Trauma is a discussion topic that has shown up in many conversations and reports around equity during COVID-19 and the recent protests against systemic racism in the United States. What can feel like an abstract concept at one moment can become all too visceral the next. Sometimes when you least expect it to manifest itself, the impact of trauma from more than three decades ago that you thought you had deeply buried and suppressed takes over your emotions and you can’t stop yourself from breaking down. Just last week, as I was giving one of my Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion presentations on the courage to serve our differences, I choked up while describing the night that changed my life.
Riots broke out between Malays and ethnic Chinese following the 1969 national election. Neighbors came together in the middle of the night. While the men guarded the front door, the women and children tried to find places so they could be out of sight. My mother grabbed my hand and asked me not to make a sound. I was crawling under the bed when my dad yelled for us to come out from hiding and to grab one thing that we could carry. I held on to my mother as she scurried around the house to locate things to take. We left our home on foot in the dark, my mother pulling on my arm to help me keep up. Finally we came upon a facility where we took refuge with many of our neighbors. I don’t remember ever crying about the night that we had to evacuate our home. Until last week.
Our house was destroyed in a fire during the riots and our pet dog went missing. I think I had blocked out the events of the riots, but I was unsuccessful at blocking out the sounds of the sirens that would go on for what seemed like forever to signal the start of curfews. I would place the palms of my hands over my ears so hard that they hurt until the sirens stopped. One night, I overheard my parents whispering to one another in a Chinese dialect that they would converse in only when they didn’t want us children to know what they were talking about. I don’t think they knew I heard and understood every word.
We never talked too much about the riots in my family. I didn’t want to accept the horrible fact that there were people who hated my family and me so much because of our race. They burned my house down. They tried to kill us and our entire community.
My intent in last week’s presentation was to describe the plight of many immigrants and refugees who journey to America – why we left our homes, who we are, and how we contribute to our new communities that we now call our homes. As much as I tried to suppress how I was feeling and to project a professional image (and that means “no tears”– a professionalism indicator that I learned when I worked in Corporate America), I was not able to contain the intensity of my feeling of deep loss and despair. My childhood trauma broke through.
As a woman of color and CEO of a small business that I founded last year during the pandemic, I chose to consult on equity and inclusion using my lived experiences. I hope that by sharing my story I am able to motivate people and organizations to adopt anti-racism practices and to advance equitable access so that all people, no matter their backgrounds, can bring their authentic selves to the workplace. And, so that all people can openly share their pronouns, and can receive the same respect and value that the dominant culture enjoys.
I spent a few days thinking about what I was feeling and why, after having shared my story many times in the past, I was having a resurgence of an emotional reaction now. Like many immigrants and refugees, I spent my young adult life in the U.S. away from my parents, my siblings, and many friends. Over the last two years, what had been a manageable void of missing my family and homeland reopened and I felt a new and increased sense of grief. The conditions of a worldwide pandemic, and the racial reckoning in the U.S. in particular, have left many people, especially Black and Brown people, feeling insecure, disillusioned, and yes, sad.
As the virus swept the globe, organizations changed how they interacted with customers due to social distancing and stay-at-home orders. School children had to adapt to a new way of learning, and those fortunate enough to remain employed had to learn how to continue working in a new way. Consumer purchasing behaviors have shifted, unemployment has skyrocketed, and supply chain issues have ensued. Many people who lost jobs and had their livelihoods drastically compromised, who lost loved ones to COVID-19, or who suffered isolation due to quarantine, also experienced anxiety, fear, and depression.
But one thing remains constant. As the COVID-19 virus continues to threaten our well-being, the safety of many people from communities of color and Indigenous groups continues to be in danger. Following the March 16 shooting at three Atlanta-area spas that claimed the lives of eight people, including six Asian women, Asian Americans are reporting feeling increasingly threatened.
Now more than ever, people are divided along racial and ethnic fault-lines, by gender identification, and by geographic and political frontiers. Disrespecting peoples’ authentic identities and not acknowledging structural barriers to racial justice impedes everyone’s ability to live a secure, safe, and productive life. Unemployment benefits, stimulus checks, and words of empowerment and resilience are all forms of assistance that provide a temporary fix, one that is not sustainable for a crisis of this magnitude. They do not resolve the divisiveness that pits hate against love, and cruelty against kindness.
Unless we can choose love and kindness in our personal and professional lives, the fabric of our society will continue to unravel. Unless we interrogate the root causes of social disparities, and collectively find solutions to heal, lift-up, and nurture all people, including “the other,” the stability and the foundation of our communities will continue to erode. The work of advocates for equity is a long journey, interrupted by roadblocks, detours, and delays that threaten to bring forward motion to a halt, that make us rethink our direction, and, hopefully, formulate a better plan forward.
We may not achieve the full potential of equity and inclusion in our lifetimes, but we still have to do our part. As we all try to navigate through our various traumas, let’s recognize the need to practice self-care. Working toward a more equitable and just society matters for everybody. We will be uniting through differences and nurturing a promising community of all people for all people. Our gestures of love and kindness will overcome past traumas and move our community forward into the future.
Further reading and resources on dealing with trauma:
7 Tools for Managing Traumatic Stress
Historical Trauma: How Do We Heal From Centuries of Suffering?
What is Generational Trauma and How Can We Heal From It?
Poh Lin,
This is an excellent blog article. Thank you for sharing your personal experiences. You have shared so much important information in this blog as well as excellent resources. Thank you for who you are and for the important work you are doing.
Amy
As much as we try to deal with the past we will still have moments that remind us of our traumatic memories. It is still thought that creates this reality in our current moment. Just notice the feelings and thoughts. Let the healing take over. We are naturally healthy and resilient.