Hvad er en hadforbrydelse?
Samsams børn er bange for underboen
Hun svarer ved at
Hvor svært skal det være at bevise had?
Et opgør med hadforbrydelser kræver en grundlæggende kulturændring
Against ‘hate crime’
“Hvem har min ryg?”
THE OUTSIDE THAT’S INDSIDE US
Racistisk had forstyrrer dit nervesystem
Når politiet ikke tager ofre for hadforbrydelser alvorligt, er det fordi politikerne ikke tager racisme alvorligt
Når vores overlevelsesmekanismer langsomt æder os indefra
Beskyt Minoriteter: Alle skal have lovgivningen i ryggen
Alle rum jeg træder ind i
Hvordan beskytter man sig selv mod online had?
9. december 2021
Af kollektivet Remember & Resist
Maleri af Eva Kragh Petersen
Forord af Farhiya Khalid:
Da vi begyndte processen med magasinet Om Hadforbrydelser, gik vi, som journalister ofte gør, til de tilgængelige tal på området. Det vil sige, at vi gennemgik de rapporter og opgørelser over hadforbrydelser i Danmark, som publiceres af henholdsvis Rigspolitiet og Justitsministeriet. Derefter kontaktede vi forskellige organisationer, kollektiver og eksperter for at få et indblik i, hvad de anså som de grundlæggende problemer med hadforbrydelser, deres årsagsforklaringer og ikke mindst hvilke løsninger, der fandtes.
Der er i sig selv ikke noget odiøst i den rækkefølge. Men det betyder, at myndighedernes definitioner, kategorier og modsvar på hadforbrydelser kan være formende for vores videre undersøgelse af problemet. Og det kan begrænse os fra at tænke uden for rammerne af det etablerede system.
Data er vigtig, men hvordan anvender vi statistikker, der i sig selv er fejlbehæftede i deres kategorier og er præget af massive mørketal, på grund af netop mistillid til politi og retsvæsen? Og hvordan kan vi sammen finde løsninger, der overskrider den herskende orden, hvis vores udgangspunkt af ren vane er at opsøge mere politibeskyttelse og hårdere straffe?
Teksten og oplægget her skal på ingen måde læses som en opfordring til, at racistiske, islamofobiske og transfobiske overfald skal gå ubemærkede hen, eller at ofrene for denne vold ikke skal beskyttes så meget som overhovedet muligt. Men det er en god anledning til at spørge, hvorvidt vi kan bekæmpe hadforbrydelser indenfor systemer og institutioner, der i sig selv reproducerer og fodrer de idéer og logikker, hadforbrydelser er gjort af. Det er nogle af de tanker, kollektivet Remember & Resist undersøger i teksten: Against ‘hate crime’ – on resisting the framing of racist attacks as ‘hate crimes’ and refusing complicity with the police. Kollektivet opererer med en abolitionistisk tilgang til hadforbrydelser og deres løsningsforslag. Vi har valgt at bringe teksten på originalsproget for at bevare dets integritet.
Begrebet Abolitionisme kommer af abolish – at ‘stoppe’, ‘afskaffe’, ‘nedlægge’ noget – og opstod i forbindelse med kampen om at afskaffe slaveriet i USA. Som -isme henviser det i dag til alle bevægelser, der arbejder for den generelle nedlæggelse af systemer, der gør skade på mennesker, herunder dødsstraffen, fængselssystemet og politiet.
Flere af teksterne i magasinet her leder tankerne hen på en række spørgsmål: Hvem beskytter politiet egentlig, når de ankommer? Kan du gøre situationen værre for dig selv, hvis du som minoritetsperson ringer til politiet efter at være blevet overfaldet? Og er politiet egentlig de rette til at vurdere, hvad der kan være en hadforbrydelse, og hvad racisme eller homofobi er? Det er berettigede spørgsmål, når man ser på det store misforhold mellem selvrapporterede anmeldelser og andelen af sigtelser, politiet ender med at rejse. Og hvorfor har lovgivning om hadforbrydelser et større fokus på pludselig og umiddelbar vold, end den vold og hadtale minoriteter for eksempel oplever i skolen, på arbejdspladsen og endda i venskaber eller romantiske relationer? Disse er alle nødvendige spørgsmål, som enhver, der arbejder politisk mod et mere retfærdigt samfund, må stille sig selv.
