生活在黑与黄之间

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生活在黑与黄之间

作者：Lin　　翻译：小乐，凤洁　　来源：《成长合作社》公众号

小乐写在前面：

刚搬来伯克利不久的有一天， 我骑车经过了一个玩具店，想进去给逛逛。但发现店门口没有停自行车的栏杆。正在我推着车干着急的时候，玩具店旁边的自行车店里出来一个黑人男性，他和善的告诉我可以把车放在他们店里。我不好意思的把车推进他的店，一眼就看见店里有很多小孩子玩具，一个开心的坐在地上玩儿的一岁左右的小姑娘，和一个挂着笑容的亚洲女人。

当时匆忙，没有多聊，却也记住了陌生人的善意和忙碌却温暖的一家人。

后来在在开始上幼儿园托班，才发现那个小姑娘是比在在大几个月的“学姐” K。她的爸爸，也就是那个自行车行的主人Brian，总会骑着一个明亮的黄色自行车，放着轻快的音乐，风一般的踩着车接送女儿。后来也经常在学校碰到了K的妈妈，Lin, 发现原来她是会说中文的新加坡华人, 于是我们两个经常在学校碰到就用中文聊聊天，觉得她乐呵又爽朗的。

有一次公共假期，家长们约着一起带孩子去playdate, Lin也带着K和刚出生的弟弟去了。我坐在她旁边，听到她打电话，似乎是因为对方在yelp上为了一个5刀的零件弄错而留了差评，她提出了各种弥补的方法， 请求对方修改差评。声音里满是生活的疲惫。

后来在脸书加了好友，发现了Lin的另一面。她转发的新闻或自己写的评论，读起来颇专业，画画和做首饰也都让我惊艳。尤其是最近几个月关于新冠和抗议游行，她发的内容都是优质又视角多元。作为一位和非裔结婚的华裔，她对族裔问题的体验和表达里有复杂又微妙的层次。于是哪怕知道她要照顾两个孩子，做家务，帮忙自行车店，还是尝试和她约稿。没想到她立刻答应了，两周后发来了这篇精彩的文章。

族裔问题背后的历史、政治、法律、社会等等知识都很复杂。不同立场的人们也很容易争吵起来，各种拉黑。但让我们先放下那些理论，研究，数据，争端，让一个华人妈妈带我们看看她的婚姻让她看到了什么曾经未知的。作为两个深肤色孩子的妈妈，又和我们的养育方式有什么不一样。

Lin的文章是用英语写的，中文是我和朋友凤洁一起翻译的。可以读英文的朋友，还是推荐去读后面的英文部分，她写的比我们翻译的好得多。只看中文部分的朋友，也请读完正文后，拉到最后，有补后记。

我曾经在亚洲和美国做过十几年记者, 报道过国际灾难和救援，调查过全球犯罪和移民政治，挑战过联合国，写过毒品交易，也忧虑过很多很多人的生死。但这是我人生里最难写的一篇文章。

为什么？因为我将谈到丈夫和孩子的生活，还有面对不断想到他们有可能死亡的现实。

我出生和成长在新加坡，有各种肤色的朋友，同学，邻居和同事。2012年，我搬来美国，到伯克利大学读研究生院。当时我只想专心学习，为未来的事业铺路。我一直觉得自己是一个终生学习者，因此选择从事新闻业。我享受每一天的大量学习。但这些学习都没为我的婚姻生活做好准备。

我是一个新加坡华人女性，嫁给了一个美国非裔男性。我们和4岁的女儿，2岁的儿子一起住在加州伯克利，亲人都不在附近。在过去的一周， 我：

告诉我的丈夫给我们的自行车店钉上保护的木板，因为有打砸的情况出现。

给我们的商店加装更多的监控摄像头。

询问我的丈夫他去工作是否还安全。

在女儿问我：“ 爸爸会活着回来么？”的时候对她撒了谎。

把手机的指纹开机功能撤销，保持输入六位密码，这样警察过就不能强迫我开机。

伯克利警察局因为George Floyd案件发表公开信，表达这样的行为和他们的宿命和价值观相违背。然后我给他们写了信，问他们如果我丈夫的脖子被警察压在膝盖下，我是否应该打911寻求帮助。他们的发言人，同样也是一位非裔美国人在给我的回信里这么说 “事实上，我也没有一个好的答案可以给你。”

