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On March 16, the world was witness to a horrific act of violence when a gunman killed six Asian American women and two others at spas in the Atlanta, Georgia area. The attack prompted a national outcry and protests against the rising levels of hate and violence directed at Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (AAPI), a community that has experienced a profound and disturbing legacy of racism in American history.
Despite this fact, my own understanding and awareness of the hate and racism experienced by the AAPI community, then and now, would be described as limited at best. Was I aware on some level? Perhaps. But if I’m being honest, I have not fully appreciated the unique experiences of AAPI colleagues, friends, and students.
That changed when I attended a White Coats Against Asian Hate & Racism rally, held by the George Washington University School of Medicine and Health Sciences 2 months after the Atlanta killings. Hearing my colleagues speak of their personal experiences, I quickly realized my lack of education on the subject of how systemic racism has long affected Asian Americans in this country.
Measuring the alarming rise in anti-Asian hate
The data supporting a rise in anti-Asian hate crimes have been staring us in the face for decades but have drawn increasing attention since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, when these already distressingly high numbers experienced a steep rise.
Before looking at these figures, though, we must begin by defining what is considered a hate crime versus a hate incident. The National Asian Pacific American Bar Association and Asian & Pacific Islander American Health Forum have produced a beneficial summary document on precisely what separates these terms:
- A hate crime is a crime committed on the basis of the victim’s perceived or actual race, color, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability. It differs from “regular” crime in that its victims include the immediate crime target and others like them. Hate crimes affect families, communities, and, at times, an entire nation.
- A hate incident describes acts of prejudice that are not crimes and do not involve violence, threats, or property damage. The most common examples are isolated forms of speech, such as racial slurs.
Stop AAPI Hate (SAH) was founded in March 2020 as a coalition to track and analyze incidents of hate against this community. SAH’s 2020-2021 national report details 3,795 hate incidents that occurred from March 19, 2020, to Feb. 28, 2021. In a notable parallel to the Georgia killings, SAH found that Asian American women reported hate incidents 2.3 times more often than men and that businesses were the primary site of discrimination.
This rise in hate incidents has occurred in parallel with an increase in Asian American hate crimes. Recently, the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism (CSUSB) released its Report to the Nation: Anti-Asian Prejudice & Hate Crime. I re-read that data point multiple times, thinking it must be in error. If you’re asking exactly why I was having difficulty accepting this data, you have to appreciate these two critical points:
- Per the CSUSB, anti-Asian hate crimes were already surging by 146% in 2020.
- This surge occurred while overall hate crimes dropped by 7%.
So, if 2020 was a surge, the first quarter of 2021 is a hurricane. What’s perhaps most concerning is that these data only capture reported cases and therefore are a fraction of the total.
Undoubtedly, we are living through an unprecedented rise in anti-Asian hate incidents and hate crimes since the start of the pandemic. This rise in hate-related events paralleled the many pandemic-related stressors (disease, isolation, economics, mental health, etc.). Should anyone have been surprised when this most recent deadly spike of anti-Asian hate occurred in the first quarter of 2021?
Hate’s toll on mental health
As a psychiatrist, I’ve spent my entire career working with dedicated teams to treat patients with mental health disorders. Currently, hate is not classified by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a mental illness. However, I can’t think of another emotion that is a better candidate for further research and scientific instigation, if for no other reason than to better understand when prejudice and bias transform into hatred and crime.
Surprisingly, there has been relatively little research on the topic of hate in the fields of psychology and psychiatry. I’d be willing to wager that if you asked a typical graduating class of medical students to give you an actual working definition of the emotion of hate, most would be at a loss for words.
Dr. Fischer and Dr. Halperin published a helpful article that gives a functional perspective on hate. The authors cover a great deal of research on hate and offer the following four starting points valuable in considering it:
- “Hate is different from anger because an anger target is appraised as someone whose behavior can be influenced and changed.”
