The relationship between Asian and Black Americans at-large has rarely been healthy. Usually one points to the murder of Latasha Harlins in Los Angeles by a Korean shop owner, a prelude to the Los Angeles riots of 1992. (Or, heartlessly, a clip from “Don’t Be a Menace to South Central Without Drinking Your Juice In the Hood” — you know the one.) That’s before you get into the local conversation in Metro Detroit around the ownership of beauty supply stores, nail salons and convenience stores, and who benefits from the Black dollar; the long-simmering tension between Black Detroiters and Arab-Americans, which I detailed in BLAC a few years back; and, of course, the largest stain in Detroit’s Asian American history, the murder of Vincent Chin by two laid-off white Chrysler employees.
Chin, who was Chinese, was blamed for the Japanese car industry’s increasing presence in the American automotive market. His killers were white. Still, though how many Black people do you know who, to this day, won’t buy a Toyota?
Black relationships with Asians are informed by trauma. And within the city limits of Detroit, where the vast majority of Black people in the region are born, raised and have their life experience molded, we only see Asians on TV and in movies.