Asian-Australians share their experience of racism during the coronavirus pandemic

I was at a sport store with my boyfriend in Melbourne when it happened.

He was at the checkout; I was dawdling through the aisles.

At first, I thought I'd misheard.

"Why are they letting Asians here now?"

A couple, maybe in their 40s, were standing not far from me when they said it.

One of them then walked over to my boyfriend, who is fair-skinned, and said: "You've already got yellow fever, now you're going to get coronavirus too."

From their body language, their message was clear: they didn't want me there.

Part of me wanted to say something; the other part wanted to cry.

I ran out [of the store] and my hands were still shaking as I tried to keep my composure. My boyfriend rushed up and told me not to worry, to forget about it.

This happened in March. I'm still replaying the events of that day in my head.

'It's been difficult to leave the house'

I haven't gone back to the shopping centre.

I haven't had to: it's in Melbourne's northern suburbs, far from us. Easy to avoid.

If I'm honest, it's been difficult to socialise and leave the house.

There was anxiety around that anyway, because of the pandemic — and after that day in the shopping centre, it only got worse.

It wasn't the first time someone's said something racist. But it was the most overt.

I've lived in Australia for most of my adult life. I was born in Vietnam, grew up in Singapore, and moved to Australia when I was nine.

Over time, it's the throwaway comments that stay with you.

"Whoa, you have really big eyes for an Asian."

"You're really attractive for an Asian."

"Your English is really good."

When I've confronted people in the past, they've brushed it off. Told me I'm overreacting.

"I've made that joke to Asians before and no-one's had an issue," some people say.

Being open about my experiences with my friends has helped me feel less isolated. It's hard to process things in the moment, but talking helps.

'People are realising we have a problem in Australia'

It's been difficult trying to get my boyfriend to understand.

He tries to educate himself by reading through online forums on 'how to help your girlfriend in a biracial relationship'.

He asks me: "It's just a stranger, why do you care so much?" But it's not that simple.

I just want him to listen. To acknowledge: "OK I'm in a place where I will never understand what it's like to feel this discrimination."

I think a lot of Asian people don't like to speak up. In my own family, we're taught to mind our business.

Even when I told them about what happened in the store, my grandma was understanding but the rest of my family said: "Why do you care? Just move on."

I think that's how they've trained themselves to deal with it: to protect themselves from feeling vulnerable, because it's a sign of weakness.

I wish there were more conversations around race in my family. My grandma's on Facebook (she's young!) and so she's starting to understand it more because of the exposure.

It's good to see people are advocating for equality for all races.

People are starting to realise we have a problem in Australia.

— Kate Tran, 21, Melbourne

We were walking in a botanical track in the Dandenong Ranges: me, my boyfriend, and his parents.

I'm Vietnamese-Australian and his family's Chinese-Malaysian-Australian.

It was a sunny, brisk day: April. We were looking at wild mushrooms when a group of teenagers walked near us.

"I hear there's toilet paper on the side of the track."

Laughter. They overtook us on the trail.

It took a while for the comment to register.

Did they really just say that? Did it mean what I think it meant?

Later, I kept thinking: "I should have said something."

But in the moment, I froze.

I don't feel safe anymore

If you're a person of colour, you develop a 'third ear' for times like these.

I heard that term for the first time recently, but it sums up how I feel: a part of you is always questioning the hidden meaning behind what people say.

That day in the botanic gardens, my third ear was going: "Was that a thing?"

My boyfriend and I have both become targets of racial abuse since the pandemic took hold in Australia.

He was walking in our neighbourhood when five teenage boys started shouting racist abuse at him.

He had to walk past them, and as he did, one of the guys ran up to him and started fake boxing in front of him, egging him on to fight.

My boyfriend just ignored him and kept walking.

There was another day when I parked in front of our house.

A group of kids came over. Our neighbours' kids.

I heard someone say, "Watch out, it's the corona."

One of the kids, probably not older than 13, asked me: "Do you have coronavirus?"

I was taken aback.

"Yes," I said sarcastically. I was tired.

"Are you serious?" he said, and when I assured him I wasn't, he responded with, "Can you go back to your country?"

I felt sorry for him. After all, he's just a kid.

But I can't help but feel there's nowhere safe for us anymore.

Our homes aren't safe. Our neighbourhood isn't safe. Going for a walk isn't safe.

'If people talk about it more it might help'

These days, when my boyfriend and I go to the supermarket, we plan it out.

Not just our shopping list.

We plan for what we'll do if someone makes another racist comment.

It became a coping mechanism, especially right after what happened in the Dandenong Ranges.

We thought, "If someone says something, we'll immediately say something back. We have to say something back."

I wish people realised the impact even small statements have.

I feel like sometimes the small things are just as traumatic as the big, obvious things. They're smaller but there's more of them. It becomes a snowball effect.

It's almost as bad because it's so much more prominent. The small things are everyday people who might not even realise the impact of what they say.

The current conversations around race are encouraging.

Maybe if people talk about it more, it might help people like me.

— Anh Huynh, 28, Melbourne