Essayet Against ‘hate crime’ fik os til at forsøge at tænke anderledes over, hvordan vi indrammer hadforbrydelser som problem og dermed også de rum for forandring, vi har til rådighed. Derfor er vi glade for at have fået lov til at bringe Remember & Resists essay.
Det håber vi også, du bliver.
There has been a sharp increase in reported attacks on East and Southeast Asian people in the UK since the beginning of the Covid-19 outbreak. Last spring, the Met Police initiated a hate crime forum involving Chinese community groups, and community members called for an inquiry into hate crimes – in response to which Home Secretary Priti Patel vowed to ensure all “criminals face justice”. More recently, the charity Protection Approaches was granted £70,000 to run workshops on how to report hate crimes for Chinese community groups across the country. After news of the shootings in Atlanta (US), there has been another wave of discourse on ‘anti-Asian racism’ – with many sections of our communities again employing the language of hate crime.
This piece is written primarily for people racialised as East and Southeast Asian in the UK as something in-between an intervention and a resource on why hate crime legislation does not keep us safe and the harmful effects of hate crime discourse. Even for those generally distrustful of the police, reporting ‘hate crimes’ and expanding hate crime policing might seem like an exceptional case where the police are at least deploying their powers against racists. However, we believe a genuinely anti-racist response to racist attacks must reject the involvement of the police, which only endangers communities already targeted by police, whilst legitimising the police’s role in subordinating racialised and marginalised communities. Building on mutual aid organising under Covid-19, we should instead be developing autonomous practices of community care and safety, and resisting state and police violence everywhere.
Does hate crime law protect us?
The hate crime approach puts police and the criminal justice system in charge of addressing racist violence – i.e. it is an approach based on surveillance and punishment. A central feature of hate crime law is delivering harsher sentences for ‘crimes’ when they are motivated by hate. But does punishment transform behaviour? Does it heal us? There is no clear evidence that harsher punishment has deterrent effects, nor does it provide healing or support to victims or survivors. In fact, in most cases, hate crime reports do not lead to any form of action, with cases dropped and victims often treated dismissively by police.
In some cases, victims of ‘hate crimes’ themselves become criminalised when police get involved. Recently in Liverpool, a Chinese and an Indian international student were racially abused by a group of white men. The students were both charged with ‘affray’ after getting into a physical fight with the men harassing them. ESEA community groups appealed to the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) to drop the charges – they were not dropped, but they were fortunately found not guilty. In a similar case, Siyanda Mngaza, a 22 year old disabled Black woman from Cardiff, is currently serving a four year prison sentence for ‘grievous bodily harm with intent’ after defending herself from a racist attack. These cases illustrate how ideas of victimhood are deeply racialised in ways that often frame people of colour – particularly Black people – as aggressors.
“Hate crime policing does nothing to help people routinely targeted by police, who are apparently supposed to rely on them when they suffer racist attacks.”
However, it is important that our responses to cases like the above do not rely on framing ‘innocence’ as a condition of safety and care for survivors. Whether or not this is true of the above cases, those subject to racist violence may well have been violent themselves, they may well be ‘criminals’. This does not mean they are deserving of racist abuse – no one deserves this. Yet hate crime requires us to define a clear perpetrator and victim when the reality may not be so simple, often forcing us to demonstrate or fabricate the perfect ‘innocence’ of hate crime victims – in turn, reinforcing the idea that only those who are ‘perfect victims’ are deserving of justice or protection from violence.
