Once a Settler, Always a Settler

You could say “settler,” or you could say “foreigner.” Or you could say “outsider,” or you could say “alien.” As an obviously Asian person in Detroit, I am in the most extreme racial minority of this city.

The nature of the Black community in general has been to welcome other marginalized folks into the fold. My experience has been that, once I demonstrated that I sought to be part of the solution and not part of the problem, I earned my solidarity stripes and was welcomed with open arms. Once my Black neighbors and colleagues could see that I was not there to extract, colonize, exploit, or dominate, but rather to be part of the fabric of community, they treated me as comrade and kin. As an Asian in Milwaukee and Detroit, I have been welcomed into many Black spaces, and many wonderful relationships.

The Black community gave me a grounding I never received in the white communities I was surrounded by, once my family left our homeland of Korea, and the Asian enclave of Hawai’i. Like many middle class immigrants, my parents were coached to select white suburbs to raise their kids. White communities welcomed me too. But on an unspoken basis of: you must help us enact our agenda.

What agenda? some might ask. The unspoken agenda of white supremacy, domination, and empire. I never heard these words, of course, and only well into my adulthood, after I’d married into the white community, and given birth to three children, was I able to put into words what I had discerned unconsciously. I was welcomed as an Asian in white society as long as I served as a wedge between white and Black, and helped to keep other Black and Brown folks at the bottom of the hierarchy, by assimilating into whiteness. The message from white society was, you’re different. You’re like us. Come on in, but close the door behind you.

The message from Black and Brown communities was, lean in with us, and help us get this door open! Or, let’s build another door to a better place together, or let’s work to get back what was taken away from us. Or simply, let’s tap into the inherent joy and celebration that is our birthright. Once I started to decolonize my mind and body, these projects as a way of life appealed to me far more than supporting the status quo of a racist society.

Yet, on some deep human level, I will still be othered, by white and Black communities alike. I will still be seen as a consummate outsider.

As I prepare to relocate to Hawai’i, where I was raised until my teens, I am once again feeling the discomfort of the settler, because I am not native Hawaiian. Meanwhile, East Asians comprise the ruling class, and many have enacted the agenda of white supremacy. White folks, haoles, comprise a minority in Hawai’i, but still represent much of the wealth, power, and leadership. Hawai’i is one of the most militarized and colonized places on earth. So what business do I have moving there?

Once a settler, always a settler. My homeland was decimated and torn asunder by American empire. My father came to Hawai’i in an effort to provide a better life for himself and his family. In the process, my brothers and I lost touch with our indigeneity and mother tongue, and assimilated into America.

Where is home now? In Korea, I am gyopo, a foreign Korean. My Korean is bumbling and childlike, and my ragtag clothes, tattoo, and long gray hair mark me as an obvious outsider. In Korea, I am perceived as American, and I come bearing my privilege, granted by the empire.

In Detroit, I remain a perpetual outsider. I am “the Chinese lady,” “that Asian woman,” and more. Last night I walked into a memorial celebration for a childhood friend of Baba Baxter Jones, the disabled elder I help care for. As usual, I was the only Asian person in the room, and the only non-Black person. In such a situation, I am typically overlooked, ignored, and treated as a servant, as most caregivers are: we become invisible. But in my case, I become more visible, and possibly suspect, because of my unusual appearance.

At this event, I was actually told by the hostess, the widow of Baba’s friend, to stop going up to the buffet. I had already gone up 4-5 times, because they only had three items that met Baba’s dietary needs, they were serving on small plates only, and I was trying to feed two people. I felt immediately confused and shamed, like a child, and was speechless. There were a hundred or more friends and family in attendance. Had someone complained about me? That Asian lady has gone up 4 times….

I had forgotten how much I stand out at such events. I was seen as an outsider. As a settler. In addition, caregiving, and the needs of people with disabilities, remains unseen and unacknowledged. The accommodation of allowing a caregiver to take multiple trips to the buffet  to feed a PWD was not understood. In a city like Detroit where so much has been stolen: land, labor, water, and more….I was perceived as another taker.

I am a settler in Detroit. I will be a settler in Hawai’i. I am a settler everywhere I go. Wherever I go, I will be occupying stolen land.

The best I can do is try to be one of the “good” settlers, like Grace Lee Boggs, who came to join the labor movement, and lived in Detroit for 60+ years, rooted on Field Street, organizing, writing, teaching, and learning, instead of myriad other settlers who came to build their fame and fortune, by buying up swaths of cheap land, making sweetheart deals with city government, and extracting knowledge, labor, and other resources from multi-generation Detroiters.

What will it mean to be a good settler in Hawai’i? Is it even possible? I take seriously the words of Haunani-Kay Trask, who points out that Hawaiians are not Americans. Americans appropriated and colonized the islands by military force. Americans are the enemy, and from the Hawaiian sovereignty perspective, are not welcome on the islands.

In every yoga class I teach, I have been offering a land acknowledgment, always closing with “We commit ourselves to coming into right relationship with the land, its people, and its spirits.” How do I make this meaningful, and not trite or rote? I embrace the overall commitment of the yogi to sovereignty, and see the practice as one that trains us to take charge of our own lives, exercise agency, and liberate ourselves, while supporting others in their own sovereignty and liberation.

I must surrender to the land and its people and spirits, including my two grandchildren. I must be a steward and a servant. At the same time, in Hawai’i, I must also challenge and dismantle the privilege of being East Asian. What will these commitments look like? What will they consist of? Caught in capitalist society, I must also make my own living. How will I do this in ways that support sovereignty and not empire?

I remain troubled. I have no choice but to embrace the contradictions I cannot escape. The same way that, if I wish to stay alive, I must ingest the life force of a plant or animal, I must also grapple with the issues of land, place, and settler colonialism everywhere I go. I hope you will be troubled alongside me. How do you practice right relationship with the land you are on, its people, and its spirits?