CREATE|SELF

This summer I spent 2 weeks serving out grand jury duty in NYC’s narcotics court. It’s a narrow insight, but it was my start to understanding this system.

Part I We’re all fucking racist

Day 2 of grand jury duty — our first time seeing a real case. 3 hours of training the day before apparently qualified us to decide someone’s fate. The first couple cases went by quickly. We were curious, and unsure of the procedure, but our warden was there to guide us through it.

On our first break, we sat in a small holding room waiting for the next case when 3 men walked into the room. I glanced up from my emails and thought, “Hmm.. haven’t seen them before.” My immediate thought after was more embarrassing. I’d rather not admit it, but I assumed that they were the defendants, ones guilty of committing a crime. In a room where 18 of the 23 jurors were white, and none of the 5 people of color in the room (including myself) was black, they stood out to me because of their skin color. I caught myself with these thoughts.

“Damn, that was fucking racist,” I muttered in my mind.

In theory, I knew that defendants didn’t come testify at grand jury, as this was repeated multiple times throughout our training. But it was a poor snap judgment that led me to assume they were here to defend their case. 5 minutes later, I discovered they were undercover cops. My face flushed with embarrassment and I couldn’t look them in the eyes when they were sworn into court.

How did I conjure up such a racist thought? If I’m capable of having these thoughts in a sterile holding room, then this must be the kind of thought that leads to detrimental judgments in an escalated situation. The ones that allow us to “reason” that Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old boy looking “bigger” than he should have, posed a legitimate physical threat to police officers holding real guns.

I like to believe that I’m free from discrimination. I pride myself in my empathy for others, but really it’s all ego, convincing myself that I’m free from these thoughts. It’s not OK, and this was my reality check — latent judgments pushed into consciousness, so that I could reflect and see my true self. I’m sorry for my actions, and I’m sorry to those I offended. But if I let these thoughts die in sorries, then nothing will have changed. I’m here openly admitting that I harbor these misperceptions in hopes that we can un-learn these stereotypes together.

If we work from the foundation that we’re all fucking racist, could we be more receptive to hearing our own actions critiqued? And maybe then could we be more honest with ourselves and admit when we’ve wronged?

Part II You’re set up to vote one way

“Do they look like me? Don’t indict.”

That was a black man’s response to me saying I’m headed to my last day of grand jury duty. Of the 20+ cases we saw during the 2 weeks, all of them were indicted. Some I voted to indict, and others I voted to dismiss. But the reality is, it really didn’t matter what I voted. Here’s why:

1. Majority ruling You only need a majority rule to indcit. We were coached to minimize discussion when there were disagreements (so we can get out early, and trust me, everyone wanted to get out early). No records are kept of the breakdown between # of votes to indict vs. dismiss. It all gets condensed into a little check mark on a flimsy sheet of paper, and just like that, your anti-vote is effectively removed with the stroke of a pen. There’s a big fucking difference between a 23–0 vote and a 12–11 vote.

2. Almost all the witnesses are cops At least that was the case in our narcotics court. But can you imagine, when the defendant is a cop, how the witnesses will testify?

3. You only know the defendant’s name Other individuals involved in the case are referred to either by their relationship to the defendant (defendant’s father), or their street nickname. I don’t know how this is handled in shooting cases. Do you know? Did they say the names Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, and Eric Garner?

4. You only hear the prosecutor side It’s a choreographed dance — the witnesses are the dancers, and the prosecutor the choreographer. There’s a rhythm in how prosecutors reveal the case. First, they build up a witness’s expertise by asking how long he/she has worked in this unit. They dive deeper and cite explicit trainings the witness has done to be qualified in this area. And here’s the question that wows the jurors…

“How many cases like this have you worked on before?”

The answer is shocking — 50, 130, I think one cop even answered 1,000. Wow, indeed, you are an expert.

The case unfolds and then it’s clear why we spent 5 minutes building up the character background. It’s all to frame why this charge is reflective of the crime. Why possessing drugs in glassine bags shows intent to sell — because based on the cop’s experience, that’s usually the case. Why a couple of men standing under a streetlight at night gives reason for a cop to approach — because based on the cop’s experience, that’s usually the case.

You can ask questions, but you have to whisper it to the prosecutor. If the prosecutor feels like it’s relevant to the case, then he’ll answer it out loud. If he feels like it’s not relevant, then no one will ever know what you asked. You can ask for any witness and any evidence, but again, only if the prosecutor beleieves it’s relevant.