Hate crime policing does nothing to help people routinely targeted by police, who are apparently supposed to rely on them when they suffer racist attacks. For instance, migrant workers in Chinatowns and Vietnamese nail bars who experience racist abuse are supposed to seek help from the same police that conduct violent immigration raids in their workplaces. For undocumented people who are criminalised simply for living and working in this country, reporting hate crimes means risking arrest, even detention or deportation. Precarity can increase vulnerability to racist harassment or attacks, e.g. having to stay in a job with a racist boss, being unable to fight back due to insecure migration status. Hate crime law does little for people locked up in prisons, where racist abuse is rife. In other words, those who are in many ways most vulnerable to racist violence are least protected by hate crime law, and are in fact actively endangered by police involvement.
In some cases, hate crime law is actively used against marginalised people. A recent report has also shown that a disproportionate number of hate crime sentences are actually for verbal harassment of police officers by people in police custody, i.e. people who are already criminalised. In a recent case, a drunk homeless man was jailed for 16 weeks for calling officers ‘English bastards’ and ‘lesbians’ when they reprimanded him for swearing outside a police station. Recently, trade unionist Howard Beckett was reported for hate crime for tweeting that Priti Patel should be deported, in response to the attempted racist deportation of two asylum seekers in Glasgow under her watch. However misplaced these comments are, the point is that it is those with power who can best utilise and navigate the law to achieve their own ends – expanding criminalisation and policing only expands the state’s power over us.
“When we rely on police and the criminal justice system to address racist attacks, we risk further endangering those who have already been harmed.”
When we rely on police and the criminal justice system to address racist attacks, we risk further endangering those who have already been harmed, and end up spending precious energy and resources on fighting the police and Crown Prosecution service rather than prioritising our needs for healing, support and safety.
Divide and rule
The reality is that hate crime legislation was never meant to protect us. It is a way for the police to appear that it is on our communities’ side in an attempt to gain legitimacy. It functions to divide communities along lines of race and class by appearing to offer protection to those minority citizens (e.g. middle-class East Asians) who are generally shielded from the impacts of police violence, whilst justifying the expansion of policing and surveillance powers which primarily target poor, Black, brown, Muslim, and un(der)documented communities. Indeed, ‘hate crime’ legislation is increasingly being connected to counter-extremism infrastructure under the term ‘hateful extremism’. This a system that has hugely expanded surveillance and criminalisation of Muslim communities over the past 20 years and counts a number of left-wing groups amongst its targets. We have also already seen how the expansion of police powers during Covid led to the criminalisation and harassment of disproportionately working class and Black people. We don’t need more police patrolling the streets – and harming marginalised people – in the name of ‘our’ ‘safety’. This attempt to win over sections of our community with ‘hate crime’ law must be situated within a broader pattern of state co-option of anti-oppression struggles – designed to divert our energies towards bureaucratic and reformist politics that only benefit a privileged fraction of our communities. This has historical precedent in the expansion of the Race Relations industry in the ‘60s and ‘70s, which sought to contain grassroots anti-racist struggle. In the mid-70s, the then-Labour government was anxious about militancy amongst the growing “British born coloured population”. Their solution, as A. Sivanandan writes, was to “pass a Race Relations Act which would encompass whole areas of discrimination and vest the new Commission for Racial Equality (CRE) […] with a few more powers to deal with it – and develop in the process a class of collaborators who would manage racism and its social and political fall-out […] and stamp out the breeding-grounds of resistance.” At the same time that these minimal concessions were made to racialised communities within Britain, the state was busy introducing ever more restrictive immigration control to prevent the further entry and settlement of non-white people from Britain’s former colonies. A recent example of such co-option is the police’s declaration that it will record misogyny as a hate crime amidst ongoing protests against increasing police powers (via the Police Crackdown Bill), following the kidnap and murder of Sarah Everard by a police officer. It is no coincidence that this was announced at a time when the police are encountering a crisis of legitimacy, amidst a national conversation on misogynistic violence. Calls for enhanced policing of misogynist hate crimes are dividing a movement that has coalesced around demands to abolish the police altogether.
