Stopping Asian Hate On and Off the Trail

The following piece was written by Kathy Chau Rohn, a Vietnamese-American woman with whom we connected through her participation in the 2020 Summits in Solidarity event. Kathy is an avid hiker who has completed her NH-48 and is working on her Winter NH-48, New England 67, and a Vermont Long Trail section hike.

Author Kathy Chau Rohn hiking in Wobanadenok, land of the Abenaki (White Mountains, NH).

This has been a heavy month, year, and beyond. I am heartbroken and angered by the racist attacks on the AAPI community. Seeing others do nothing or actively turn their heads when they witness this violence is sickening. These horrific events also bring up a lot of fear for myself and for my family that does not dissipate when I head into the mountains to hike. 

As a Vietnamese-American woman, I have felt deeply uncomfortable traveling through trail towns and hiking in the White Mountains, particularly in the past year (although, to be clear, anti-Asian racism has existed for far longer). For me, there are two sides of the hiking coin: the meditative and restorative aspects of nature refill my cup, but the insidious impact of racism deplete me. I do not presume that all people hold the same views based on their geographic location. However, after a year of hearing racist and xenophobic phrases like “kung flu,” I can’t help but feel scared when I see Trump flags wave in the towns I stay in or pass through on my way to hike. So, I find myself being overly friendly to others in order to prevent them from hurling racial slurs or dirty looks my way––as though this is my responsibility to bear. I have to mentally and emotionally rev myself up to enter gas stations or stores, fearing that people will think that I am a virus. 

People often say that they go into nature to “get away from politics.” But, the reality for many of us is that discussing inclusion in the outdoors is not political. These are my lived experiences no matter where I am physically located or what activity I am pursuing. Recently, I was hiking far enough in front of my husband that a White hiker coming up the trail saw me hiking solo. I stepped aside to give him the right of way, smiled, and said hello. He gave me a brief and unfriendly look, did not say anything or acknowledge my presence and kept going. At first I didn’t think anything of it because I usually give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just tired, maybe he was avoiding hikers because of COVID, or maybe he had a myriad of other reasons. But, moments later, I heard him actively and jovially engage with my husband, wishing him a good hiking day in a warm voice. Why did he talk to my husband and ignore me? Is it because my husband is White? Why did he give me that look? Is it because I am Asian?

These seemingly small instances build on one another and ultimately make me question whether I belong in certain places and in the hiking community in particular. I didn’t say anything after this, just as I have not said anything about all of the times people made fun of my Vietnamese name, called me “chink,” or pulled their eyes into a slant during my lifetime. I stayed quiet out of fear that people would just say I am being overly sensitive or that anti-Asian racism doesn’t exist in the outdoors. This is the perniciousness of racism and white supremacy––they make us believe that our experiences as Asian Americans are not important. They erase us and our voices. But, I will not be silenced any longer. 

We must speak out and share our stories, even if it is uncomfortable. We must include Asian Americans in our anti-racism. We must unite and work across racial groups to dismantle systems of oppression to make all spaces truly accessible and welcoming for all. Right now, we are falling short. Stopping AAPI hate must happen everywhere, including in the outdoor community.

I’m Not Racist, I’m Redlining.

Written by Serena Ryan and Philip J. Carcia. Carcia has hiked the so-called “White Mountains Redline” in 99 days. Ryan owns and operates the Notch Hostel in North Woodstock, NH. 

Acknowledgements: The authors would like to thank Mardi Fuller (@Wherelocsflyfree) and Lillian-Yvonne Bertram for their contributions to this article, and to the development of our thinking around the term “redline” through many conversations over coffee and while hiking. They would also like to thank the Abenaki people, the original inhabitants of Wobanadenok, now known as the White Mountains. 

“When two Black women and I returned to the trailhead after an overnight hike, one of them spotted a car with a bumper sticker that read, ‘I’m not lost, I’m redlining!’ She turned to her friend in horror. “REDLINING?!” she exclaimed. Her friend quickly explained that the term “redlining,”—understood by most to be a series of federally-sanctioned discrimination practices against Americans of color—is a niche term used to describe hiking all the trails in a given region, which one highlights on the map in red once completed. We shuddered to think how a Black hiker might feel seeing this bumper sticker for the first time on a remote Northern New Hampshire road with no one around to explain it.

Knowing about my friendship with Philip Carcia, the White Mountains Redline hiker, the two women asked if I could work with him to raise awareness about this problematic term. Already uncomfortable with the term myself, and now witnessing it triggering anxiety in Black friends, I decided to speak up.”