作为一个在新加坡长大的华人，我拥有不用注意肤色的特权。我没有注意过自己的和朋友的肤色。我没怎么考虑过种族主义这件事儿，这并不妨碍我的生活。

现在我知道了–仅仅因为我没有考虑过，不代表在新加坡和我一起大笑的朋友们没有被种族主义伤害过。

我在到达美国的第一周遇到了我的丈夫。在一个绿色能源汽车的活动上，他坐在一排自行车旁边。我很好奇，问他在干嘛。他气呼呼告诉我在停车。我想反正再也不会见到他，就可以放心提问。我拉了张椅子坐下来开始和他说话。整个过程中我都没想过他的种族，也没注意他是一个黑人。这是一种特权。

后来聊到他对我们第一次对话的感受时，他说：“ 我很吃惊一个亚洲女人和我说话。亚洲女人不和黑人男人说话的。她们会把目光转移，快速走开。”

在我们结婚五年后，这是我学到的：

黑人男性的生活更难

有一天，我和丈夫聊到各自童年最早的记忆。我的是音乐课，和朋友在公园玩儿，和家里人分享食物。而他最早的记忆是这样：“ 我四岁的时候，一家人去海滩。有一群男孩正在玩马可波罗（一种扔球游戏），他们说‘别和那个黑鬼 （Negro）玩。’”

我丈夫在小时候非常勤奋好学，他在家里五个孩子最小，学的也很快。有一天，他去找老师想要额外的功课。老师说：“ 你凭什么觉得你比其他人更好？回你的座位去。”。他从那个学校退学，进入了一家私立学校，从14岁开始在餐馆后厨打工，支撑自己念完书。

有一天我跟在他后面叨唠为什么家里到处都是他在超市买东西的收据。我叫他把这些收据丢掉，我自己经常直接告诉收银员不要发票。但我丈夫说：“ 我绝不能那样做。”

两天后， 我在Safeway 买了一些寿司。付钱后，一个男人追着我出来，在马路中间拦住我，指责我偷窃并要求看收据。这是我人生第一次被人说从超市偷东西，尽管十几岁的时候我还真做过这样的事儿。当我在婴儿车的篮子里翻找收据的时候，心里暗暗庆幸亏好前两天刚和丈夫有那样的对话。后来，超市有两个认识我的黑人员工走了过来和我聊了几句，他们说：“我们理解你会很生气。哪怕在这里工作，我们都会保留午餐买的每样食物的收据。”

黑人不会把收据丢掉。

生与死

很多人都曾经历过一两次这样的情况。那是可怕又伤人的经历。但如果你是黑人，这种情况的发生会更加频繁，无休无止，且残酷无情。非裔男性时刻都在为活下来努力，为把他们的名字从警察的诬陷和毒品中撇清关系，他们的家庭成员也持续焦虑怎样做可以防止情况升级成生死离别。

在以上任何这种情况中，如果警察在场，我丈夫被杀害的风险会急剧上升。非裔美国人被警察杀害的几率是白人男性的2.5倍。

在新加坡，我被教育如果遇到危险就叫警察。但今天，当我觉得需要找警察的时候，脑中的第一念头是我的丈夫在哪里。我的脑中有一根弦紧绷着，那就是和警察打交道会将我的丈夫置于风险之中。他们枪击他的速度比我能保护他的速度快。子弹比话语跑得快。

在电视剧或电影中，妻子经常会把丈夫的晚归和出轨联系起来。我的婚姻不允许存在疑心的空间。我告诉丈夫到达和离开车行都要给我发消息。如果他比平时回来晚了，我最大的恐惧是他被警察拦下了。而我每一分钟都会在焦虑即将听到有黑人被杀，或接到电话让我去确认尸体。我必须准备好这时候该如何安置孩子。如果你从未有过这种体会，你是拥有特权的。