“While it is important to recognise the specificities of different racisms, we need to be paying attention to the various ways that existing racisms are emboldened and used to scapegoat marginalised people in times of crisis, and build on-the-ground coalitions beyond and against the state – whose policies and media narratives are always the cause of flare-ups in racist attacks, and who enforce a system that places racialised communities at closer proximity to violence and death.“
When hate becomes criminalised, it is the state that gets to set the agenda and priorities for fighting ‘hate’ according to its interests. Another legacy of government-led divide-and-rule strategy is the division of racialised communities into ethnic or national groupings. This forces different communities into competition with each other for state recognition and limited funding for their causes, which erases certain communities and discourages building across difference to fight the systems that oppress us all. In relation to hate crime, this not only discourages criticism of the police and state agencies, but encourages a focus on specific ethnicised forms of racism, which doesn’t account for the intersections of race, class, gender, ability, etc. and is disconnected from a broader anti-racist struggle. It is important to recognise that it is not just East and Southeast Asian people experiencing Covid-related ‘hate crimes’ – last year, a Black transport worker Belly Mujinga died of Covid-19 after a man spat on her claiming to have coronavirus; the Monitoring Group reported increasingly violent language used towards Black people during lockdowns; and far-right groups circulated antisemitic conspiracy theories whilst spreading fake news that Muslims were violating social distancing guidelines.
While it is important to recognise the specificities of different racisms, we need to be paying attention to the various ways that existing racisms are emboldened and used to scapegoat marginalised people in times of crisis, and build on-the-ground coalitions beyond and against the state – whose policies and media narratives are always the cause of flare-ups in racist attacks, and who enforce a system that places racialised communities at closer proximity to violence and death.
The ‘Model Minority’ and Anti-Blackness
It’s worth noting that at the same time as engaging Sinophobic tropes, the mainstream media provided a fair amount of (sensationalist) coverage of anti-Chinese hate crime, when by comparison there has rarely been such a focus on anti-Black or anti-Muslim hate crime. We cannot simply see this as an extension of benevolent concern to East Asians on the part of moneyed media – again, it is inseparable from white supremacy’s strategic instrumentalisation of East Asian communities as a way of framing certain racial groups as more deserving of care and protection due to their position as ‘hard-working’ and ‘law-abiding’ model minorities. The flipside of this is the continual denigration of Black and Muslim communities, against whom violence is normalised. Some East Asians granted media platforms to speak out about racism actively participate in this denigration by upholding model minority myths, placing trust in the British state and police. Appeals to the moral purity of East Asian victims of racist attacks must be understood as an attempt to demonstrate our proximity to whiteness, and in turn, our entitlement to safety and protection by the state – legitimising violence against all those who cannot or will not meet such standards. In general, we must understand how our willingness to work with police and petition the state for change feeds into model minority myths. It positions us as well-behaved minorities who are prepared to engage on the state’s terms and follow state-mandated procedures, unlike Black communities whose resistance is often stigmatised as ‘rioting’. It also distances us from ‘criminality’ associated with Black and brown communities – ‘we’ are victims under threat from ‘criminals’ who deserve surveillance and punishment for ‘our’ protection. The model minority myth is not just about stereotypes around being passive or good at maths, but about a system that claims to promise a degree of safety in exchange for upholding white supremacist carceral capitalism. It’s also important to consider the effects of racism in the policing of perpetrators. In the context of anti-Black racist ideologies that frame Black men in particular as prone to violence and criminality, we can expect racialised assessments of risk to inform how and whether hate crime cases are pursued – both by the police and by members of affected communities. Indeed, last year, a video of a Black man calling for Black people to attack Chinese people (in the wake of news about racism towards African migrants in Guangzhou) was shared on the Met Police’s ‘Chinese and Southeast Asian’ hate crime forum, to which some Chinese community leaders responded with demands for punishment and calls for massive escalation – to report it to the Chinese embassy to warn Chinese people globally of the threat. This response betrays not only anti-Black panic, but responds to “inter-racial tensions” – which feel increasingly global in scope – with further violence, rather than understanding its material causes and building analyses and ways of organising that undo violent systems.
