I have rewritten this post over and over again because I didn’t even know where to start. I figured the best place is the beginning.

My first encounters with racism were so early on that I can’t remember specific instances or moments, but I do recall what I felt. I’ve been internalizing and compartmentalizing these feelings my whole life and have only recently begun to unpack them this past year for a number of reasons, including the recent wave of violence and hate toward the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community.  

Growing up in a predominantly white suburb, I was one of a handful of people of color (POC) at school up until high school. As you might imagine, I was introduced to the construct of race at a very young age. From kids jokingly pulling their eyes back at me to hearing “ching chong” being shouted at me, I was no stranger to the fact that I was unjustly “othered,” just because of my ethnicity and appearance. Looking back, more often than not, the prejudice that I experienced was not so overt. Comments such as, “Where are you from?,” “How do you say XYZ in Chinese?,” “You and (other Asian American kid) look alike” or “You’re Asian so you must be good at math” were commonplace and I didn’t really know the impact of these microaggressions until I was much older.

As a result, I suppressed my cultural identity in an attempt to fit in. For example, I’d go by my middle name (John), disliked Chinese food and even cracked the same racist jokes that were thrown at me. I grew up resenting the fact that I was Chinese and sought to become as “white-washed” as possible because, in my mind, my life would seemingly be easier if I were white. It got to the point where I considered legally changing my first name to John, just so I would be perceived as more American, thus be more accepted.

It wasn’t until college that I found peace with my cultural identity. Having a diverse group of friends with strong connections to their cultures, joining cultural clubs, and taking courses on racism and oppression opened my eyes to an identity that I could call my own. Not just Asian, not just American, but Asian American. I discovered that I don’t have to be white to be accepted. I just need to be me.  

—俞永強

Design Process

I attended Chinese school on the weekends growing up, and one of the first things we learned was how to write our names. We had to practice writing our names over and over again until we eventually got it down. I wanted to pay homage to those early Saturday mornings by relearning how to write my name and took it a step further by using a traditional calligraphy pen, Xuan rice paper and Sumi liquid ink.

Once I had a few useable characters, I scanned them and brought them into Illustrator where traced my name and created a vectorized image. The embellishing brush strokes were created using a custom brush in Illustrator. I included the pinyin pronunciation of my name next to each character as well.

Fear. Anger. Sadness. Grief. Denial. These were the emotions that have been flooding my body for the past few months as I continued to watch and hear stories about the rise of anti-Asian hate crimes across the country. It felt like each day there was a new case being investigated with no hope or end in sight. The more I kept thinking about the attacks, the more I was reminded of my childhood and the trauma that took so long to suppress. When I looked in the mirror, I would see my younger self — a scared Asian boy who believed that if he did everything he could to fit in, he would not have to worry about feeling like an outcast. 

Little did I know that no matter how hard I tried, there was no turning away from my identity. The issue wasn’t about me believing that I needed to act a certain way. It’s that as a society we have allowed systemic racism to influence our behaviors. Instead of working together to fight racial injustice, racism is perpetuated by the acts of violence toward marginalized communities.

I still remember reading the story of Angelo Quinto’s death. He was a 30-year-old Filipino Navy veteran in Antioch, Calif. who died from complications after a police officer knelt on his neck. The incident occurred during a police intervention while Angelo was suffering from a mental health crisis. As I watched the horrifying video, I could feel these waves of emotions rushing through my mind as I kept thinking to myself, “that could’ve been me.”

According to Angelo’s mother Cassandra, her son pleaded to the officers saying, “Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.” When you hear those words uttered by another human being, you would think your immediate action would be to stop what you are doing. For the days and weeks that followed, I kept thinking about Angelo’s death questioning why that same technique that killed George Floyd almost a year ago was used on another helpless victim.

As the countless acts of anti-Asian violence continued, I couldn’t help but to feel defeated. On top of that, the news of the mass shootings that occurred at three Atlanta spas on March 16 only compounded that feeling of defeat. According to a national report by Stop AAPI Hate, there were nearly 3,800 anti-Asian hate incidents reported in the past year. What’s worse is that the hate crimes reported represent only a fraction of the number of incidents that actually occurred.

While processing my emotions, I realized that feeling helpless wasn’t the solution to the problem. Instead, it was a reminder that we should not have to keep our heads down and hide in the shadows. If we expect progress to be made, we must fight not only for ourselves, but for those who are not seen or heard.

During Asian American Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month, I am reminded of the many contributions and influence that the Asian community has had on the history, culture and achievements of our country. As a proud gay Filipino American, I am even more empowered to continue to embrace my identity and live a life where I can be my authentic self.

“Are you going to tell her she is adopted?” This was a question I was asked almost two decades ago when I was shopping with my daughter, now age 20, whom I adopted from China. I smiled and replied, “I already tell her she is adopted, and she would know anyway because she looks different than me.” That satisfied this woman’s nosiness, but it was one of many, many invasive questions I’ve been asked over the years as a white mom who has two daughters adopted from China.