在不是黑人的家庭，家长鼓励孩子对警察友好。在我们家，两个孩子都知道当我们叫他们名字的时候要立刻回应。如果我们让他们停止说话，他们也会立刻做到。这听起来也许残酷。但当警察试图找我丈夫问题的时候，哪怕女儿简单的说 “我爸爸给我洗澡”， 都会被认为是不当行为。哪怕她只有四岁。同样的话从另一个孩子嘴里说出来也许又可爱又能让一个白人男性显得爱家，却可以被用来指控黑人男性是性侵犯。

黑人孩子必须早早开始注意他们说的话。因为他们的话可能让父亲丧命。

刚到美国的有一天，我和一个黑人朋友在城里火车站外面坐着聊天，这时有警察向我们走来。一个警察先问我：“你没事儿吧？”我表示一切都好。他们接着要求我的朋友出示他的身份证件。我惊恐的看着警察检查我朋友的犯罪记录。在什么都没查出来之后，他们告诉我朋友他运气不错。

让黑人不进监狱的是运气，不是事实。

你们很多人可能听说了George Floyd被杀害的事情，一个男人被警察的膝盖压住脖子8分46秒，窒息而死。

从看了视频以后，我想了数千遍如果那是我丈夫，我该怎么办。是的，看着视频里那个男人，我像着魔了似的恐惧我丈夫会是下一个。一个店主因为觉得George想用20美元假钞而打电话叫了警察。至今没有人去证明那20刀是假的。作为一个黑人店主的妻子，我不会为了20刀叫警察。

而警察并不会因为这样的原因杀掉一个浅色皮肤的人。

我的华人特权

我和丈夫最大的不同在于，我是一个可爱的亚洲女生，而我的丈夫是一个可怕的黑人男性。人们有时候不把我当回事儿，但那并不致命。种族歧视却会杀人。人们已经被好莱坞电影洗脑，觉得黑人就是杀人犯和恶棍。没人会觉得黑人也可以很友好，也可以教孩子们骑自行车、教导需要帮助的年轻人、也可以在旧金山这样一个被认为充满危险、肮脏和毒品的城市开设一个课后辅导项目。是的，这些都是我丈夫做的事。

2015年，我经历了人生中最痛苦的一件事。我们刚在加州的奥克兰开了一家自行车店。但我们不知道房东是一个来自韩国的，有过驱逐有色人种历史的种族主义者。一开始的骚扰渐渐变得无法忍受，我们取得了一个针对房东的禁制令。他开始指使一些恶棍到我们店里捣乱。我那时还在旧金山工作，我丈夫独自在店里工作，所以我每天都提心吊胆。

一个晚上，房东站在我们店门外，对着我们叫喊一些脏话，把我们的顾客都吓走了。他朝着我们店走来，我站在他和我丈夫中间，把他俩隔开。我只是一个女人，怀里还抱着一个新生儿。但我知道，这个人很可能伤害我丈夫却不会受到法律的制裁，但他不敢贸然伤害一个怀抱孩子的女人。

这是我的特权。

一个星期之后，他趁我丈夫一个人在店里的时候来到我们店里，跟我先生说：“我一只手就能杀死你“。然后他掐住我先生的喉咙。我先生迅速抽身出来，并走到店后面打电话报警。警察到了之后，房东说是我丈夫先动手的，他要告我丈夫虐待老人。他不知道我们有安全摄像头录像。

在法庭上，当录像显示他是如何扼住我丈夫并且尾随我他到后场的时候，他所谓“虐待老人“的诬告立刻被推翻了。最后，这个人被判禁止进入我们的商店。

如果你还觉得这不是个问题。请设想如果是一个黑人走进一个亚洲人开的商店，并试图扼死老板。

最简单的答案是，他会被击毙。店主人可以开枪打死他，并说是自我防卫。警察也会开枪，因为他是一个带来“威胁“的人。无论是哪种，黑人都很难活下来。就像乔治因为20美金被杀了一样。

