Diversity is trending. I hear people say that all the time. “What’s this diversity thing? Can I get in on the action? Hey, maybe I’ll write bout X because that’s what everyone is looking for right now!” I’ve seen the dismay of some people at how diversity is seen as a “flavour,” instead of a movement to push forward #ownvoices authors and celebrate inclusion.
“The more Asians I add to this thing, the better my ratings, right?”
Let me be clear about something, guys.
What seems like a fad…is everyday reality for others.
Story time. In the past, my husband has been rejected for a job for an arbitrary reason, by a place that has already rejected him before for…more arbitrary reasons. They gave excuses about why they couldn’t hire him, citing qualifications he didn’t have that weren’t in the job ad in the first place. Despite how both interviews went “great” according to both my husband and the recruiter, who later received the feedback, they rejected him, and then the job (in both cases) went up almost immediately with additional qualifications that excluded him. That’s a subtle scenario. A more blatant one was a Subway that refused to pay him training wage and when he asked for it, told him, and I quote, “You’re giving your countrymen a bad name,” with the implication that Filipinos are supposed to work hard and never ask for compensation in return.
He’s walked into interviews before where the interviewer glances at his resume, looks back at him, and then says something along the lines of they were expecting a white guy. And then laugh it off as a joke.
Nobody ever really admits it’s a race thing. And for people who fall into that “model minority,” category, it’s even more surreal. People are very, very rarely blatantly racist. Implicit bias is hard to prove. Maybe we’re misreading this. Maybe it really is something and it’s just a coincidence that they’re acting this way. Maybe the guy is racist to everyone.
But those little things add up.
Studies have shown that employers display bias, and sometimes it’s as bad as applicants getting called 60% less just for having an Asian-sounding name. Some people may already have sneaking suspicions about this; others are surprised that this is a thing, especially in a place like Canada.
For me and the people around me? This is our everyday reality. We know. We’ve always known.
We spent well over $30,000 to send my cousin to school here. He has a post-Bachelor degree in Information Technology. It took him over 1000 applications and out of a handful of interviews, he got a single job offer. The first thing people ask, hearing of such stats, is, “What was he doing wrong?” It’s unreal, isn’t it? To understand what the weight of having a non Anglo-Saxon name, skin pigmentation, and God forbid, a heavy accent can do to you. When I talk to friends and acquaintances about finding work, I always cannot stress enough how they have to become more comfortable talking colloquially in English. Be able to crack jokes. Relate to them. Dress up. Make sure your cover letter and resume are professional. Every single thing you do wrong is compounded. “But we speak English,” a friend said. “It’s not enough,” I told him. You have to try harder. You have to show them you’re people, too.
Tall, long-limbed, with wavy black hair he kept in a short crop, the only thing that marked him as a foundling these days was the brown skin of his Gorenten blood. He had learned to deflect the looks with a grin—a foolish sort, non-threatening. He had been told it wouldn’t be an issue in the bigger cities, but at least in the town of Crossfingers, he stood out like a sore thumb. –Blackwood Marauders
Dramatic? Maybe, yes. But our lives are on the line here. When you’re an immigrant, you very rarely have anything to fall back on. More than likely the reason you immigrated in the first place is because you didn’t have anything back home. It’s people who are counting on you, with whatever job you manage to nab. Every piece of the pie you’re given gets sliced in even more pieces. It breaks my heart to see qualified, Filipino professionals feel as if labour positions are all they’ll ever get. One of my dad’s friends work in a supermarket in addition to his job as a draftsman to supplement income. The prevailing thought is that North America is a place where you go and work and work and work until they send you home in a casket. And that’s if you can afford a casket.
We joke a lot about how we can afford our own funerals.
Diversity isn’t a coat you can put on and then take off when it suits you.
I write my stories around many different nations. The Wolf of Oren-yaro, for example, is set in Asian-inspired nations, and most of the action happens around Asian-inspired cultures.
But I also write stories set in others. The Agartes Epilogues and Blackwood Marauders both feature nations that are more recognizable. In fact, Blackwood Marauders was designed to be typical fare farmboy fantasy. The difference–we’re reading these from the point-of-view of little people. Of side characters. Of people of colour.
And the issues that arise from that has been…interesting. Heart-breaking, at times. Because I wanted to write these challenges in a way that doesn’t distract from the main plot or the character arcs. These challenges are part of these characters’ lives. Trying to fit in, trying to gain respect, getting shot down for reasons that have nothing to do with you, glass ceilings…these are all details in the narrative that form a big picture. Because I tried to form a realistic world around my stories, it became impossible not to write about prejudice and racism. It became impossible not to write about people who are only trying to survive and facing obstacle after obstacle.
I try to write a well-rounded world because it is the only way I can tell stories that reflect our reality. Which means I can’t write in a bubble to capture a utopia. That sort of perfection that makes me angry. There are many other writers who do that well, very well in fact. I can’t.
Because as much as I only want to focus on good stories, it’s hard not to let these things bleed through my work. Because I leave my computer and my stories, and see this reality. Friends and family who are burning both ends of the candle trying to live up to the American dream. Intelligent, hardworking people who are getting shafted by employers who drive fancy cars, who get paid way less than what they’re worth only because of their race. Hey, you know who got into a car crash because they were working three jobs? Let’s drink our sorrows away tonight, and worry about work again tomorrow. There is no fucking escape.
All I can do is write about it, and hope someday it gets better.