Like all criminal justice approaches, ‘hate crime’ displaces social problems onto individual ‘criminals’, whose punishment provides the appearance of having addressed the issue. In other words, hate crime law provides us the illusion of safety, while the conditions that give rise to racist abuse remain intact.
Although we need to develop strategies for dealing with racist attacks when they arise, the ‘hate crime’ framing can distract us from recognising them also as symptoms of deeper issues to be tackled. Clearly it was useful for Western states to find in China a scapegoat for their catastrophic responses to the pandemic. Indeed, polling from last May suggests that – at least at that time – British people blamed the Chinese government more than they did the British government for the spread of Covid-19 in the UK. We must also understand that racism is easily activated and legitimised precisely because it is deep-rooted and historical. Although we are in many ways still recovering and constructing ‘ESEA’ histories in the UK, it is clear that the virus’ origins in China meant that it would always already be racialised in the West, its genesis and spread seen through the lens of long-standing Orientalist and Sinophobic ideologies that frame ‘yellow people’ as dirty, diseased and an invasive threat – tropes often reinforced by a diaspora politics of respectability that distinguishes ‘us’ assimilated Asians from those ‘uncivilised’ ones. In the background of the current climate is the US empire’s attempts to maintain its hegemony within globalised capitalism in light of China’s growing political and economic power. Although anti-China narratives are primarily being peddled by US politicians and media, they are also being condoned and perpetuated here in the UK. This is something we’d do well to pay attention to and critically strategise about. Growing ‘New Cold War’ narratives around the US and China – exacerbated by the current crisis – will likely contribute to a racist climate for those of us racialised as Chinese in the West beyond this moment, while hardening authoritarian nationalisms on both sides of this false dichotomy. This will only intensify underlying crises of global capitalism, hitting hardest those already suffering the most particularly in the Global South. As East and Southeast Asian diaspora organisers, we are very much alive to the fact that there exist various and complex dynamics between and within our homelands that are not reducible to their relationships to US imperialism. While organising collectively in the diaspora creates new opportunities for solidarity, this cannot be achieved without nuance and critique. Staking out a genuinely internationalist, genuinely anti-capitalist politics is a serious challenge that we must meet. All this is obscured by a narrow focus on the policing of ‘hate’ divorced from its proper political context. This focus has only been reinforced by the mainstream media framing of racist attacks as ‘hate crimes’. In line with a broader liberal tendency to individualise structural oppression, racism here tends to be framed as primarily interpersonal, rooted in the irrational prejudice of individual bigots or those particularly impressionable to racist conspiracy theory.
The limitations of ‘Covid Hate’ and #StopAsianHate
The discourse around ‘Covid hate’ has also tended to slide into equating ‘anti-Asian racism’ in general with interpersonal racism towards people racialised as Chinese. As well of obscuring the long history of Sinophobia by tying anti-Asian racism to the pandemic moment, this also positions Chinese people as the primary victims of anti-Asian racism in the Western diaspora, with other East and Southeast Asian people seemingly affected only by extension or misperception. This has led to some people who may be racialised as Chinese to distance themselves from Chinese-ness – e.g. through asserting their non-Chinese-ness or British-ness – but it also importantly obscures the fact that in the UK, many East and Southeast Asian small businesses have for a long time been subject to immigration raids; that last year, 39 Vietnamese migrants died at the hands of increasingly securitised borders, particularly in the UK and Europe; and that many Filipino domestic workers in this country hold visas resembling indentured labour contracts. Why is this violence less visible as ‘anti-Asian racism’?
