05/28/2021
I’ve been struck by the recent abundance of young Asian women op-ed writers seeking attention who have studied the hot buttons of op-ed editors with the diligence that they previously studied the hot buttons of college admissions staffers. In that regard, Oranicha Jumreornvong is an up-and-coming name to remember.
From the Washington Post “Perspective” section:
How Asian restaurants helped me heal after a hate-crime attack
By Oranicha Jumreornvong
May 27, 2021 at 5:00 a.m. PDT
Jumreornvong is a third-year medical student at Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai.
Three nights after I was assaulted, I was still haunted. I dreamed of pacing toward the hospital where I work as a medical student. I dreamed of the man’s words, “Chinese virus,” as he kicked and dragged me, and I dreamed of the bystanders’ uncaring gaze.
I had studied these symptoms in others: hypervigilance, avoidance of associated stimuli, intrusive reexperiences and distress. My psychiatrist eventually diagnosed me with acute stress disorder, a precursor to PTSD that lasts from three days to a month after experiencing a life-threatening situation. As with many victims of anti-Asian assault, not all my wounds were visible.
I usually call my family in Thailand every day but couldn’t for three days after my assault. I did not dare shatter our American Dream with the lived experiences that many Asian Americans and immigrants face in this country. My father, who dreamed of reuniting with me after my medical training, finally contacted me after my radio silence. My family is not the type to show affection with words. But through the years, I could feel their love through a simple question: “Have you eaten?”
“Yes,” I lied. Unable to lie to him completely, I added before hanging up, “Aunty’s food is coming soon.”
Aunty Su is a former physical therapist in Thailand who became a massage therapist when she immigrated to be reunited with her son, who had married an American. At the onset of the pandemic, she started delivering affordable home-cooked meals to health-care workers. I put my palms together in a “wai” to greet her when she delivered my first real meal since the assault. Tom yum is made from lemongrass, lime, galangal, fish sauce, chiles and sugar. “Tom” refers to the boiling process, while “yum” means “mixed.” Like what I had hoped and still believe America to be, these ingredients that did not seem likely to mix somehow created a wonderful taste of home.
Two weeks after my assault, I recovered physically and returned to Elmhurst Hospital, a Level 1 trauma center. I was apprehensive about working with trauma patients, but my experience made me more empathetic. I no longer saw my patients as cases to study for exams but as survivors whom I admired for their resilience.
Although my team came from such disparate places as Ohio, New York, Israel, Puerto Rico and Thailand, we all shared a sense of care toward our patients — and a love of good food. During our 24-hour call, we ordered pad thai from Ayada Thai. I explained to my team that when Thais struggled to survive after rice became scarce during World War II
By the way, Thailand was on Hitler’s side in WWII and declared war on the United States. From Wikipedia:
Thailand in World War II officially adopted a position of neutrality until the five hour-long Japanese invasion of Thailand on 8 December 1941 which led to an armistice and military alliance treaty between Thailand and the Japanese Empire in mid-December 1941. … The Thai government … considered it profitable to co-operate with the Japanese war efforts, since Thailand saw Japan — who promised to help Thailand regain some of the Indochinese territories (in today’s Laos, Cambodia, and Myanmar) which had been lost to France — as an ally against Western imperialism. Axis-aligned Thailand declared war on the United Kingdom and the United States and annexed territories in neighbouring countries, expanding to the north, south, and east, gaining a border with China near Kengtung.
Back to Ms. Jumreornvong in the Washington Post:
, our prime minister promoted pad thai …
The first time I went anywhere other than the hospital and my apartment was to a rally supporting the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community in Chinatown. Michelle Lee, a Cornell radiology resident who also experienced discrimination during the pandemic, invited me to speak to more than 1,000 rallygoers, including 100 health-care workers. She held me as my body shook when I shared my experience publicly for the first time.
I was so hungry that I almost fainted after my speech. So for the following rally in Flushing, Lee took me to White Bear, a tiny Chinese restaurant with a big menu of dumplings taped over its counter.
Although my father is Thai and my mother is Chinese, my mother had told me to tell others that I am Thai because she did not want me to be discriminated against the way she was when a stranger spat at her and told her to “go back to China” the first time she visited the United States.
I gushed at the first bite of the spicy wontons. How could anyone hate Asians when our food is so delicious?
Earlier in the Washington Post:
I was attacked in NYC for being Asian. Here’s how I’m starting to heal.
