Racism ended it. ‘I’m ready to talk about white women’
Viv Yau shares her story in besea.n’s new monthly series: ‘Racism ended it’. Where we share stories about times that racism ended or impacted a relationship; whether that’s friendships, work, romantic relationships, or family dynamics.
If you have a story to share about a time where racism impacted your work, family life, friendship, dating/relationships or any type of story that fits under our series theme, you can safely share your story via our pitch form where we may contact you to publish your story anonymously. Please note that whilst we will carefully read every submission, we may not publish every story.
I’ve been through a fair few friendship breakups with white women over the past few years. Friendships that spanned half of my lifetime, that could’ve been described as sisterhood. Bonds that I naively thought could never be broken, some interwoven with a deep history of family dynamics - all of which quickly disintegrated within a matter of months due to their racism and lack of acknowledgment and accountability.
The racism that I endured from white women (and men) has been insidious, from friends casually mocking the Chinese English accent, to claiming adamantly that racism doesn’t exist anymore. I was told that I was being racist to white people, due to creating a podcast in March 2020 called ‘But Where Are You From?’ and because I took part in a photoshoot featuring only people of ESEA heritage. I was casually told by friends that I was playing the ‘race card’ and that I’m as able to ‘switch off’ from racism as white people are. A close former friend cried to my mum once after I called out her racism. These racist moments occurred in between casual phone calls and catch ups, said flippantly and without any idea of the impact they were having on my mental health.
I responded to all of this with stunned silence. I said nothing at the time. Words escaped me.
The more I look back and analyse these friendships from afar, I can see that the dynamics have always existed as a hierarchy, with my white women friends at the top and me as their subservient friend.
Nova Reid describes a similar white woman friendship dynamic she experienced in her book The Good Ally. The dynamic of the friendship was such that the friend acted as a (white) saviour for the majority of the relationship, which served both of them well, for a time. After a while, Reid began to develop her boundaries and her self confidence, which completely tipped the dynamics of the friendship, making the white friend’s role therefore redundant.
‘She liked the version of Nova who had excruciatingly low self-esteem and preferred to swallow racism to keep peace and maintain equilibrium.’
I’m sure the way it played out in reality would have been a lot more nuanced, much like my experiences, but I soaked up those few paragraphs in Reid’s book, reading them over and over again. I had never had my experiences with white women friendships captured so succinctly, by a complete stranger.
You may wonder how I could have endured such friendships, but accounting for the different complexities of human relationships is vital when understanding deeply personal and unique experiences. My friendships with them were largely wholesome, validating and a source of joy for many years. A more important consideration is that I simply didn’t know how to label such incidents. I hadn’t heard of the term ‘microaggressions’ until 2020. I didn’t see an issue with one friend and their imitation of the Chinese accent back then, which now I see as grossly offensive. I didn’t realise that racism towards white people cannot exist, at all, in the same optics as it does with communities of colour. I didn’t realise that it wasn’t me making everything about race, but rather, the fact that everything IS about race, because of its systemic nature. I didn’t realise that I could assert my boundaries in situations that made me feel uncomfortable for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I didn’t realise that academics wrote about the weaponisation of white women’s tears and the entrenched history between white women, feminism, and people of colour. Funnily enough, they don’t teach you this in school. Joke’s on me!
I try to look back on these situations with compassion towards myself; it’s not my fault that I was kept in the dark about how racism works, it’s not my fault that assimilating to whiteness has been a part of my survival, and it’s certainly not my fault that I internalised racism to the point where I laughed along with racist jokes directed towards me. I have debilitating days of feeling helpless, playing out scenarios of what would happen if I addressed each racist remark with my rebuttals, I cry like I am grieving the death of someone as a result of these lost friendships, I have nightmares about them, I’m triggered by the smallest acts from white women, I’m in therapy every week (shout out to my therapist!) discussing every minutiae of what happened in my past, each week uncovering more trauma I somehow forgot to mention. The impact of my mental, as well as physical health is astounding. I wake up and momentarily forget, until I feel this heavy dark cloud loom over me as a result from racial trauma. I wish I could tell these former friends how their ‘casual’ racism is death by a thousand cuts, and that I’m out here bleeding. There’s nothing casual about it.
I read about friendship breakups, but very rarely from the perspective of a Chinese person. I read about anti-racism, but hardly any writers that I know of shine a light on the experiences of ESEA communities, one that is so complex and diverse and absolutely deserves to have its own anti-racism book published. I’m compelled to find validation in similar stories, even going as far as searching ‘racist friends’ on Reddit. Perhaps somewhat sadistically, I need to hear stories of shared pain, as much as I do stories of hope. I need to know I’m not alone.
I’m beginning to cultivate a safer space within my friendship circle. The very few white women who truly know me, I keep close to my heart. Their allyship and support is invaluable and I know that I could turn to any one of them and moan about ‘white women’ without the worry that I’m going to upset them. It’s only through my late 20s to early 30s, that I’ve established more friendships with people of colour than ever before, especially East and South East Asian people. Our shared experiences bond us, and our differences guide us together in learning about our cultural diversity (usually through food!)
A particular friendship that hurt me deeply is now over. The ending happened via a series of emails, meet ups and WhatsApp exchanges. The straw that broke the camel’s back was a calm discussion we had about me addressing their racism, and this friend claimed that my reaction (to their racism) was disproportionate to what they had said. That one, small sentence packed a punch, the gravitas of it indicated that this person still believed that my reaction was not justified and that I should have just ‘gotten over’ their racism. That was enough to completely tip the scale for me. I decided it was time to cut that relationship once and for all.
One day, I would like to share my experience in more detail and write a ‘How To Avoid Racist Friends’ manual, ‘cause that shit isn’t easy. There is an unspoken loss I carry with me on most days, though I remind myself that it’s okay to end certain friendships whilst also grieving for a simpler time. I’m also grateful for my own stubbornness in relearning when it comes to my own identity.
Racism was the root cause of my friendship breakups, not me setting boundaries and questioning behaviour. I didn’t know it at the time, but all I was doing was simply advocating for my own humanity.
Viv Yau is a co-founder of besea.n and host of the podcast ‘But Where Are You From?’ She runs an influencer marketing agency, Bee Influence by day. You can follow her here on IG if you don’t mind her putting cheese in her congee. She is also enjoying writing about herself in third person, lol.