The focus on individualised ‘Covid hate’ also obscures the reality of structural pandemic racism, which Black communities are bearing the brunt of. ONS statistics from last year showed that Black people are four times more likely to die from Covid-19 than white people, with Bangladeshi and Pakistani people almost twice as likely. Over 90% of doctors that have died are from so-called ‘BAME’ (Black and Minority Ethnic) backgrounds. In the height of the pandemic, the British government failed to provide adequate PPE to all key workers, failed to provide welfare support for key workers and renters, kept people locked up in prisons and detention centres, and maintained a hostile environment for migrants, on top of restrictive visa conditions. These are just some of the murderous policies of inaction that exacerbated existing inequalities and has led to disproportionate deaths of people of colour – willingly sacrificed just so that Britain could continue business as usual. This is quickly being forgotten with triumphalist narratives around the vaccine roll-out.
Within East and Southeast Asian communities, migrant workers continue to be hit the hardest by the pandemic, with the Filipino community suffering the highest death rate amongst healthcare workers. Even at the height of the pandemic, many Vietnamese undocumented workers in our networks with Covid-19 symptoms were not accessing healthcare for fear of being charged fees they cannot afford or being reported to the Home Office. This state racism is not accidental or exceptional, but is part and parcel of Britain’s long imperialist tradition of securing its own interests through the exploitation of racialised and colonised people. Such structural racism is obscured when ‘hate’ and ‘hate crimes’ become exemplary of racism. By reframing racism as interpersonal and criminalising racist individuals, hate crime law allows the state to write its own racism out of the picture.
More recently, following the murder of eight massage business workers – including six Asian women – in Atlanta, the hashtag #StopAsianHate that emerged in 2020 regained popularity. While it is important to connect Atlanta to the rise in racist attacks on Asians during Covid-19, this can obscure the specific intersections of gender, class, race and migration status – in the context of global capitalism and histories of colonisation – that made the victims targets in this case and generally make people like them vulnerable to violence.
These are structural issues that are not reducible to ‘hate’ and have existed long before the pandemic. As Yves Tong-Nyugen, an organiser with Red Canary Song, said, “Am I surprised that this horrific instance of violence where multiple people were killed happened in a massage business? No I’m not. This violence occurs on a near daily basis, it happens all the time. Literally yesterday massage businesses were raided here in New York. It happens all the time. I’m surprised by the media coverage. It’s been going on for so long.” Moreover, as some have pointed out in relation to the Atlanta shootings, ‘hate’ doesn’t quite capture specific kinds of dehumanisation by those who claim to ‘love’ Asians, who desire us and fetishise us. We need to think deeply not only about how the language of ‘hate’ can put in mind ‘hate crime’ and criminal justice solutions, but whether the very notion of ‘Asian hate’ is a useful concept for our liberation.
Community care and building alternatives
Any community response to racist attacks must keep everyone safe. Channelling energy into punishment of individual perpetrators delivers just that – punishment, not safety – whilst failing to address the root causes of racism and its manifestations, and ignoring the structural racism of the police and structural racism in general. We need to recognise the police as an institution that upholds white supremacy, and resist carceral and punitive approaches to racist violence.
One of our intentions with writing this piece, running workshops and making this zine is to collectively flesh out alternative approaches to addressing interpersonal racial violence. We offer the following as places to begin:
- Developing healing spaces where we can get recognition and validation from each other, instead of from the state and media who sensationalise and weaponise our experiences for their own ends. Creating spaces where we can share experiences with others who understand in order to feel less isolated and alone.
- Reducing isolation & building community. East and Southeast Asian communities have historically been dispersed due to the industries that migrants find themselves in. Lack of community and support systems make people vulnerable to violence and its after-effects.
- Tackling the root causes of isolation and lack of support, such as gentrification which breaks communities apart, and austerity which has decimated support services, as well as community and youth centres and the support networks they create.
- Building solidarity between different East and Southeast Asian groups, across class, and intergenerationally through community support work, grassroots anti-racist union work and other forms of mutual aid.
- Building analyses that connect anti-Asian racisms to other forms of racism and forms of oppression with a global perspective: there is racism in our ancestral homelands that many of us benefit from and a system of global capitalism that underlies processes of racialisation.