- “A hate target, on the contrary, implies appraisals of the other’s malevolent nature and malicious intent.”
- “Hate is characterized by appraisals that imply a stable perception of a person or group and thus the incapability to change the extremely negative characteristics attributed to the target of hate.”
- “Everyday observations also suggest that hate is so powerful that it does, not just temporarily but permanently, destroy relations between individuals or groups.”
When I view hate with these insights in mind, it completely changes how I choose to utilize the word or concept. Hate is an emotion whose goal/action tendency is to eliminate groups (not just people or obstacles) and destroy any current or future relationships. We can take this a step further in noting that hate spreads, not only to the intended targets but potentially my “own” group. Similar to secondhand smoke, there is no risk-free exposure to hate or racism.
In the past decade, a robust body of evidence has emerged that clearly illustrates the negative health impacts of racism. Dr. Paradies and colleagues performed a systematic meta-analysis explicitly focused on racism as a determinant of health, finding that it was associated with poorer mental health, including depression, anxiety, and psychological distress. Over the past two decades, researchers have increasingly looked at the effects of racial discrimination on the AAPI community. In their 2009 review article, Dr. Gee and colleagues identified 62 empirical articles assessing the relation between discrimination and health among Asian Americans. Most of the studies found that discrimination was associated with poorer health. Of the 40 studies focused on mental health, 37 reported that discrimination was associated with poorer outcomes.
SAH recently released its very illuminating Mental Health Report. Among several key findings, two in particular caught my attention. First, Asian Americans who have experienced racism are more stressed by anti-Asian hate than the pandemic itself. Second, one in five Asian Americans who have experienced racism display racial trauma, the psychological and emotional harm caused by racism. Given the rise in hate crimes, there must be concern regarding the level of trauma being inflicted upon the Asian American community.
A complete review of the health effects of racism is beyond this article’s scope. Still, the previously mentioned studies further support the need to treat racism in general, and specifically anti-Asian hate, as the urgent public health concern that it truly is. The U.S. government recently outlined an action plan to respond to anti-Asian violence, xenophobia, and bias. These are helpful first steps, but much more is required on a societal and individual level, given the mental health disparities faced by the AAPI community.
Determining the best ways to address this urgent public health concern can be overwhelming, exhausting, and outright demoralizing. The bottom line is that if we do nothing, communities and groups will continue to suffer the effects of racial hatred. These consequences are severe and transgenerational.
But we must start somewhere. For me, that begins by gaining a better understanding of the emotion of hate and my role in either facilitating or stopping it, and by listening, listening, and listening some more to AAPI colleagues, friends, and family about their lived experience with anti-Asian hate.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
On March 16, the world was witness to a horrific act of violence when a gunman killed six Asian American women and two others at spas in the Atlanta, Georgia area. The attack prompted a national outcry and protests against the rising levels of hate and violence directed at Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (AAPI), a community that has experienced a profound and disturbing legacy of racism in American history.
Despite this fact, my own understanding and awareness of the hate and racism experienced by the AAPI community, then and now, would be described as limited at best. Was I aware on some level? Perhaps. But if I’m being honest, I have not fully appreciated the unique experiences of AAPI colleagues, friends, and students.
That changed when I attended a White Coats Against Asian Hate & Racism rally, held by the George Washington University School of Medicine and Health Sciences 2 months after the Atlanta killings. Hearing my colleagues speak of their personal experiences, I quickly realized my lack of education on the subject of how systemic racism has long affected Asian Americans in this country.
Measuring the alarming rise in anti-Asian hate
The data supporting a rise in anti-Asian hate crimes have been staring us in the face for decades but have drawn increasing attention since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, when these already distressingly high numbers experienced a steep rise.
Before looking at these figures, though, we must begin by defining what is considered a hate crime versus a hate incident. The National Asian Pacific American Bar Association and Asian & Pacific Islander American Health Forum have produced a beneficial summary document on precisely what separates these terms:
- A hate crime is a crime committed on the basis of the victim’s perceived or actual race, color, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability. It differs from “regular” crime in that its victims include the immediate crime target and others like them. Hate crimes affect families, communities, and, at times, an entire nation.
