Being Asian American: My Emotions Following the Mass Shooting in Atlanta

Living My Experiences

These are some of the defining moments that make up who I am now. But it’s humbling to realize that now, at age 51, I know little about the American history of cyclic and systemic racism against Asians from various countries and cultures. While I was fulfilling the “model minority” stereotype of a hardworking and academically accomplished Asian student, neither the U.S. history AP classes I took nor the textbooks I read included the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, the decades of political complexities of foreign policies and attitudes against specific countries, or the anti-human rights issues.

Those who know me professionally may not know what I and our other Asian American colleagues have endured for years, and even today, in terms of anti-Asian and gender-based bias, racism, and xenophobia. For years, despite always introducing myself as “Dr. Wei” during patient encounters, I found myself suppressing disbelief and anger when, at the end of the visit, after thoroughly explaining the indications, risks, and goals of a surgical procedure, I was asked, “When will we meet the surgeon?” I was once even asked, “Where’s your accent?”

This is the country where my family and I have lived, succeeded, and made sacrifices, and where we’re raising children to become incredible American citizens who will contribute to society and their future communities.

I spent years telling myself it wasn’t because of how I looked, my Asian heritage, or that I’m a woman. I told myself people said these things out of innocent ignorance and unconscious bias. I was fine. Except that I wasn’t. I knew that my male and non-Asian colleagues probably weren’t being asked these questions on a weekly basis.

It has been about two years since I decided to “fix” this problem and save myself the feelings of embarrassment and inadequacy. For every clinic encounter, I walk in, pull my mask down and smile, and state clearly, “Hi, I’m Dr. Julie Wei. I’m a mother and I’m a surgeon.” I have to be clear so that there’s no room for intentional or unconscious bias.

One of our community’s excellent pediatricians is also a female Asian American, and in just the past two weeks while she was at a gas station, someone yelled racial slurs at her, spit at her, and told her to “go home.”

But this is our home. This is the country where my family and I have lived, succeeded, and made sacrifices; where I married a Caucasian and treated his grandmother with the same deep, traditional respect that I would treat my Asian grandmother with; and where we’re raising children to become incredible American citizens who will contribute to society and their future communities.

My heart has been full this month as every night I have enjoyed dinner with my parents, together within my arm’s reach. I had missed the inexplicable joy my father showed in gifting us, in his less-than-perfect grammar, with a plastic thermometer he had found at the dollar store (for 99 cents!). He reminded me that we can find joy in the smallest of things and acts, regardless of anger, sadness, grief, exhaustion, or whatever challenges we endure.