatant anti-Blackness. 

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To understand these racial tensions, historical context is necessary. 

Averi Suk, a Columbia University graduate student, wrote in Medium, “After the media spent three decades minimizing black [sic] oppression through inaccurately portraying Asians as a ‘success,’ the wedge between the communities was cemented.”

Tensions between the Korean and Black communities in South Central, exacerbated by economic shifts following the Watts Riots of 1965 and the 1991 killing of 15-year-old Latasha Harlins by a Korean store owner, contributed to the racial discord during the Los Angeles riots in 1992. Korean immigrants, who took over businesses left by Jewish owners after the Watts riots, were perceived by some Black residents as exploiting and gentrifying their community. 

The media, fueled by footage of Harlins’ death, intensified the conflict. While the root cause of the riots was the acquittal of the officers involved in the Rodney King beating, the image of Korean merchants as armed aggressors overshadowed the community’s broader experience with systemic racism, racial tensions stemming from white supremacy and inadequate policing, perpetuating stereotypes and contributing to an imbalanced portrayal of the events.

Ryan Liu, the deputy editor of the Opinion section in Berkeley Political Review, a nonpartisan political magazine, writes, “The Korean Americans who defended their stores did so precisely because it was the White [sic] society that failed them. Protecting the Koreatown neighborhood was not seen as a priority for the Los Angeles Police Department or local politicians, as the blockades were set up to protect wealthy White neighborhoods … Korean store owners did not bear arms out of hatred for Black rioters; they were forced into desperate defense because the White government had abandoned them.”

In 2015, conservative activist Edward Blum, known for his efforts to end affirmative action, addressed a group of Chinese Americans in Houston, aiming to challenge what he perceived as inequality in college admissions. Introduced by David Cao of the Houston Chinese Alliance, Blum sought to eliminate the consideration of race and ethnicity in admissions, focusing on recruiting Asian plaintiffs to challenge affirmative action policies.

Blum’s address soon led to a witch hunt, where many Asian American organizing groups claimed that Black and Latine students held an advantage in admissions at the expense of Asian American students. 

According to Jeff Chang, a writer and activist advocating for affirmative action, Blum’s strategy involved using Asians as proxies for white students in the fight against affirmative action policies. Chang argues that Blum and his colleagues exploited both genuine concerns and false narratives to pit Asian Americans against Black and Latine communities. 

Chang suggests that in the context of university admissions, Asians were strategically utilized as a “mask for white privilege.” The approach proved successful as a conservative-leaning Supreme Court voted against affirmative action in 2023. 

But, this anti-affirmative action sentiment stems from the perpetuation of the model minority myth, which portrays Asian Americans as successful and hardworking. The myth often implies that Asian Americans have overcome systemic challenges without the need for affirmative action or social assistance. This creates a false narrative that ignores the diverse challenges within the community, as well as the struggles faced by other minority groups, including Black communities. 

Not only does this perpetuate white privilege, but Asian communities begin to align themselves with whiteness. They believe in the white man’s lies about meritocracy in a white system that thrives off racial and class exclusivity. As a result, Asian Americans’ success stories become a tool to disprove white privilege and a game of “Oppression Olympics,” where minorities compare who has systemic racism worse.  

It creates apathy for different struggles, pits communities against each other and overshadows the root of the issue: racism.  

As Asian Americans continue advocating for equity, it’s important to always question where the root of our activism stems from. I’m not claiming that all Asian American activism is inherently anti-Black, but I’m saying that we need to wake up and face the reality of our stories being weaponized by white supremacy. Our activism cannot continue to be extensions of white privilege and tools to dismantle civil rights movements.