All of the recent violence in our country targeting Asian and Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) is tragic. Violence toward AAPI women, elders and LQBTQI+ persons has been happening for hundreds of years. What we are witnessing today is new for some, not new for generations of AAPI.*

Far too often, AAPI are shoved to the shadows of society, overlooked in conversations and simply forgotten. When we dilute some people of color to being white adjacent, we perpetuate a system of intolerance. White adjacent assumes that a person(s) is given more privileges than people of darker skin tone based off of the proximity of their skin tone to white people.

There is a pervasive belief that Asian Americans are the model minority. Those minorities are hard-working financially successful people. There is no shortage of shows online that perpetuate the model minority myth. The model minority myth belittles nearly 2/3rd of the world’s population. According to a Pew Research study, 78% of AAPI are born outside of the US. This staggering statistic according to a study from Harvard Law leads to the greatest gap between the haves and have nots of White, Black or Hispanic persons. 

Overlooking the struggle of millions of AAPI discounts their story. The model minority myth is like a free pass to treat AAPI as less than human, without the same agency and dignity other people are naturally afforded. Enshrining the model minority myth continues generations of AAPI women being subject to sexual and physical violence. Take for example the atrocity in Atlanta. Having “a bad day” never excuses a person, yet one police officer found a way to empathize not with the victims, but the assailant. 

I won’t dare to write for all Asian Americans, every story is unique and matters. I also won’t go into the experience of Asian American women in any depth. I yield to wiser Asian and Asian American women to share their story. The same sentiment is true for Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Gay+ and other AAPI persons whose experience and stories matter and deserve to be heard often and continuously. No matter how much I want to advocate for my siblings or those on the spectrum of abilities, empathy can only take me so far.

The model minority myth can be weaponized against other persons of color like the Black Lives Matter movement. It’s like one parent saying to the second child, why can’t you be good like your sister?  

What happens when Christians today distill Jesus into a model minority? Jesus, a browned skin Middle Eastern man, is often portrayed with blue eyes and white skin. White Jesus seems more palatable and acceptable. Generations of preachers, teachers and parents have taught White Jesus. Churches across America have countless portraits of serene White Jesus. When Jesus fits the mold of the model minority, he begins to look like the messiah we want him to be. 

This Sunday, for the Christian church, we begin a sacred time called Holy Week. We kick it off by waiving our palm branches welcoming Jesus into our lives. When Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem, the same people singing “Hosanna in the highest!”, screamed “Crucify him!” just days later. The people who waived palm branches wanted a model messiah who would overthrow the Empire. A messiah who would lead the Hebrew people on their terms, under their thumb. After all, that’s a big part of the model minority myth. You are safe, when you follow my rules. Seen, but not heard. 

Do our churches teach about White Jesus as a model minority? Do we preach love with no accountability? Grace with no cost? Gratitude with no grit? Do we weaponize Jesus, the model minority against the Holy Spirit’s movement? Do we preach patience generation after generation? Do we tell people to live within the institution’s rules and turn the other cheek while forgetting all the times Jesus broke religious law? If our religious institutions preach Jesus as a model minority, we run into the danger of diluting the depth of Jesus the Christ. 

We are all complicit in waiving our palm branches. We shout crucify him when we look the other way at injustice. We shout crucify him when the organization of religion becomes more important than the Messiah. We shout crucify him when we rationalize hate crimes. We shout crucify him when we blame prostitutes and not the johns. We shout crucify him when we laugh with a president calling COVID 19 “kung-flu”. We shout crucify him in our silence.

There is hope when we remember that Jesus was never white. Let’s remember that Jesus marched with the poor and the outcasts. He treated prostitutes and thieves like family. He started a riot wielding a whip in the temple as he flipped tables over to challenge those who made a barrier between God and those without wealth. Jesus held signs like Black Lives Matters when he rode into town on a donkey. If a leader rolled into town on a horse, it was a sign that war was coming. Riding a donkey symbolized a time of peace. The power of this symbolism was as clear as holding a #StopAsianHate sign.

Maybe Jesus has more in common with people of color than we thought. Maybe we can begin to talk about who Jesus really was.