In truth, we were going to vote exactly how the prosecutor wanted us to vote.

Part III Expanding oneness

Buddhists believe in oneness, and I took that meaning to side with black Americans and share in this outrage together. But I’m reflecting... It’s quite easy to empathize with victims, and it’s almost impossible to understand the person responsible for ending someone’s life. This experience with grand jury, exposing my poor judgments and hearing more cops speak than I ever have in my life, expanded my capacity to see myself as the police, too. I’m trying to see myself on both sides of the gun. Because if I can do this, if I can wrap my mind around the hate and fear that triggered these actions, then we can address the issues that make up institutions ill-prepared to handle these situations. Is it crazy to believe that if I can stand in the shoes of the police then maybe they can learn to stand in ours?

I know it’s frustrating that often the underprivileged are always burdened with the responsibility to explain these issues, see both sides, and create solutions — to be the bigger person. It’s bullshit and it’s tiresome. This is where allies can help share in that responsibility. Allies like Asian Americans, who share in the experience of being a POC, and tend to have the trust of white Americans because of the twisted “model minority” syndrome (that has it’s own issues, I know). Allies like white Americans who empathize with race relations and demand more from our society. Let’s shape our judicial system to take responsibility when individuals fail. We should follow California’s lead in abolishing grand juries in cases that involve indicting cops. But until we can make that happen, go serve in jury duty. And when you take those seats, speak up and break the like-mindedness in these rooms. Let’s share in this responsibility and bring our nation closer to oneness.

“We may not experience the hurt and suffering of others, but through solidarity we can come to understand and share the experience as our own. By having solidarity, we share an ethical responsibility to take on this challenge together.”

Woman holding giant flowers wrapped in brown paper packages

In coffee shop, old man tapping feet to jazz music in line

Man gluing a fire hydrant sign onto a storefront

Letting the wind help carry my art canvas by floating it on the edge of my fingertips, like a kite

Mini cooper that looks like this coffee pitcher

Last night I dreamt about you, and it broke my heart because even in my dreams I knew you didn't belong there. Even in my dreams I had to ask our friends if they saw you. We all knew you weren't there physically but we could feel your presence and it filled our souls to be reminded of what that feels like again.

Today I stalked your Instagram feed. I went through all the photos since the creation of your account and remembered what I was doing at that moment in life, and why I wasn't with you in those moments. Because if I could go back in time I'd make myself available for all those photos and relish in those memories with you.

Last month I brought back your letters to me when I was in Tanzania. You, and our little group of friends, took the time to write me 80 letters - one for each day I was abroad - and sealed it with the date it's meant to be read. I'll never forget the morning of August 2, 2010.

You remember how I cut over 18" of hair off and shaved half of my head so I wouldn't have to be OCD about washing my hair in Tanzania? I only packed body wash, no shampoo or conditioner, with me thinking, "I have no hair anyway. Whatever hair I have left I can clean with body wash." I was trying to be practical and let go of my obsessive need to wash my hair everyday. That morning on August 2, 2010... I was in my home in the villages and took a shower in the 4x4 foot brick "shower" under the open sky, where I rinsed myself with water from a bucket, using the bottom half of an old plastic bottle to scoop out the water. I felt my hair in my hands and I hated that it was so coarse. I wished that I had brought some shampoo and conditioner with me.

I got out of the shower, changed, and sat down to eat breakfast & read my daily letter. The letter felt thicker than usual. I knew you guys sometimes stuffed little trinkets into the letters (a towel drenched in Fabuloso to smell like home, a strand of Maxx's hair) and I coudn't wait to see what this one was. When I opened it, a little sampe size packet of Shampoo fell into my hands. And in the note you wrote, "Vivo, Even still, I won't let you let yourself go! 1 of 2." 2 of 2 was the next day's letter, and in it was a same sized packet of conditioner signed "miss OCD herself." I couldn't believe it. How did you know that on that day, I was thinking of some shampoo and you hand delievered it to me from thousands of miles away and from 2 months prior?

Somehow, you figured out how to transcend time AND space, foreseeing my needs before I even knew they existed. So that gives me hope... because if you were able to transcend time and space then, while we were all on the same plane of being, then there's no limitation to how we can communicate now.

Here I am now. This is me, trying to transcend time & space. I hope you see this. I miss you unbelievably so.

