In the wake of elections, many of us find ourselves trying to address the deep-seated fears these moments can resurface. As a parent, it’s especially painful to see your child carry fears connected to the racial climate around them. Today, buried in my inbox among emails related to meetings, and guest lectures, and the humdrum of life, was an email from Kenzie’s teacher letting us know that Kenzie has some “particular post-election fears” related to her “Asian identity.”
This is not the email you want to get in the middle of already challenging work day, but I immediately knew what Kenzie was re-living. Our lived experiences with racism began long before she could fully grasp the words. She may not remember every detail, but I know she remembers the feelings.
One of our first real conversations ever happened years ago when she was only a toddler. In a trusted play space, another child taunted her, saying, “Trump doesn’t like Chinese girls.” She was hurt, and confused, and asked me why the other child was so mean to her. Try explaining learned racism to a 6-year-old child. It’s like kicking cute, innocent, kittens with steel toed boots.
But what surprised me the most was the reaction from adults—the business owners and others who dismissed the incident as “just a child who didn’t know any better.” That casual brush-off, that dismissiveness, only made it worse.
This wasn’t an isolated event. Through the years, there have been other times when we’ve felt “othered” because we’re Chinese. During Trump’s previous presidency, anti-Chinese graffiti appeared twice in our privileged, “diverse, upper-class neighborhood.” Both instances appearing within a mile of our home, visible reminders of an undercurrent of hate. No one even bothers hiding their distaste anymore. Thankfully, Mackenzie was too young to read at the time. But I remember driving past one of those places and seeing a neighbor painting over the graffiti themselves. They brought their own gear and everything. That simple gesture carried profound meaning. It was a quiet statement that hate doesn’t have the final word here. Probably why I can still stand to live where we live.
The night before this recent election, I sat down with Mackenzie and tried to prepare her for the outcome. I told her that, no matter what others might say or think, I am proud of who we are. I am proud to be Chinese, and I’m proud to be an American who votes, even if my vote wasn’t for the winning candidate. I wanted her to know that, within our home, we won’t contribute to the division that feels more pervasive by the day. I want her to grow up seeing the good in people, to heal from the wounds these experiences have left, and to remember that kindness still outweighs hate.
As I reflect on these experiences, I find myself constantly navigating between protecting my child from the hurt of racism and empowering her to empathize and rise above it. There is no easy way through, but there are moments of hope, like watching someone take the initiative to paint over a hateful message. Those moments remind me that, despite everything, there really is more good in the world than bad. And that’s what I want Kenzie to carry forward: a belief in people’s capacity for kindness and a commitment to finding it, even when it seems hardest to see.