-Serena Ryan

Outside of the hiking world, “redlining” more commonly refers to nationwide discriminatory practices that deny housing loans to people living within specific “undesirable” (code: Black) urban areas, which banks outlined on their maps in red. Redlining practices rob Black Americans in particular of the opportunity to build home equity, the single largest contributor to future/generational wealth and financial stability. The resulting lack of wealth has directly resulted in poverty, shorter life spans, higher rates of chronic diseases, and reduced access to healthy food among urban communities of color (NCRC). 

These federal discrimination practices, while technically outlawed in 1968 following pressure from civil rights activists, continue to the present day, and are reinforced by municipal, cultural, and social institutions across the country. One hiker who spoke with us recalled how her parents had been denied the chance to view properties for sale outside of historically redlined areas in New York in 1976, and again in Florida in 2002, because they are Black.

Historical redlining in the city of Boston is a strong predictor of racial demographics. Black and Brown neighborhoods have lower life expectancy and greater social vulnerability than White neighborhoods. Source: University of Richmond.

If you didn’t know that redlining is a country-wide discrimination tactic, you are not alone. American schools generally do not teach us about how our country has continued to oppress and segregate Black and other marginalized communities post-slavery and Jim Crow, through redlining, mass incarceration, and just about every other structure, policy, and institution in the country. Those living in affected communities, however, need no formal education on these topics to know and experience their crushing impacts.“

My Black friends were horrified when I used [the term redlining] in reference to hiking,” said one White hiker in an online forum. “To them, it was similar to using the N word.” Numerous others described having to explain themselves when they tell friends outside of Northern New Hampshire “I’m redlining”, because their friends only know the term in reference to the discrimination practice.

“For most White hikers in New England, redlining is a sign of personal accomplishment, commitment, endurance, and boldness,” one Black hiker told us. “It’s an entrance into an elite community. Outside of this dynamic is a much much larger historical dynamic associated with the word, where redlining is a fundamental exclusion of possibility, a limitation placed on people for no other reason than that they are Black, Asian, gay, or otherwise marginalized.”

Redlining and its legacy are primary reasons why White Mountain hikers, and ironically, White Mountains “Redline” finishers, are almost all White people. Many folks living in historically redlined urban centers, the majority of whom are people of color, cannot afford the luxury of recreating outdoors for long hours far away from home. 

A hiker tracks their progress in hiking all the trails in the White Mountain guidebook, a game known as “redlining.”

“As a hiker and runner in the White Mountains, my personal identity in the outdoors and the term “redline’’ have become undeniably connected over the last year. When I hiked the White Mountains Redline in 99 days in 2020, I found myself as the poster child for a word that few White people (myself included at one point) realize has a frightening double meaning.

Now that I know the oppressive history of the term redlining, I can’t use the word without cringing, knowing that I am actively disregarding the experiences of Black and Brown hikers. Because of this, I’ve decided that as of this article’s publication, I will no longer be using the term. I expect this decision to be met with outrage and ridicule from many White hikers and community members. I expect to lose “followers” and even be viewed as a hypocrite because of my prior relationship with the word. None of that will deter me from holding myself to a higher ethical standard that takes into account the preferences of the Black hikers I’ve spoken with about this issue.

I have benefited my entire life from my White, male, cisgender, able-bodied existence; if I can change one word in my vocabulary in order to make the predominantly White hiking culture more welcoming to hikers of color, I’d be foolish not to embrace that opportunity. To resist a change that has no negative consequences for me but a significant positive impact for hikers of color is undeniably racist.”

-Philip J. Carcia

Whether you just learned the significance of the term redlining or have been aware of it for a while, knowing that it stands for racist practices and that its continued use in hiking circles diminishes the experiences of hikers of color means that a change is needed.

“It’s incorrect to say that redlining, the discrimination practice, is not connected to hiking,” a Black hiker from Massachusetts commented. “Redlining was designed to restrict Black peoples’ access to what was thought of as the better, best, or pristine geographical places of the world, and to prevent miscegenation and racial mixing.” Taking a look at which race dominates the White Mountain trail system, it’s visually apparent that redlining and its legacy have succeeded in doing just that.

Forest paths by their very nature evolve and change course over time. Hiking can similarly evolve, and let outdated words and practices erode away. We invite you to join us in co-creating a hiking culture that respects the wishes and experiences of hikers of color. 