I know most people approach my family based on pure curiosity, but some questions and comments have been insensitive (“how much did they cost?”), and others have been downright mean (“I can’t believe you brought more immigrants here when there are so many Black kids in this country who need homes”). And this past year we’ve heard questions and comments we never thought we would, such as “Are they from Wuhan?” “Why do so many diseases come from China?” and “Is that why so many Orientals wear masks in public?”

Talking with a friend of mine who also has two daughters from China, we dissected how questions about our families have evolved over the years, and especially these past 12+ months. Luckily, our daughters are very grounded and confident in their lives as adopted Chinese Americans raised in white families, but we believe they are feeling more “Asian” than they ever have before. That’s because these types of questions and comments about Asians, Chinese people in particular, reinforce what has been consciously or subconsciously on some people’s minds as a result of the pandemic — implicit bias of blaming people who are different than them for causing negative impact and harm on their lives.   

As my daughters grew up, I realized their unique experiences, challenges, and opportunities. They have been “accepted” and are perceived as educated, high achievers who better “fit in” with white people. But this is based on a stereotype and reminds my daughters that they are in fact different than others. And now this pandemic has brought unprecedented challenges, and people want to place blame on someone.

We all know that our diversity algorithms are built at a young age, and they are very hard to change as we get older. That is why the best way to address bias is to know your bias — and then do something about it. Project Implicit from Harvard University is a great place to learn about and test your partiality to Asians and people from other backgrounds. I encourage anyone who is angry about the pandemic and inclined to place blame on the Chinese to understand their implicit bias — and to stop even thinking my daughters are to blame.

Stephanie Tortorici is a senior vice president & partner in FleishmanHillard’s Chicago office. She leads Chicago’s healthcare group and is the global client leader for one of the agency’s top 10 clients. Stephanie is the incredibly proud mom of two daughters, one a junior in college and the other a senior in high school.

Every year, Black History Month in the U.S. is an opportunity to shine a light on some of the incredible — and often unknown — contributions of Black Americans. Celebrating Black history doesn’t stop at the U.S. border, though.

Recently, FH4Inclusion, True MOSAIC and Omnicom PR Group’s Milan-based office joined forces to support Black History Month Florence (BHMF), an Italian-based program co-founded by new media artist, organizer and educator Justin Randolph Thompson. BHMF is an initiative designed to highlight the cultures of African diasporic communities in Florence and throughout Italy, with key events taking place during February. This year, one of its main vehicles is a partnership with Florence’s Uffizi Galleries that launched On Being Present – Vol II, a virtual exhibit highlighting — and contextualizing — the presence of Black African figures in Renaissance paintings. The Uffizi’s collection includes the work of famous artists like Botticelli and DaVinci, to name a few. Last year, On Being Present Vol I was the Uffizi Galleries’ most-visited online exhibit.

As part of this pro bono work, we identified and engaged with outlets across Italy, as well as journalists at U.S. art trade publications to spread the word about BHMF’s 2021 roster of events and their second Uffizi partnership. To amplify BHMF’s reach even further, we helped raise its awareness on social media and created a space for audiences to engage. As part of our strategy, we highlighted Thompson’s unique cultural experience — having lived in the U.S. (where he’s originally from) and in Italy. Given this, and the global resonance of the campaign, we worked toward the goal of driving visibility of BHMF not only within Europe, but all over the world.

As a result, we, in collaboration with BHMF partners, secured almost 90 articles in Italy across a range of outlets, as well as an opportunity to work with U.S.-based Blanc Magazine on a panel event focused on authentic storytelling and the “Black Presence.” Our BHMF clients were pleased with the results, stating:

“We are humbled by all of the positive responses that we have received, and it has been great to have an extra push in a complex year. The Italian press and the broadened reach of our program fostered by the support of your team have been meaningful acknowledgments of our efforts and serve as important contributions and fuel for our ongoing and forthcoming work. It has been a powerful start to the year and the wake is just beginning to show itself.” – Justin Randolph Thompson, co-founder and director of BHMF

“We cannot thank you enough for your guidance and for being by our side in this last edition, we definitely saw a difference, in having a PR agency accompanying us and helping us managing the press and the communication.” — Janine Gaëlle Dieudji, co-director and vice president of the Association Cultural at BHMF

With projects like these, I am reminded of just how impactful our work as FH4Inclusion counselors can be. The Italian peninsula is overflowing with history — think the Roman Empire, the Vatican and Michelangelo — but the stories and accomplishments of Black Italians have been left out of that narrative. As a student, I paid particular attention to how our understanding of “history” is intentionally shaped by the politics of the day. Just because something is not included in history textbooks does not mean it’s irrelevant. The events of 2020 reinvigorated conversations among Americans to unpack what it has meant to be both black and American at different points in history. Thanks to BHMF, we can begin to understand what those conversations look like across the world.

You can read more about Black History Month Florence here and follow them on Instagram and Facebook.