这就是为什么，我们从未因为20美金的假钞报警。我们不欢迎你，但不会为此报警。

Brian常在社区活动中义务教孩子骑车，他喜欢孩子体会到自由的感觉。　　如果这次经历听起来像是个简单的不愉快，那么你还要知道，我曾在法庭外拜托陌生人帮我抱一会儿孩子，只为能在法庭里站在我先生身旁。没有人应该被迫在自己的baby和先生之间做出选择，但我必须这么做，因为我的爱人是黑人。

那次惨痛的经历之后，为了避开他，我们的商店被迫关门，重新在伯克利开新店。这让我们损失了大约10万美元，而另一场厄运又开始了。美国总是不缺种族主义者的。作为在北伯克利唯一一家黑人开的商店，总有善良友好的人理解我们的挣扎，但也有些人对我们经历的现实完全不一样缺乏理解。

当在新闻里看到睡梦中的Breonna Taylor被闯入自己家的警察开枪射杀，我们甚至在自己家也无法安眠。我们又得知她的男朋友在警察没有自报家门的情况下向杀害他女友的人反击，却被指控谋杀。这就像是说，法律只允许白人保卫自己的家。只有白人可以杀人。只有白人可以在黑夜安睡。

两年前，我告诉一个白人男性我们没有他想要的一个自行车零件，却被扇了一巴掌。第二天，那个男人又回来辱骂我丈夫。他还说：“你最好买了好保险，因为我会搞砸你的生意、你的妻子和孩子。”

我先生报警了。警察来了，他们试图逮捕我先生，而那个白人迅速走掉了。

一开始，警察告诉我丈夫，他什么也做不了。但当我丈夫对警察说：“如果是我，一个黑人，对你说，我要搞砸你的生意、伤害你的妻子和孩子、毁了你的一切？你会作何感想？你会派一队人去追他。” 然后警察说他理解了。

美国的很多事情非常戏剧化，两天后，警察告诉我们，他们已经逮捕了那个人。但是四天之后，我在街上碰到了这个人。尽管我我迅速的过到马路对面，他还是看到了我，并对我大声辱骂种族歧视的话语，诅咒我们的家庭，声音大到所有人都能听见。后来警察告诉我们，他被释放了，因为警察也不能做什么。言论自由只属于白人。

为了保护我们，警察帮我们申请了一个限制他靠近我们商店和住所的禁止令。他不得进入我们9米的距离以内。我们真希望一切就这么结束了。

但是去年圣诞夜，在我们一家四口回家的时候发现有人在跟踪我们。我们刚注意到他，他就开始对我们辱骂，威胁我们他将会如何伤害我们、杀掉我们。我们距离家门也就4，5米，还带着两个幼小的孩子。我用了唯一能想到的办法——用我的华人特权保护我的家人。

当我处于战斗或逃跑状态 （fight or flight mode），我让丈夫带孩子立刻进家门。

我先生没有跟我争论。

我很高兴他没有。

我很感恩他没有。

事实是，在美国，我更容易活下来。

独自站在昏暗的街道上，我一边打911 报警、求助，那个男人离我三米远，还在大喊大叫的威胁我。

我一直盯着他。有一个瞬间他移开了视线，我急速冲回家。

从窗子里，我看到他继续在黑夜里骂了10多分钟才离开。

后来警察来了，他站在我家客厅，女儿安静地看着我们谈话，儿子摆弄一个玩具卡车。“哔，哔，哔”，我儿子一边玩，一边用小卡车顶警察的脚。我瞪了他。

警察一边接过卡车，推着它来来回回和我儿子玩，一边告诉我的黑人丈夫：“即使在防御中你也没有回应他，这很好，因为要不然也许你就会被捕了。”

小乐补后记：

就在这周，Lin和Brian的自行车店在一个深夜被一个白人和一个黑人砸碎了大门，偷走了大约2万美元的自行车和配件。他们的监控拍下了罪犯的样貌和案件全过程。他们也报了警，自己做了大量调查，已经查到了其中的一名罪犯的姓名和他的地址。但是伯克利警察局分管他们这个案件的检查放假一周，于是案件被放在一边没人管，眼睁睁看着时间一天天过去。他们拿着证据去警察局，却被告知除非有目击证人看到那位嫌疑人拿着他们的自行车进家门，否则警察也不能做什么。