- A hate incident describes acts of prejudice that are not crimes and do not involve violence, threats, or property damage. The most common examples are isolated forms of speech, such as racial slurs.
Stop AAPI Hate (SAH) was founded in March 2020 as a coalition to track and analyze incidents of hate against this community. SAH’s 2020-2021 national report details 3,795 hate incidents that occurred from March 19, 2020, to Feb. 28, 2021. In a notable parallel to the Georgia killings, SAH found that Asian American women reported hate incidents 2.3 times more often than men and that businesses were the primary site of discrimination.
This rise in hate incidents has occurred in parallel with an increase in Asian American hate crimes. Recently, the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism (CSUSB) released its Report to the Nation: Anti-Asian Prejudice & Hate Crime. I re-read that data point multiple times, thinking it must be in error. If you’re asking exactly why I was having difficulty accepting this data, you have to appreciate these two critical points:
- Per the CSUSB, anti-Asian hate crimes were already surging by 146% in 2020.
- This surge occurred while overall hate crimes dropped by 7%.
So, if 2020 was a surge, the first quarter of 2021 is a hurricane. What’s perhaps most concerning is that these data only capture reported cases and therefore are a fraction of the total.
Undoubtedly, we are living through an unprecedented rise in anti-Asian hate incidents and hate crimes since the start of the pandemic. This rise in hate-related events paralleled the many pandemic-related stressors (disease, isolation, economics, mental health, etc.). Should anyone have been surprised when this most recent deadly spike of anti-Asian hate occurred in the first quarter of 2021?
Hate’s toll on mental health
As a psychiatrist, I’ve spent my entire career working with dedicated teams to treat patients with mental health disorders. Currently, hate is not classified by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a mental illness. However, I can’t think of another emotion that is a better candidate for further research and scientific instigation, if for no other reason than to better understand when prejudice and bias transform into hatred and crime.
Surprisingly, there has been relatively little research on the topic of hate in the fields of psychology and psychiatry. I’d be willing to wager that if you asked a typical graduating class of medical students to give you an actual working definition of the emotion of hate, most would be at a loss for words.
Dr. Fischer and Dr. Halperin published a helpful article that gives a functional perspective on hate. The authors cover a great deal of research on hate and offer the following four starting points valuable in considering it:
- “Hate is different from anger because an anger target is appraised as someone whose behavior can be influenced and changed.”
- “A hate target, on the contrary, implies appraisals of the other’s malevolent nature and malicious intent.”
- “Hate is characterized by appraisals that imply a stable perception of a person or group and thus the incapability to change the extremely negative characteristics attributed to the target of hate.”
- “Everyday observations also suggest that hate is so powerful that it does, not just temporarily but permanently, destroy relations between individuals or groups.”
When I view hate with these insights in mind, it completely changes how I choose to utilize the word or concept. Hate is an emotion whose goal/action tendency is to eliminate groups (not just people or obstacles) and destroy any current or future relationships. We can take this a step further in noting that hate spreads, not only to the intended targets but potentially my “own” group. Similar to secondhand smoke, there is no risk-free exposure to hate or racism.
In the past decade, a robust body of evidence has emerged that clearly illustrates the negative health impacts of racism. Dr. Paradies and colleagues performed a systematic meta-analysis explicitly focused on racism as a determinant of health, finding that it was associated with poorer mental health, including depression, anxiety, and psychological distress. Over the past two decades, researchers have increasingly looked at the effects of racial discrimination on the AAPI community. In their 2009 review article, Dr. Gee and colleagues identified 62 empirical articles assessing the relation between discrimination and health among Asian Americans. Most of the studies found that discrimination was associated with poorer health. Of the 40 studies focused on mental health, 37 reported that discrimination was associated with poorer outcomes.