Growing up as a queer woman in Thailand, I expected America to be a safe haven
I was attacked in NYC for being Asian. Here’s how I’m starting to heal.
by Oranicha Jumreornvong
March 23, 2021In February, a man approached me and spat, “Chinese virus.” It was not the first time I had been called those venomous words. I’m a medical student at Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai in New York City, and a few months ago, in front of the hospital after my shift, a mother with a child also spat on me and called me racial slurs. So, this time, I calmly told the man that I was a medical student and had to head to my shift. But he followed me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I hastened toward Mount Sinai. Suddenly, I fell at a kick against my knee. I was dragged across the ground; my nails bled against the rough pavement as I tried to crawl away. I cried out for help, but passersby stood in silence as the assailant escaped with my phone.
In other words, to the extent that this happened, it’s most likely that a black guy mugged you for your phone, but you didn’t let a good mugging go to waste and repurposed it for maximum op-ed appeal.
Eventually, I asked a bystander to call 911, and felt safe around the only Asian police officer at the scene; but they ultimately couldn’t catch the man, who was wearing a mask and hoodie.
Growing up as a queer woman in Thailand, a homogeneous country marred by military dictatorships, censorships and bloody coups, I was used to violence. So when I immigrated to the United States in 2014 for college and medical school, I saw this country as a safe haven. Unfortunately, that sense of security was shattered when I was assaulted and robbed in broad daylight.
I now realize that my experience was part of a broader pattern of anti-Asian hate crimes in the United States, which have increased by 150 percent since the start of the pandemic. These xenophobic acts are in part due to the perception that Asians are to blame for the pandemic. They have rippled throughout the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community, including among health professionals who have described being attacked on the streets by strangers or even harassed by patients they cared for during the pandemic.
And last week, that violence came to a head with the shootings at Atlanta spas that left eight people dead, six of them Asian women. I was treating a transgender woman’s
Of course.
wounds after she was violently beaten with a bat
A Wuhan bat? Or a baseball bat, the phallic symbol of America’s national pastime?
when I learned of the Atlanta shooting from other health professionals.
That transgender woman’s name?
Emmetta Till!
,,, After my attack in February, my advisers recommended that I take time off from clinical duties to recuperate. I hesitated. Like many AAPI patients, I was used to minimizing my symptoms. I recalled studies that showed AAPI patients typically experience more physical pain clinically than their White counterparts. (It is well documented that Black patients, too, suffer a greater burden of pain and pain-related suffering in comparison to White patients.) This disconnect between our perceived and expressed physical pain also parallels the historical silencing of our racial pain. While I came away from my attack with only minor cuts and bruises, a deep, unspoken malady awoke in me — one that many in the AAPI community have learned to either directly or indirectly hide in this country. After minimizing our pain for so many generations, we are finally coming forward with our truths.
Soon after my assault, AAPI students petitioned our medical school to publicly condemn anti-Asian hate crimes. In response, the medical school’s student council sent out a statement about the rise in anti-Asian hate, with resources and guidance. But one line stuck out to me: “Importantly, our effort to provide safety for members of the AAPI community must not compromise the safety of BIPOC folk.” I felt my stomach drop. Are Asians not people of color?
Back in my homogeneous home country, I was able to hide my sexual orientation to avoid discrimination. However, in this diverse country I want to call home, I am unable to hide the color of my skin and the shape of my eyes. Reading the email, I felt alienated from the Black, Indigenous and other people of color (BIPOC) community — it seemed like my perceived proximity to White privilege as the highly educated “model minority” was constantly at war with my lived experience.
Fortunately, after receiving emails criticizing that statement, the student council apologized for unintentionally playing into a long history of dividing marginalized minorities, and recognized that the term BIPOC can promote solidarity by underscoring the shared burden of racism. But my initial feeling of betrayal and alienation from the BIPOC community is not unique. Following World War II, the “model minority” myth was used as a racial wedge between AAPI members and other minorities: It cast Japanese Americans as only overcoming the discrimination they faced during their interment because of their resilience, family structure and work ethic.
This framework has continued to perpetuate the fallacious belief that other minorities should similarly be able to overcome discrimination and achieve success, while ignoring the complex and multifaceted history of oppression that minority groups face. Furthermore, it dismisses that AAPI members have the largest income gap within their own demographic and that the standard of living for low-income families has been stagnant over the past 50 years. …
… Instead, I ask everyone to stop viewing the AAPI community as a model minority, but rather as a heterogeneous group. This way, we can finally begin to heal.
Interestingly, on her Twitter account:
Her first tweet is February 14, 2021, the day before she claims she was the victim of a hate crime.
Perhaps she is gifted with foresight?
This is a content archive of VDARE.com, which Letitia James forced off of the Internet using lawfare.