Even after a year, my friends and I are still buzzing about the film. As a person of color, I found the particular kind of fear and horror that the film produces all too familiar. But at the same time that I was participating in a collective experience of watching and feeling this racial horror, I was also confronted with my awareness of the body that I occupy and my own position within our American racial landscape, particularly in a scene when one lone Asian character appears at the cocktail party. As an Asian American, I cringed at this moment.
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That ugly exclamation rattled the ears of editor Michael Luo who, with family and friends in tow, headed to get lunch at a nearby Korean restaurant on the Upper East Side streets of Manhattan last month. Luo wrote an open letter in the New York Times to the white woman who roared it, telling her how such verbal daggers sever Asian-Americans from their citizenship. We shower sympathy on black and brown people; Asian-Americans experience but a sprinkle. This begs for amelioration. We must understand that a national conversation about racism that ignores the plight of Asian-Americans carries an unforgivable omission.
By Hua Hsu. He had the kind of G. The following spring, Wang was rejected from all the Ivy League universities he had applied to, except the University of Pennsylvania. He made the wait lists at Harvard and Columbia, but was eventually turned down at those schools, too. He was devastated, and wondered what more he could have done.