SAH recently released its very illuminating Mental Health Report. Among several key findings, two in particular caught my attention. First, Asian Americans who have experienced racism are more stressed by anti-Asian hate than the pandemic itself. Second, one in five Asian Americans who have experienced racism display racial trauma, the psychological and emotional harm caused by racism. Given the rise in hate crimes, there must be concern regarding the level of trauma being inflicted upon the Asian American community.
A complete review of the health effects of racism is beyond this article’s scope. Still, the previously mentioned studies further support the need to treat racism in general, and specifically anti-Asian hate, as the urgent public health concern that it truly is. The U.S. government recently outlined an action plan to respond to anti-Asian violence, xenophobia, and bias. These are helpful first steps, but much more is required on a societal and individual level, given the mental health disparities faced by the AAPI community.
Determining the best ways to address this urgent public health concern can be overwhelming, exhausting, and outright demoralizing. The bottom line is that if we do nothing, communities and groups will continue to suffer the effects of racial hatred. These consequences are severe and transgenerational.
But we must start somewhere. For me, that begins by gaining a better understanding of the emotion of hate and my role in either facilitating or stopping it, and by listening, listening, and listening some more to AAPI colleagues, friends, and family about their lived experience with anti-Asian hate.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
On March 16, the world was witness to a horrific act of violence when a gunman killed six Asian American women and two others at spas in the Atlanta, Georgia area. The attack prompted a national outcry and protests against the rising levels of hate and violence directed at Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (AAPI), a community that has experienced a profound and disturbing legacy of racism in American history.
Despite this fact, my own understanding and awareness of the hate and racism experienced by the AAPI community, then and now, would be described as limited at best. Was I aware on some level? Perhaps. But if I’m being honest, I have not fully appreciated the unique experiences of AAPI colleagues, friends, and students.
That changed when I attended a White Coats Against Asian Hate & Racism rally, held by the George Washington University School of Medicine and Health Sciences 2 months after the Atlanta killings. Hearing my colleagues speak of their personal experiences, I quickly realized my lack of education on the subject of how systemic racism has long affected Asian Americans in this country.
Measuring the alarming rise in anti-Asian hate
The data supporting a rise in anti-Asian hate crimes have been staring us in the face for decades but have drawn increasing attention since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, when these already distressingly high numbers experienced a steep rise.
Before looking at these figures, though, we must begin by defining what is considered a hate crime versus a hate incident. The National Asian Pacific American Bar Association and Asian & Pacific Islander American Health Forum have produced a beneficial summary document on precisely what separates these terms:
- A hate crime is a crime committed on the basis of the victim’s perceived or actual race, color, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability. It differs from “regular” crime in that its victims include the immediate crime target and others like them. Hate crimes affect families, communities, and, at times, an entire nation.
- A hate incident describes acts of prejudice that are not crimes and do not involve violence, threats, or property damage. The most common examples are isolated forms of speech, such as racial slurs.
Stop AAPI Hate (SAH) was founded in March 2020 as a coalition to track and analyze incidents of hate against this community. SAH’s 2020-2021 national report details 3,795 hate incidents that occurred from March 19, 2020, to Feb. 28, 2021. In a notable parallel to the Georgia killings, SAH found that Asian American women reported hate incidents 2.3 times more often than men and that businesses were the primary site of discrimination.
This rise in hate incidents has occurred in parallel with an increase in Asian American hate crimes. Recently, the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism (CSUSB) released its Report to the Nation: Anti-Asian Prejudice & Hate Crime. I re-read that data point multiple times, thinking it must be in error. If you’re asking exactly why I was having difficulty accepting this data, you have to appreciate these two critical points:
- Per the CSUSB, anti-Asian hate crimes were already surging by 146% in 2020.
- This surge occurred while overall hate crimes dropped by 7%.