她们的经历让我看到了我特别喜爱的小城的另一面。但也许对于另一些群体，这另一面才是他们每一天每一年真实的生活。

另一方面，Lin在募捐网站建立的网页上，已经迅速收到了将近1.7万美元的捐款，社区里的人们纷纷伸出援手。

有朋友建议他们高调宣传他们车行是黑人店主，在如今的Black Lives Matter的大潮中，会获得更多关注，然后对警局施压。Lin 拒绝了这样的建议，她说我们要的不是同情，而是公正。

Lin 的英文原文

Living Black and Yellow

I have worked as a journalist for over a decade, throughout Asia and the US. I have covered international disasters and recovery efforts, investigated global crime and immigration politics, challenged the United Nations, written about drug lords and had to think about the deaths of many, many people. But this is the hardest piece I have had to write in my life.

Why? Because we are going to talk about the lives of my husband and children and how my reality includes thinking of all the ways they might die before it happens.

I was born and raised in Singapore with friends, classmates, neighbors, and coworkers of all skin colors. In 2012, I moved to the US to attend UC Berkeley. As a graduate student, my thoughts were focused on learning in school and building my career. I had always thought of myself as a lifelong learner, it’s why I chose to go into journalism. I enjoy the expectation that I learn intensely every day. But nothing prepared me for my married life.

I am a Singaporean Chinese woman married to an African American man. Together we live in Berkeley, California, with our 4-year-old daughter and 2-year old son with no family close by. In the last week, I have:

● Asked my husband to board up our bicycle shop because of the presence of a caravan of looters

● Added additional security cameras to our shop

● Asked my husband if he would be safe going to work

● Lied to my daughter when she asked: “Will daddy come home alive?”

● Removed the fingerprint id ability on my mobile phone in favor of a six-digit code that the police cannot force me to surrender

● Written a letter to the Berkeley Police Department in response to their announcement that the murder of George Floyd went against their mission, vision and values. I asked if I could call 911 and expect help if my husband were under the knee of a police officer. Their spokesperson, also an African American man wrote in response: “The truth is: I don’t know if there is a good answer to your question.”

As a Chinese person in Singapore, I had the privilege of not noticing skin color. I didn’t notice mine, and I didn’t notice my friends’. I did not give much thought to racism and no one made it bother me.

I now know – Just because I didn’t think about it doesn’t mean my friends who smiled and laughed along with me were not traumatized by racism in Singapore.

I met my husband the first weekend I arrived in the US. At a green car event, there he was, sitting next to a row of bicycles. I was curious and asked him what he was doing. After he grumpily told me he was parking bicycles, I decided that since I would never see him again, I could go on asking whatever I wanted to know. I pulled up a chair and sat down. At no point did I think about race or notice that he was a black man. That is privilege.

When I later asked him what he thought of me during our first conversation, he said: “I was shocked that an Asian woman was talking to me. Asian women don’t talk to black men. They look away, sometimes walk away quickly.”

In five years since we’ve married, here’s what I’ve learned:

Black men have it harder

One[2] day, my husband and I were talking about our earliest memories. Mine was of music lessons, playing with friends at the playground, and sharing food with family. This was one of his earliest memories: “When I was 4, our family went to the beach. I remember a group of boys playing Marco Polo (A game where kids throw the ball to each other and the kid in the middle tries to catch it). They said: “Don’t play with the n—-r. ”

As a child, my husband loved to learn, and as the youngest of five, learned fast. One day, he went to his teacher to ask for more work. He remembers his teacher saying: “What makes you think you’re better than the others? Go back to your seat.” He left that school, enrolled himself in a private school, and started working in a restaurant kitchen at 14 to put himself through school.

Black kids are not told they can be anything they want to be. They’re told to get back in their place.

One[4] day, I was nagging him about all the grocery shopping receipts around the house. I asked him to throw them away and then I realized that sometimes, I just told the cashier that I didn’t need a receipt. My husband said: “I can never do that.”

