On a day in late August 1977, my father passed away. He was the model of health; it happened suddenly. One moment, he was cooking in the kitchen of our family restaurant; the next moment, my mom took him to the hospital. He died that night. He didn’t just leave emptiness, as if he walked to the next room. He had presence; he left a vacuum in his wake. I was nine years old.
The family that remained was my mom and my two sisters, ages thirteen and seven. We had no actual family here in Puerto Rico, but friends flooded our home that day. They were effectively family; we even called them by the Chinese words for “aunt” and “uncle”. I had never seen so many of our friends together at once.
On that day, a family friend pulls me aside and talks to me quietly. He tells me, “You’re the man of the house now; you need to take care of your mother and sisters.” I was nine years old. I’m not sure if he expected me to quit the fourth grade and start working to support my family.
Patriarchal society
I grew up among three communities: Chinese, Puerto Rican, and American. There are many subtle differences among the three; honestly, I didn’t know where one culture ended and the next one began. That incident with the Chinese family friend occurred decades ago, yet it sits clearly in my mind. That conversation clearly delineated the different expectations between men and women in that pocket of culture.
In my community, I somehow had a higher standing than my sister, who was four years my senior, and even my mother. No one ever explicitly worded it in that way; nor did anyone ever explain why that was the case. It was simply a cultural truism. To debate it would’ve been like debating that gravity exists; it’s effectively pointless. For many years, I just accepted it.
My older sister is four years older than I am. Since my mom spoke very little English, my sister ended up managing most of our family’s legal affairs. She also learned how to do this in her teens. Honestly, she bore a heavy burden; she should’ve gotten more credit. I started a job at the tender age of twelve, washing dishes at a Chinese restaurant.
That said, comparatively speaking, I was the slacker of the family. My mom and both of my sisters worked harder than I did and were more dedicated. My mom and the elder members of the community were consistent in their voice. They praised me a little more for doing the same things. They were a little more forgiving when I made mistakes. I definitely got preferential treatment over my sisters.
Furthermore, I got preferential treatment because I am male and I lived in a patriarchal society.
Setting boundaries
For years, I knew that my Chinese community operated this way; though, honestly, my American and Puerto Rican cultures weren’t much different. There’s a common expression, “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Logic dictates that, should I benefit from something, I should not question it or even examine it too closely. So I didn’t.
To fight it would’ve been to swim upstream. It was easier to acquiesce. How is one single person of mixed culture to change centuries of tradition? To suggest a change would’ve been heresy. I can almost hear the words, “Your American friends are corrupting your Chinese values.” This is precisely how I operated for years.
Then something changed. I’ve had precisely two adult conversations with my mom where I set clear boundaries. This was one of them.
On one particular day, I chatted with my mom on the phone. She tried to encourage me by enumerating all the accomplishments in my life. She mentioned my college degree, good job, and owning a home. She then compares me to my kid sister, who has a master’s degree in engineering and is a literal rocket scientist. My mom then said, “Her (my sister’s) career is not as important as yours because she’s a woman.”
I stopped my mom mid-sentence. My kid sister is awesome; we graduated on the same day and even shared an apartment for a year. My mom finally stepped over that boundary a little too blatantly. That moment crystallized everything. I would not belittle my kid sister and everything she’s accomplished to elevate myself. I asked my mom never to say that again, because I won’t tolerate it.
To her credit, she promised me that she wouldn’t. This is a promise that she kept.
To dismantle the hierarchy
We founded this country on the premise that all men (or indeed people) were created equal, yet we blundered from the beginning, with the 3/5 of a person clause. However, we aspire to improve; we aspire to be better. As we have matured, we have corrected some of those mistakes.
If someone asks which child you love the most, what is your response? Even if you did love one child more than the others, I hope that you also understand that favoritism is ultimately unfair. While every situation is nuanced and contextual, I hope that every parent aspires to do what is right.
Unfortunately, many spend their time and energy vying for a better position in the hierarchy. If you already have pole position, then you spend your time trying to stay in the top spot. If you’re not, then you spend your time fighting to attain the top spot. Here’s the problem: fairness and human rights are not a competition.
However, that strategy is ultimately self-defeating. You can’t be the favorite person to everyone, in every setting, 100% of the time. The only way to guarantee that you won’t end up at the bottom of that heap is surprisingly simple. You need to dismantle the hierarchy. To quote Joshua, the infamous self-learning computer from the movie War Games, “The only winning move is not to play.”
Allyship is a word that we didn’t know or understand twenty years ago. Yes, my kid sister could have told my mom that her career is just as important as mine, and she would’ve been completely right. However, that message was much more impactful coming from me, the one with privilege.
The vision of fairness
Our country has always aspired for fairness. The Declaration of Independence asserts that “all men are created equal.” The first segment of the First Amendment declares that “Congress shall make no laws respecting an establishment of religion.” We abolished slavery and desegregated schools. We gave women and former slaves the right to vote. Our gay citizens can now marry.
However, rights and freedoms are not like slices of pizza. Just because we grant other people certain rights and freedoms they didn’t previously have, doesn’t necessarily mean that anything has been taken from you. For instance, allowing gay couples to marry doesn’t prevent you from getting married. The problem lies in the belief that straight couples should have preferential treatment over gay couples.
I’d like you to reflect on assertions like this:
- Our country was founded as a Christian nation.
- The Jews will not replace us.
- Members of the LGBTQ+ community are “groomers”.
- Men are inherently better leaders than women.
- “If I see a Black pilot, I’m gonna be like, ‘Boy, I hope he’s qualified.'”
They all imply that there’s an implied order, a ‘natural’ hierarchy, if you will. You can smell the stench of desperation in these words as they feel their position in the hierarchy slipping. However, there’s a way to guarantee that Christians won’t relinquish their ‘favorite child’ status to Judaism, Islam, or even Agnosticism… Or straight people to gay people… Or white men to women or people of color.
The solution is surprisingly simple. When you dismantle the hierarchy, by definition, there is no longer a ‘favorite child’ if everyone is equal. There’s no longer favoritism, only fairness. Unless, of course, you want preferential treatment towards your group. You can at least stop denying that privilege exists.