The Asian American Voice Can Stand On Its Own

AAPI Christians have historically relied on the white evangelical megaphone. But our unique voice carries weight.

By Daniel Yang

“O God, do not keep silence; do not hold your peace or be still, O God!” - Psalm 83:1 

At this moment in history, more than ever, Asian American leaders from various ethnic communities are confronting their silence on the sustained debasement of Black lives in America. For some, it has meant having to process the trauma of their own racialized experience and to admit their animus toward African Americans—why they have long told themselves that saying nothing was better than saying something. It has also been an opportunity for some to discover and admit their overreliance on whites to tell them how to engage this issue.

For a long time, many Asian American communities viewed racial tension in America as economic and class barriers to overcome in order to advance and become prosperous in what they considered to be a white man’s world. In their minds, racial tension was an unfortunate nuisance in the process of creating a better future for their own communities and progeny. But many are waking up to the history of our nation, and in that awakening, they are finding a more transcendent purpose in their coming of age as Americans. 

For immigrant communities, racial tension has been an initiation process, almost a rite of passage, toward becoming more involved and authentic Americans. Right or wrong, this is how it has been. And, often unbeknownst to immigrant community leaders, they are thrust into a historic, complex struggle against racism that long preceded their arrival. Many are finding the learning curve in this aspect of becoming American to be steep and costly. 

In particular, Christian Asian Americans are seeking to understand, theologically, the convergence of their immigrant heritage with America’s race-based narrative, largely told through the lens of a Black-white binary. In trying to articulate this cultural moment in history, we sometimes use critical tools found in economic and social theory, many of which were birthed out of the Black-white struggle. 

As Christians, however, the better way to think about our convergence with this narrative is premised on our theology (study and understanding of God); how we participate in it is premised on our missiology (study and understanding of missions). As more Asian Americans enter into predominantly white evangelical spaces, including a few occupying leadership at the highest levels, theological and missiological silence from Asian American leaders is confounding and deafening to Black, brown, and Indigenous people.

The past silence of Asian American evangelicals demonstrates an overreliance on white evangelicals to set the terms for how we speak and engage on issues of race in America.

As a missiologist in predominantly white evangelical spaces, I have had to rely on platforms that historically were designed by and for white missiologists. There have only been a few times when my Hmong American vantage point in theology and mission has been considered by professional colleagues. Even then, my voice is only heard by a broader audience if and when I speak about an issue framed largely by white leaders and thinkers. 

Historically, Asian American voices have not carried well in white evangelical spaces. Those outside of our immediate communities tend to hear us only when we are afforded a white man’s megaphone.

This thought came to mind last week when I participated in the Asian American Christians for Black Lives and Dignity march in Chicago. The event was a beautiful display of Asian American churches standing in solidarity with African American church leaders in our city. 

However, among the estimated nearly two thousand participants in attendance, there were very few white sisters and brothers among us. The organizers were respectable Asian American leaders from reputable evangelical institutions, yet the event failed to gain traction among local white evangelicals. 

The reason why there was a low turnout of white Christians seems obvious at first: this was an event hosted by Asian Americans to show solidarity with African Americans. The main actors in this event did not center white leadership. While the marketing materials made it clear that anyone was welcome to participate, such occasions are often considered "ethnic" events lacking "mainstream" appeal, even for Christians.

The low turnout also points to the reality that Asian American leaders have had a longstanding struggle to garner trust and large numbers of white followers, especially in times of real urgency.

Some may say that the new president of the National Association of Evangelicals is Walter Kim, a Korean American. I will not discount Dr. Kim’s appointment as real progress among American evangelicals. But it is a similar kind of progress as when Barack Obama was elected President of the United States. It is a reminder of both how far we have come and how far we have yet to go.

My point is not that Asian American Christian leaders need more white Christian followers. This still puts whiteness at the center of Asian American leadership. But I see last week’s march as an example of how Asian American evangelical voices carry weight with or without a white megaphone.

Christian Asian American leaders have seen the plight of African Americans and are choosing to engage issues of injustice on their own terms in this race-based narrative.

Moreover, they are transcending America’s race-based narrative by not following the social script given to them, such as the one told in the movie Gran Torino. If you have not seen the movie, then let me risk ruining it for you by giving you the storyline. Walt Kowalski, the aging white man played by Clint Eastwood, is shot and killed by gang members in order to save a Hmong American immigrant family. His death and sacrifice seem to help this family and their community find a place in inner-city Detroit, a predominantly African American city.

Some versions of this race-based narrative tend to center the sacrificial white man as the hero. We know this is certainly not the gospel. And this is where we must put away the critical tools of economic and social theory to better understand this narrative theologically and missiologically.

The gospel is the message that, in Christ, God is not distant and did not stay silent about the injustices of the world. Jesus was God’s very word that became flesh. And now, the same word that spoke creation into being is defining how we process our responsibility in the world as Asian American followers of Jesus. In his death, we have died with him, so that in his victory over death, we might live like him. 

Henceforth, the gospel brings low those who made themselves high apart from Christ. And the gospel brings high those who were made low apart from Christ.

The centering of Jesus is how the scales of inequality will be balanced.

As Christian Asian Americans learn to center Jesus more, our consciousness is being awakened to decenter whiteness from our platforms and from our very own voice. My voice is more authentic when I stop ascending toward white normativity. 

This does not devalue whites or majority culture one bit. In fact, as an act of repentance, decentering whiteness actually lessens the burden Asian Americans have sometimes unfairly placed on whites, assuming they are more accurate and more faithful on theological matters. It also makes more pathways for Asian Americans to build alliances directly with African Americans during this current time. In the past, we often relied on whites to be our proxy to other communities.

By depending less on white platforms and megaphones, Asian Americans are finding their own voice and their unique role in this struggle against racial injustice in America. And as we find our voice, our former silence can finally turn into what could and should have long been: a solemn lament and a prophetic charge against the individual sins and systematic structures that have led to anti-Blackness in America.

Photo by Santtu Perkiö on Unsplash

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Daniel Yang is the director of the Send Institute, leading and overseeing all of its initiatives. Previously, he planted a church in Toronto; he also helped recruit, assess, and train church planters through the Send Network and the Release Initiative. Daniel has served on various church staffs including Northwood Church, where he was involved in global and multi-faith engagement. Prior to church planting, Daniel was an engineer. He has earned an MDiv from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, a BS in computer science from the University of Michigan, and is currently an intercultural studies PhD student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School.