Two days later, I bought some sushi from a Safeway supermarket. After paying, a man ran after me and stopped me in the middle of the road, accused me of stealing, and asked to see my receipt. It is the first time in my life that I have been accused of stealing from a supermarket, even when I did shoplift when I was a teenager. As I dug through the basket of my baby stroller, I thought to myself how lucky I was to have kept the receipt after having that chat with my husband. Later on, two black staff members of the supermarket who knew me came and shared: “We understand how angry you must be. We work here, and we keep the receipts of every single thing we buy during our lunch break to eat.”

Black people never throw away receipts.

Life and death

Most[5] people have experienced one or two of the situations described above in their lifetime. They are annoying and hurtful. But when you’re black, they happen all the time, constant, unrelenting, and sometimes concurrently. Black men are constantly fighting to stay alive, to clear their names of false accusations and drugs[6] planted by the police, and their families are constantly thinking of what they can to prevent them from escalating into life or death situations.

In any of the instances, if the police were called, my husband’s risk of being killed increases dramatically. Black Americans are 2.5 times more likely than whites to be killed by the police.

Having grown up in Singapore, I was taught to call the police if I were in danger. Today, the first thing I think of when I feel like I need the police is where my husband is. I am always conscious of the high possibility that engaging the police places my husband at risk. They can shoot him faster than I can defend him. Bullets fly faster than words.

In TV dramas and movies, wives often suspect that their husbands are having affairs when he comes home late from work. In our marriage, there is no room for distrust. I tell my husband to text me when he arrives at work, and before he leaves work. If he takes longer than usual to get home, my biggest fear is that he’s been stopped by the police. My anxiety builds up with each minute of the possibility of hearing that a black man’s been killed, or getting the call to go identify a body. I plan what to do with the children for situations like this. If you’ve never had this thought, you have privilege.

In non-black families, children are encouraged to be friendly with police officers. In our family, both our children know that when we call their names, they return to us immediately. And if we tell them to shut up, they do so immediately. This may sound harsh. But a police officer looking to find fault with my husband can claim inappropriate behavior if my daughter were to say something as simple as: “My daddy bathes me.” It doesn’t matter that she is 4 years old. The same story that is cute and makes a white man a “family man” can be used to accuse black men of being sexual predators.

Black children must learn to watch their mouths early. Their words can cost them their fathers.

When I first arrived in the US, I was sitting outside a popular downtown train station with my friend who was black when the police approached us. An officer first asked me: “Are you ok?”. I said that I was, and they then asked my friend for his ID. I watched in horror as they called in their colleagues to ask them to run his ID to check for outstanding warrants after he told them he had none. When they were done, they told him that he was lucky.

Luck keeps black people out of prisons. Not the truth.

Many of you have probably heard of the murder of George Floyd, a man who suffocated to death when a police officer knelt on his neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds.

Since watching the video, I have thought thousands of times what I should do if that were my husband. Yes, I look at that black man and my mind and body feel poisoned with fear that my husband could be next. A shop owner said he called the police on George because he tried to use a fake $20 bill. Till today, no one has proven that the $20 was fake, and as a wife to a black male business owner, I would not call the police over a $20.

Because not thinking that the police will kill people comes from privilege .

My Chinese privilege

The[10] main difference between my husband and I, is that I am a cute Asian woman and he is a scary black man. People don’t take me seriously sometimes, but that doesn’t kill. Racism kills and people have absorbed Hollywood’s portrayal of black men as murderers and thugs. There is no room for the black man who is a community man, who teaches children to ride bicycles, who mentors at-risk youths, who started after-school programs to take care of teens in the Tenderloin in San Francisco, one of the areas many people identify as dangerous, dirty, and drugged out. Yes, my husband did all that.

In 2015, I had one of my most traumatic experiences in my life. We had just opened our bicycle shop in Oakland, California. What we did not know was that our landlord was a Korean racist who had a history of evicting small businesses of color. What started as harassment became so unbearable that we obtained a restraining order against him. He began sending thugs to the bike shop and I was scared every day as my husband worked in the shop alone. I had a job in San Francisco then.

