Here’s What Happened When I Called My Parents Out on Their Racism

Growing up as the eldest of three Chinese daughters in Malaysia, my parents expected me to be obedient, submissive, and to follow a standard life template: study hard, find a good job, and get married to a nice man. A Chinese man. 

But then I met Josh at church when I was 18 years old. He was kind and paid a great deal of attention to me, noticing my love for green tea and the books I liked to read. He made me happy but I knew telling my parents that I was seeing someone of Indian descent would be a problem. I dated him anyway, the first time I strayed from the “demure Chinese girl” image my parents expected of me. I envied people who talked to their parents about their relationships, when I couldn’t even say, “Hey, mom and dad, my boyfriend is taking me out on a date,” simply because the person I loved was not from the “right” race. 

We had been dating for three months when I decided to tell my parents about our relationship. Josh came home with me after church one Sunday, gave my parents a box of chocolates, and told them, “I really like your daughter.” My parents did not cause a scene nor asked him to leave, but things quickly turned intense. My mother clutched her chest and cried; my father was silently seething with disapproval in the corner. 

They weren’t concerned because he was over 10 years older than me or because he rode a motorcycle and had a piercing; their prejudices were much deeper. Throughout my emotional confession, they kept referring to Josh as “keling gwai.” “Keling” is a derogatory Cantonese term to describe Indian people in Malaysia, while “gwai” means “ghost.” 

My mom said we shouldn’t be together because we’re “from different cultures.” That she would “lose face” if their friends saw me with my boyfriend in public. She assumed Josh had a drinking problem, smelled like smoke, and “could be a gang member”—all common stereotypes older Chinese people have about Indians. They couldn’t see beyond his skin color and, unfortunately, this did not surprise me. 

My parents are not outwardly racist. Like most in our multi-ethnic country, they are friends with Chinese, Malay, and Indian people. But just as common as these diverse friend groups are invisible walls between races and cultures. It comes from all sides. Chinese people are derided for being “pork eaters” in a Muslim-majority country and Malays are seen as lazy or incompetent by others. Some landlords refuse to rent out properties to certain races, while Malay and Indian job seekers have trouble landing roles in the private sector. Just last month, a school in the state of Johor segregated its students into different after school activities based on race and gender. 

In many ways, this systemic racism starts at home. 

Based on my personal experience, older Chinese people tend to alienate anyone who is not like them—Black people, white people, brown people, and even other Asians. Statements like, “Why don’t you have more Chinese friends?” and “Don’t trust Indians,” are so common, most people think they’re harmless and don’t bother telling their parents that they’re wrong. But these subtle forms of discrimination do leave a mark. 

Like the classic film Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, I imagine my parents were pretty shocked when they found out that their daughter had fallen in love with an Indian man. But I continued seeing Josh, against my parents’ wishes. After a few weeks of dating discreetly, my boyfriend gently remarked, “They’re a bit racist, aren’t they?”

I knew this but never had the courage to call my parents out. It was easier to let the racist remarks slide instead of starting a fight at the dinner table. I never felt the need to educate them because it didn’t affect me personally. 

It took me falling in love to realize that I shouldn’t stay silent. 

“Just because Josh is Indian, it does not mean that he is a gangster who smokes and drinks. Chinese people and everyone else do those things too; don’t be racist,” I told them, point-blank. 

My parents were not happy that I called them out on their racism, so they lashed out by threatening to disown me and tearfully said that my words hurt them. Why was I so hell-bent on hurting them over a boy?, they asked. 

But from then on, I made it a point to speak up whenever they made casual racist remarks. Like when we would watch news about a crime and my parents immediately point out the perpetrator’s race. “No, it happened because the person is bad, not because of their race,” I would say, only for them to downplay my concern and say that I’m only pointing this out because I was infatuated with a keling gwai. That word. Again. 

It is difficult to hurt the people you love. Some sleepless nights, I would replay every conversation with my parents in my head, wondering if I did or said anything wrong. I worried about becoming estranged from my parents especially when we started not speaking at all for days, until someone (usually me) would give in and apologize.

I was angry at my parents but I also knew that it would be a long, difficult task for them to unlearn the prejudices passed down to them by their parents and fanned by an entire, unjust society. 

But I also knew that change starts at home. Racism isn’t natural, but a learned thought process passed down from one generation to another. The conversations will be tough and it could take years to heal relationships, but calling out loved ones, no matter how tough it might be, is the first step in ending this cycle. 

My only regret is that I didn’t try to educate my parents sooner. If I did, maybe they would have been by my side when I married Josh just a week shy of my 22nd birthday.

I’m the first person in my family to marry someone of a different race. I didn’t tell my parents that I continued seeing Josh after they threatened to disown me. After four years of hanging out in abandoned car parks all over Kuala Lumpur and occasional lunch dates at a dingy mall, we decided to get married.

I signed my name next to his on Feb. 8, 2018, then we literally rushed off to the mountains, to a resort that’s about a three-hour drive away from the city. Nobody could find me even if they wanted to. I only told my parents about the wedding three days after, then I cut myself off from the entire family. 

The good news is that things do get better and people can change. After a year of radio silence, my aunt reached out and invited Josh and me to dinner. My grandfather, aunts, and uncles were there. They asked Josh about the Tamil language and learned that like some Malaysian Indians, he only spoke Malay and English. My grandfather spent some time talking to Josh and they bonded over watching wrestling and football on TV. We’ve had countless dinners like this since and each time was better than the last. Now my aunt makes a bowl of curry whenever Josh and I visit, a way to show that he’s welcome. 

I’m still estranged from my parents and I have not been home for Chinese New Year in the past four years, but we’ve received ang pows (red envelopes) filled with money from relatives. This year, they came with best wishes for our baby who will be born soon. 

I have my own wish too: that my son will grow in a better, kinder world. 

Follow Yeu-Gynn Yeung on Twitter.