In keeping with hiker etiquette: “redlining” as a hiking term, like an old trail that has succumbed to erosion, is no longer appropriate to use. Please follow the re-route, or step aside. We are moving to higher ground. 

Update: The Grid Council, the group in charge of issuing White Mountain Redlining certificates of completion, responded to us and renamed “redlining” to “tracing” the White Mountain trails. We support this new term! #tracethetrails #trailtracing 

Invisible: An Asian Experience in Northern New Hampshire

The following piece was written by one of our mentors, Michael Kim, a South Korean person who resides in Plymouth, NH and is the founder of NHUnites. They are part of our North Country Social Justice Collective and are a strong advocate against racism of all kinds in Northern New Hampshire. You can follow their work at @NHUnites.

"Model? Never"

The model minority. Such a loaded term, and one I refuse to give any more power. Many allies even view Asians as “lucky” compared to other marginalized groups; Blacks, Latinx, LGBTQIA+, Jews, in that we are (supposedly) more economically prosperous and technologically advanced than our other brown-skinned brothers and sisters? This was never the case, and the beatings, racist names, “ching chang chong” talk, karate chops, stretched eyelids and mocking laughs hurt just the same. 

Experiencing AAPI racism more or less “alone” in New Hampshire for 35 years has completely warped my perception of how isolated I actually am, and shamed my South Korean identity. So many Asian allies STILL remain silent for fear of alienating family or friends, and stood in the wings through the protests last summer bc they felt “this just wasn’t their cause” or because they were fearful of the confrontation that protests can bring. That’s not being an ally. That’s not anti-racist. And now you’re perpetuating trauma on your own people by not standing up. 

New Hampshire is a haven for outdoor enthusiasts, but even in the woods we can’t escape the societal implications of our Asian identities. Hiker Kathy Chau Rohn recently spoke on this: “As a Vietnamese American woman living during this pandemic, I find that there are two sides of the hiking coin: on trail, the meditative and restorative aspects of nature refill my cup; off trail, the insidious impact of racism deplete me once more. In trail towns I worry that people think I am bringing COVID to their neighborhoods or that I am a virus. I fear that they will hurl racial slurs at me, or worse. People often say that they go into nature to ‘get away from politics.’ But, the reality for many of us is that discussing inclusion in the outdoors is not political. These are my lived experiences no matter where I am physically located or what activity I am pursuing.”

Asians (now more than ever) are living with an amplified daily fear of violence. Couple that in with the fact that these most recent victims in Atlanta were also sex workers - and these deaths become even more meaningful and complex. Hollywood/the general public fetishizes our brown skin, but won’t amplify the voices that speak for those brown bodies. SW’s face abuse on the daily by their employers, the police, traffickers, and clients alike, and the hypersexualization of specifically Asian women influenced this violence in a major way.

“Me love you long time” 

“Happy-ending massage parlor”

“Mail-order bride from China” 

These turns of phrase were never harmless - and the careless ways we abuse them continues to damage us. And Asians aren’t a monolith. By that I mean we’re a spectrum of people the same way Ireland, England, Germany, and Wales all look the “same, same - but different”. Being lumped into a group based on your skin doesn’t feel good, does it? By continuing to generalize our origin groups you blend us all into one shade; invisible. 

"Stop Asian hate” means the same thing as all the slogans and chants we echoed for months last summer; dismantle white supremacy by speaking out against it. By naming it. By acknowledging it boldly. Fear of naming it gives it strength - and that can’t continue. And while many of you were so eager to lift up Black Lives Matter/our voices last year following the death of George Floyd and virtue signal through the fervent election season - you’re completely silent now - and your performative activism is heart-breaking and apparent. Where are those allies now? Why aren’t they being actively anti-racist? 

You make a fetish of brown bodies - but never respect our voices - especially not those speaking up loudly against systems of oppression. 

November came and went. The toxic gaze and language has shifted away from Democracy and BLM and is now focused directly on my Asian-ness. 

“Kung-flu” 

“China Virus” 

I was threatened at gun point last summer for standing with Black Lives; I wonder what would happen now if I stood up for Asian lives? It’s unfair I even have to weigh that decision; but self-advocacy = violence, apparently. When is enough going to truly be enough? What does your anti-racism look like, and is it truly inclusive? Standing against white supremacy means standing with ALL of those it effects, and acknowledging the specific struggles of those groups. Now more than ever; I need you. We need to stop comparing injustices between marginalized groups, and recognize that (as allies and foes alike) we ALL have to be part of the solution in order to truly end racism, xenophobic language, and hate.