One night, he stood outside our shop, yelling and screaming racist slurs, scaring our customers and keeping them away. As he stepped towards our shop, I stepped in front of my husband, between him and the landlord. I was just a woman and I carried my newborn baby on my body in front. All I knew was that this man might hurt my husband and get away, but he would think twice about hitting a woman with a baby.

That is my privilege.

A week later, he came to our shop when my husband was alone, and told him: “I can kill you with one hand”. He then strangled my husband. My husband quickly broke his chokehold and walked to the back of the shop to call the police. When the police arrived, the landlord said that my husband had hit him first and that he wanted to sue him for elder abuse. He did not know that we had security cameras.

His elder abuse charge was thrown out of court when the cameras showed him strangling my husband and then stalking him when my husband tried to walk away. In the end, the man was given probation for coming to our business and strangling my husband on camera.

If you don’t think this is a problem, please think about what would have happened to a black man if he had gone into an Asian business and strangled the owner.

The easy answer is: he would be dead. The owner could shoot him and claim defense. The police could shoot him because he was “threatening”. Whatever the method, the black man would likely not have lived. Not when George was killed for $20.

That is why we will never call the police because of a fake $20 bill. You are not welcome in our business, but no need for the police.

If this experience sounds like a simple ordeal, just know that I begged strangers to help me hold my newborn baby outside the courtroom in Oakland so I could go in and stand with my husband. No one should have to choose between their baby and husband, but I did because the man I love is black.

As soon as that traumatic experience ended, with about $100,000 in losses from having to close the business to deal with him and move to Berkeley, another major one started. There is no shortage of racists in America. There are great people, kind souls who understand our struggle as the only black-owned business in North Berkeley, the area we live in, but many also live with a lack of understanding that our reality is completely different from theirs.

When we look at the news and see Breonna Taylor killed in her sleep because the police barged into her house and shot her, we cannot rest well even in our homes. When we learn that her boyfriend was charged for murder because he fired back at the people who killed his girlfriend because they did not announce that they were the police, it acts as a law enforcement reminder that only white people can defend their home. Only white people can kill. Only white people can rest at night.

Two years ago, a white man spat in my face after I told him that we didn’t have a bike part he wanted. The next day, he came back and called my husband a n—-r, and said: “I hope you have good insurance because I am going to f— up your business, your wife and your baby.”

My husband called the police. When they arrived, they tried to arrest my husband and the white man quickly left.

Initially, the police officer told my husband he could not do anything. It was only when my husband said to the officer: “How would you feel, if I, a black man, told you I am coming after your business, wife and child? Your everything? You would send your whole squad after him,” that the officer said he understood now.

Just like America often is, many things are theatrical. The police told us they had arrested the man two days later. But four days later, I saw the same man walking down the street. I crossed the street as fast as I could but he saw me and began shouting racist slurs and cursed our family loud enough for everyone to hear. Later on, the police told us he had been let out because they couldn’t do anything. Freedom of speech belongs to white people.

To protect us, the police obtained a restraining order for our family and business against him. He was not allowed to come within 30 feet of us. We hoped it would be the end of everything.

But last year, as our family of four came home on Christmas Eve, we noticed someone following us. As soon as we did, he began shouting racial slurs, telling us how he was going to hurt and kill us. We were about 15 feet from our home and had our baby and toddler with us. I did the only thing I knew – I used my Chinese privilege to protect my family.

In fight or flight mode, I told my husband to take the kids and go in. Now.

My husband did not argue.

And I’m glad he didn’t.

I’m thankful he didn’t.

The fact is, in America, I am more likely to survive any interaction.

Alone on the dimly-lit streets, I faced the man who stood about 10 feet from me, shouting and gesturing as I called 911 and asked for help.

I kept my eyes on him. And when for a moment he looked away, I ran home.

From a window, I watched as he continued shouting into the night for 10 more minutes before leaving.

Later that night, a police officer stood in our living room while my daughter silently watched us talk and my son played with a toy truck. “Beep, beep, beep,” he said as he nudged the police officer’s foot with his truck. I glared at him.

As the officer took the truck and pushed it back and forth to play with my son, he said to my black husband: “It’s good you did not respond to him, even in defense, because you would have been arrested”

(XYS20200720)

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