Racism Awareness by South East Asians in Berlin

“One assignment was to create a series of portraits of people from a certain community; the other was to design a book,” she explains.

As well as taking their photographs, Fadhila asked them to share their stories, resulting in a series with a kaleidoscope of different experiences.

“My idea was to shoot them with the most natural and honest expressions possible,” she says. “In the end, some are looking vulnerable, others are looking strong. I think their expressions in these portraits have a direct link to their stories or their reactions to their harassers.”

28-year-old Thanh Thu was born and raised in Berlin but says she has experienced racism regularly. Photo: Irma Fadhila

After the book was produced, Fadhila took part in a series of exhibitions organised by fellow Southeast Asian activists in the German city. Despite a growing audience and her passion for the project, she felt it was emotionally draining and shelved it for a while. Then, earlier this year, she noticed an increase in racist incidents related to the

Covid-19 pandemic.

Fadhila realised the issue carried more urgency than ever, and working with a university friend, Bastian Hagn, she revived her project. The Instagram series – @whereareyoufrom.project – now includes 18 portraits with accompanying stories, and more people want to participate.

While Hagn focuses on the design of their social media profile on Instagram, Fadhila concentrates on the content. By telling people’s stories, she hopes to have a lasting impact in the fight against racism.

Dea Lambo, 27, who is from Manila in the Philippines and has been working as an English-language teacher in Europe for four years, says she was surprised when she found out about Fadhila’s project because it’s a topic that is rarely tackled.

“I feel that nobody really talks aboutracism towards Asians,” she says. “Even among Asians themselves, there is never really a dialogue about it. Asian women have always been portrayed in the mainstream media as quiet, soft and submissive. Asian men are often [seen as] heavily emasculated and effeminate.”

As a result, she adds, Asian men in the West are often regarded with polite indifference, whereas Asian women are frequently fetishised.

“However, we don’t only have negative stereotypes, we have also been identified as the

model minority group,” Lambo continues. “We are seen as the law-abiding group, the A+ students. But that also causes problems because it neglects the diversity of different Asian cultures. That puts us all in one box. And at the same time because people view us this way, other minority groups might think that we have it good and so these jokes are fine. But racism is still racism.”

Tourists from Hong Kong stand in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. Southeast Asians who live in the city say they face racism all the time. Photo: Getty Images

Fadhila’s project is valuable, Lambo says. “It finally sheds light on our struggles. It allows us to feel safe to speak. We have kept quiet because we are often brushed aside when we raise our voices.

When it comes to racism against Asians, no one seems to take it too seriously.”

Before living in Germany, she had never experienced racism, Lambo adds. In the German capital, though, it happens regularly, most recently on the Berlin subway where she was having a casual conversation with her Vietnamese friend. Out of nowhere, a man sitting across from them started to get angry, telling them they were too loud and accusing them of talking about someone else on the train before insulting their appearance.

“The strange thing about this whole situation was that no one stood up for us,” Lambo says. “No one told the guy to shut up or to leave us alone. People acted as if nothing was happening. They looked away as he verbally attacked us, while my friend and I struggled to protect ourselves. That experience was very difficult to digest. I still remember feeling angry, sad and confused all at the same time.”

“In my childhood, I never questioned it,” she recalls. “But when I got older, I felt angry and frustrated, not only because I was faced with it, but also because most of the time I didn’t know how to react or what to say. The urge to actually do something has become bigger.”

Thu vividly remembers two occasions where she found the courage to speak up. The first time, she says, she was outraged and ranted, but the second time, she tried to engage in a conversation with a group of men who had made fun of her because of her Asian looks.

“That time, I calmly explained that the way they acted was neither nice nor polite,” she adds. “I told them how they can do better, and they listened.”

Thu says she grappled with identity issues for more than 20 years before being able to confidently say that she is both German and Vietnamese.

“It was a long process, but I don’t think your surroundings define who you are, but you yourself,” she explains. “For a long time, I felt that it’s a curse being raised between two cultures. You are faced with reactions from people who show you that you don’t belong to their culture. But my story brings me to what I feel now: my mind is German, my heart is Vietnamese.”