- Skilling up so that we can practise bystander intervention, de-escalation, and self-defence, and feel more empowered to intervene or stand up for ourselves in situations of harassment.
- Speaking out in ways that don’t strengthen the police and their preferred framings – for example, through community conversations, zines, or our own writing and organising.
Much of the work we need to do is slow, building work doesn’t have the immediacy that calling the police does, but that’s assuming the police do something good and helpful. We are not going to dismantle a 400+ year old system of racism, colonialism and capitalism in a day: We need to come together to identify what we actually need and build those infrastructures together that can keep us all safe.
Against ‘hate crime’ – on resisting the framing of racist attacks as ‘hate crimes’ and refusing complicity with the police blev først udgivet i maj 2020, mens denne version indeholder rettelser fra juni 2021. Du kan høre en lydversion af teksten gratis på daikon.co.uk.
Kollektivet Remember & Resist blev etableret i oktober 2020 og arbejder aktivistisk, kunstnerisk og litterært for at gøre op med sinofobi og grænseregimer. Kollektivet er sammensat af kvinder og non-binære personer, der forsøger at styrke abolitionistisk tænkning og praksis i øst- og sydøstasiatiske fællesskaber – hovedsageligt i UK. Det gør kollektivet gennem kampagner, vidensdeling og i opbyggelsen af solidaritet med den bredere abolitionistisk bevægelse.
Against ‘hate crime’ er skrevet af kollektivet Remember & Resist og udkom med deres udgivelse: Abolitionist approaches to “Hate Crime”.
Teksten placerer overfald mod øst- og sydøstasiatiske personer i en bredere kontekst af racistiske samfundsstrukturer og anti-asiatisk vold i forbindelse med covid-19-pandemien. Samtidig understreges det, at løsningen på disse angreb ikke skal findes i fængselssystemet eller et samfund med mere politi.
Læs mere fra Remember & Resist på deres hjemmeside remember-resist.co.uk eller find dem på Instagram @remember.resist
1. ‘East Asian British community calls for inquiry following three-fold increase in hate crimes since coronavirus pandemic’ (May 2020), ITV [https://www.itv.com/news/2020-05-22/east-asian-british-community-calls-for-inquiry-following-three-fold-increase-in-hate-crimes-since-coronavirus-pandemic]
2. ‘Project Launch: Confronting COVID-Related Hate’ (December 2020) Protection Approaches [https://protectionapproaches.org/news/f/project-launch-confronting-covid-related-hate]. For a critique of the Protection Approaches workshops, see p. 32.
3. See ‘Against Innocence: Race, Gender, and the politics of Safety’ by Jackie Wang for a discussion of the anti-Blackness of ‘innocence’ as a concept [https://www.liesjournal.net/volume1-10-againstinnocence.html]
4. ‘Special Investigation into Hate Crimes’ (March 2021), Law Gazette [https://www.lawgazette.co.uk/features/gazette-special-investigation-hate-crimes/5107953.article]
5. ‘From Resistance to Rebellion’ (1981), by A. Sivanandan, Race & Class [https://libcom.org/files/ambalavaner-sivanandan-from-resistance-to-rebellion-asian-and-afrocaribbean-struggles-in-britain.pdf]
6. See ‘Safe Asian Americans’ by Tamara Nopper on the carceral logic of the model minority myth [https://aaww.org/the-carceral-logic-of-the-model-minority-myth/]
7. See ‘A Chance to Feel Safe? Precarious Filipino migrants amid the UK’s coronavirus outbreak’ published by Kanlungan and RAPAR [https://kanlungan.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/A-chance-to-feel-safe-report.pdf]
8. “I want you to care when people are still alive”: Yves Tong Nguyen of Red Canary Song, Time To Say Goodbye podcast [https://goodbye.substack.com/p/i-want-you-to-care-when-people-are]
9. See tweet by @linhtropy [twitter.com/linhtropy/status/1374080350624772096?s=20]