So, if 2020 was a surge, the first quarter of 2021 is a hurricane. What’s perhaps most concerning is that these data only capture reported cases and therefore are a fraction of the total.
Undoubtedly, we are living through an unprecedented rise in anti-Asian hate incidents and hate crimes since the start of the pandemic. This rise in hate-related events paralleled the many pandemic-related stressors (disease, isolation, economics, mental health, etc.). Should anyone have been surprised when this most recent deadly spike of anti-Asian hate occurred in the first quarter of 2021?
Hate’s toll on mental health
As a psychiatrist, I’ve spent my entire career working with dedicated teams to treat patients with mental health disorders. Currently, hate is not classified by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a mental illness. However, I can’t think of another emotion that is a better candidate for further research and scientific instigation, if for no other reason than to better understand when prejudice and bias transform into hatred and crime.
Surprisingly, there has been relatively little research on the topic of hate in the fields of psychology and psychiatry. I’d be willing to wager that if you asked a typical graduating class of medical students to give you an actual working definition of the emotion of hate, most would be at a loss for words.
Dr. Fischer and Dr. Halperin published a helpful article that gives a functional perspective on hate. The authors cover a great deal of research on hate and offer the following four starting points valuable in considering it:
- “Hate is different from anger because an anger target is appraised as someone whose behavior can be influenced and changed.”
- “A hate target, on the contrary, implies appraisals of the other’s malevolent nature and malicious intent.”
- “Hate is characterized by appraisals that imply a stable perception of a person or group and thus the incapability to change the extremely negative characteristics attributed to the target of hate.”
- “Everyday observations also suggest that hate is so powerful that it does, not just temporarily but permanently, destroy relations between individuals or groups.”
When I view hate with these insights in mind, it completely changes how I choose to utilize the word or concept. Hate is an emotion whose goal/action tendency is to eliminate groups (not just people or obstacles) and destroy any current or future relationships. We can take this a step further in noting that hate spreads, not only to the intended targets but potentially my “own” group. Similar to secondhand smoke, there is no risk-free exposure to hate or racism.
In the past decade, a robust body of evidence has emerged that clearly illustrates the negative health impacts of racism. Dr. Paradies and colleagues performed a systematic meta-analysis explicitly focused on racism as a determinant of health, finding that it was associated with poorer mental health, including depression, anxiety, and psychological distress. Over the past two decades, researchers have increasingly looked at the effects of racial discrimination on the AAPI community. In their 2009 review article, Dr. Gee and colleagues identified 62 empirical articles assessing the relation between discrimination and health among Asian Americans. Most of the studies found that discrimination was associated with poorer health. Of the 40 studies focused on mental health, 37 reported that discrimination was associated with poorer outcomes.
SAH recently released its very illuminating Mental Health Report. Among several key findings, two in particular caught my attention. First, Asian Americans who have experienced racism are more stressed by anti-Asian hate than the pandemic itself. Second, one in five Asian Americans who have experienced racism display racial trauma, the psychological and emotional harm caused by racism. Given the rise in hate crimes, there must be concern regarding the level of trauma being inflicted upon the Asian American community.
A complete review of the health effects of racism is beyond this article’s scope. Still, the previously mentioned studies further support the need to treat racism in general, and specifically anti-Asian hate, as the urgent public health concern that it truly is. The U.S. government recently outlined an action plan to respond to anti-Asian violence, xenophobia, and bias. These are helpful first steps, but much more is required on a societal and individual level, given the mental health disparities faced by the AAPI community.
Determining the best ways to address this urgent public health concern can be overwhelming, exhausting, and outright demoralizing. The bottom line is that if we do nothing, communities and groups will continue to suffer the effects of racial hatred. These consequences are severe and transgenerational.
But we must start somewhere. For me, that begins by gaining a better understanding of the emotion of hate and my role in either facilitating or stopping it, and by listening, listening, and listening some more to AAPI colleagues, friends, and family about their lived experience with anti-Asian hate.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.