Diasporically Profound

Something about the Virginia Tech shootings disturbed me. No, not really that 33 people lost their lives -- however, I do offer my condolences, and not matter what happens, the sanctity of life should be upheld. It's Cho, who is now known only as "the gunman" or "the shooter" or "the South Korean immigrant" -- which, strangely enough, his immigrant status has been repeatedly mentioned (when you repeat it enough, you stress the point).

They said that Cho had been picked on and laughed at, due to this accent and strange demeanor ... his differences. You know, that very well could have been me, as well as so many others that came before and after us.

Even though it is no excuse for killing, I know how it felt. I know how it must have felt for him to be picked on, not because of how he dressed or how geeky he was, but because of his skin color and accent. It's one thing to be picked on because you're skinny or nerdy or bad at sports or zitty on the face -- you're at least on the same page with everyone (even though it might not feel that way). But it's another when you're picked on because of your place of origin or accent or other cultural differences, as if you are fundamentally different, a different species.

Being part of a diaspora can make you lose faith in humanity sometimes. If you're lucky, you'd probably turn out like me: no one really picks on you, and you are quick enough to know when to shut up, when to talk and how to minimize unnecessary exposure. You learn not to create trouble, but you learn to preserve who you are by being ... quiet. When you do get picked on, you learn to shrug it off (something Cho obviously didn't master). Basically, you learn to be invisible. Once you get to a certain "safe" distance away from being a FOB (fresh off the boat), you learn to either find people who are just like you and build your community from there, or you depart from you learn to depart from that clique -- sometimes roots -- and become "white-washed". It's all about survival and community/idientity-building. And, again, obviously, Cho didn't get to that point ... very unfortunately. It's like being homeless. And you know what they say about homeless people: they are the most dangerous people on earth (re: diaspora, identity politics and Islamic jihad).

Unfortunately, while making fun of Cho meant so little to the bullies, the cruelty did more than lingering to Cho. While the killings are sickening, it's also nauseating for the fact that a small gesture of friendliness and kindness -- of humanity -- when it was most needed could have made a huge difference.

Rodney King was not the first to say, "Why can't we all just get along?" He won't be the last.

I am just sad about all of this. I have no words for this. It's so very profound to me because it touches me deeply.