Day 34: little wing

8 years later and he still remembers this like it happened yesterday. That's the power of a ‪#‎NYmoment‬ - the simplest gestures can be remembered for a lifetime heart emoticon

This story was so cool I had to try it through a new medium, cartooning, because I'm obsessed with graphic novels lately and I'm always obsessed with black & white.

100 NY MOMENTS for #the100DayProject

People say New Yorkers are mean, that we're cold and heartless. But everywhere I go, I see moments of extreme kindness. The NY I see changes day to day, reflective of what I'm feeling inside. So if I choose to be warmth and compassion, these pockets of NY kindness come flowing out in hidden interactions. Here's my attempt to capture & share these #100NYmoments.

I’m a little behind on the start date, but here are days 1,2, and 3.. and more to come!... 

A good mentor has more faith in you than you have in yourself. A great mentor guides you down a path to realize that potential on your own.

All my life I've been blessed with these mentors, but I've been cheating myself out of greatness. While they told me I'm great, I told myself I was OK. While they said, "Look what you accomplished," I said, "Yea but that wasn't really me."

I won’t make a sweeping declaration to stop these thoughts. It's simply human nature to think this way. I will, however, make a concerted effort to step into greatness, because an exceptional mentor said to me, 

"This is life. What are you waiting for?"

Maybe for the stars to align or a splurge of delusion and sense of self grandeur to wash away my fears. But moments like that rarely come in life.  

They say luck happens when we are in the right place and the right time. Most of us think place is the one we can control and time is luck's sibling.

I'm starting to realize that we can choose time. Choose this moment to dive into the fear that immobilizes you. Stomach the anxiety that curls you into fetal position. Give in to the momentum that robs you of a solid foundation, because when you come out the other side, there it will be. The greatness your mentors instilled in you.

DANCING WITH GRANDPA

My grandpa always says, "My foot itches when I hear music. I have to dance; I can't sit still." I got this gene from him.

We don't see each other often, but when we are together, we're always dancing somewhere. At the train station, grocery store, on the sidewalk–as long as there's music, we'll be dancing. And if there isn't music playing, then he's the one singing our song.

Because for the first time in my life, I can relate to a character so much that it feels like I’m watching my family on TV.

Words on gentrification, written by a gentrifier. 

People throw this statement around effortlessly these days. You can assume, for the most part, that it's often a white male who is at the receiving end of this statement.

Up until recently, I never imagined myself as the recipient. I'm a minority who's always counted my blessings, and considered myself well "checked."

When the Ferguson protests and the #blacklivesmatter movement broke out, I struggled deeply on how to get involved. Sharing my outrage on social media didn't seem like enough. I wanted to join protests, but I didn't know how to be a constructive ally. I knew these were excuses, and I searched for how to get involved.

In my search, I stumbled upon the #Asians4BlackLives movement, which unveiled my privilege. I may be a minority, but I sure as hell won the racial lottery of minorities. Asian Americans are considered the "model minority" in the U.S. In my post on being disruptive yesterday, I listed a slew of discriminations - none of which I've personally experienced before. That's my privilege – my ability to assimilate and gain your trust easier than it is for other minorities to do so. But because I HAD experienced racism, I assumed that I didn't have to check my privilege.

When I did check, I learned how the model minority narrative is used in arguments to claim that these crimes have "nothing to do with race" and everything to do with "culture." Our submissiveness and hard-working attributes are distorted to demonstrate how obedience and education can transform your place in society. Upholding this narrative dehumanizes black deaths, and places the blame on victims instead of on the system.

I will not stand by this. I refuse to allow my narrative be used in any way to silence the voice of others.

To my Asian American friends, I say this endearingly: Check your privilege, speak out, and stand for #blacklivesmatter

You say the protests are disruptive to your life, your day-to-day schedule. Your commute takes an hour instead of twenty minutes. Yes, protests are disruptive and they're designed to be just so. There are consequences for interrupting flow, and we bare that responsibility.

But,

imagine this...

Imagine not being able to hail a cab. Never approved for a bank loan. Only hired for service jobs when you hold higher qualifications. Walking into a store and getting followed wherever you shop. Missing your flight because you went through three rounds of security checks. Getting stopped and frisked on your way home. How's that for disruptive? When it's not just a matter of a crowd getting in the way of your path, but the color of your skin, the shape of your eyes, and the hair on your face that disrupt.

So I will empathize with you on a disrupted commute, but I will never sympathize with you on your discomfort.

Next time you're in this situation, just imagine that instead of YOU getting to work, imagine that you're getting an opportunity to walk a day in someone else's shoes.