When Asians Only Hang Out With Other Asians

Why my friends will never be just other Asians

Growing up, I was exposed to a lot of different people of different races, cultures, and backgrounds, so I sought out companionship with people of different races and cultures.

I think universal principles like unconditional love, kindness, and respect can make any friendship work, but I naturally do just gravitate toward people who are different from me, because I learn a lot I didn’t know before and expose myself to a lot more perspectives. I’m comfortable around anyone and don’t want to be confined to only being able to be myself around people who look like me.

It’s not just a skill for the corporate world — being around people who are different from you is one of my core values for everyday life.

As an Asian-American, of course, I find some affinity with other Asians. It’s not like I spoke Chinese with them, even if we both did know how. And despite my animosity towards some immigrants, my heart really does go out when an Asian person knows no English because my grandparents are in that situation. I would do my best to try to help the Chinese immigrants learn different terms or phrases and make them feel included.

There are just things we talk about as Asian-Americans that we don’t talk about with others, including the unique challenges of dealing with Asian parents and cultural expectations, food, navigating a particularly challenging dating scene as an Asian dude, video games, etc. It’s interesting, however, that people like me, who grew up in the United States and are Asian-Americans, mostly just include other Asian-Americans in those circles and not Asian immigrants who came to the U.S. in adulthood.

The thing is it’s two entirely different experiences to be someone who grew up balancing a clash of cultures versus someone trying to learn English to the best of their ability and being completely estranged from their home.

As someone who sees a lot of value in cross-racial and cultural friendships and interaction, one thing that bothers me, almost to the point of revulsion, is when Asians only hang out with other Asians. I see this more in immigrant Asian communities, like those of my parents and my Filipino co-workers, and although I know I’m probably wrong, there is a lot of internalized shame and embarrassment first-generation Asians feel about what we call FOBs, a derogatory shorthand for “fresh off the boat.”

It bothers me that my parents really don’t have any friends who aren’t Chinese. It bothers me when all my co-workers from the Philippines only sit with each other at staff meetings, don’t interact with anyone else, and only speak Tagalog. I once went to a Chinese buffet with my colleagues after work. I instantly noticed that all my Black colleagues were sitting at one table at one end of the restaurant, and all my Filipino colleagues were sitting at another end. This made me instantly very uncomfortable because the implication was that my Filipino colleagues weren’t interested in socially interacting with all my other co-workers, and we all shared the same workplace.

I sat at the table apart from my Filipino co-workers, with my Black colleagues who were there, and one colleague said:

“It’s okay, Fan. You don’t have to feel bad. Don’t do your people like that.”

I didn’t feel particularly offended that I was grouped with the Filipinos as “my people.” I’m Chinese-American, but I don’t really go out of my way to tell people that — only if they ask. I also don’t care very much about people knowing my identity, but I did feel embarrassed on this particular occasion. There were other times when I was one of the only Asians in a workplace that pretty much only had White teachers and Black teachers. The self-segregation of the staff was very noticeable to me, and my friend, who is Black, said something about it when she looked around the room. Another friend chuckled and said, “well, Fan is sitting here.”

I completely understand why Asian cultures are so insular, and see the same for other Southeast Asian ethnicities like Japanese and Koreans. Why wouldn’t you feel more comfortable around people who look like you, are from the same place as you, and speak the same language as you? As much as I have tried to branch out and be friendly with local people in Japan when I was there, I naturally spent the most time around my American or British friends because of language or cultural barriers.

For a long time, I couldn’t necessarily pinpoint why it bothered me so much, but I’m starting to understand.

The fact is I bought into the liberal American narrative that racial mixing and racially integrated friend groups were not only good but something we should strive for. It’s something I’ve strived for since my Kindergarten teacher taught us about the civil rights struggle against state-sponsored segregation. It’s not like I force myself to hang out with people of other races and cultures: a lot of the time, I like my Hispanic, Jewish, and Black friends more than my Asian friends.

However, it does embarrass me and I feel like it makes me look bad when other Asians aren’t also a part of the cause to create the liberal, racially integrated America that I’ve always wanted to contribute to. I don’t really say anything about it, but I do reject invitations to sit with all the other Asians and be one of them at that moment. I felt the need to branch out more and maybe sit with staff members I don’t usually sit with.

At staff meetings and other multiracial gatherings for academic, career, or social reasons, I’m very keenly aware of race. I didn’t used to be, but after the BLM protests in 2020, I think most people who are remotely on social media grew more keenly aware of ways institutionalized and structural racism permeate not just our institutions, but interpersonal interactions.

Maybe it’s just a poor reflection on me. I never say anything when Black co-workers sit at the same table as only other Black co-workers. I very much understand why a Black person might feel a lot more comfortable around other Black people than around White people, and I can completely see why it can be so uncomfortable to be the only Black person in an otherwise all-White group or setting.

I also never say anything when Hispanic people only sit with other Hispanic people.

I work in a school that services mostly Black students from Baltimore and, increasingly, Hispanic English Language Learner (ELL) students from Central America.

I am not an expert in English Language Learner instruction, but I once sat in a classroom assisting a student with autism who needed adult support and realized the kid next to him knew no English and had no clue what was going on. I felt so bad for the kid that I Google Translated certain terms and instructions, and also also gave simple instructions (“escriba esto”) so he didn’t feel completely lost.

I mention this because the vast majority of Black and Hispanic ELL students at my school don’t interact or socialize much either. And perhaps I just don’t see it happening much in the hallway, but of course, the ELL kids who just came from Central America years ago or a year ago want to socialize with other people who speak their language. There are also plenty of exceptions in the realm of cross-racial friendships, but not a lot of them.

When White people only sit with other White people, some of us can certainly have a field day in exposing the implicit bias or systemic racism involved. I don’t think that’s necessarily fair to call it racist, since people can hang out with and socialize with other people they want to spend time with. But it is interesting that these days that you can make any remotely left-leaning White person feel bad about it and do serious soul-searching into their systemic racism.

In 2013, a Reuters/Ipsos poll found that 40% of White people and 25% of non-White people do not have close friends of other races.

Those are numbers I certainly hope have changed. I think the vast majority of my family falls in that 25% for Asians. And it’s not like I’ve pressed Asian immigrants I know about racial mixing and self-segregation, but out of the blue, a lot of Asian immigrants I know won’t see that self-segregation of only hanging out with other Asians as a bad thing.

My dad once made a comment about how Queens is very diverse, but thankfully has a lot of enclaves to make any immigrant feel comfortable being away from home. My Filipino partner at work talked about how it’s great that the Orthodox Jewish community in Baltimore largely sticks to themselves and stays together, and how the Filipino community does the same.

I certainly felt a sense of revulsion at the latter comment. Obviously, I don't think it’s a good thing. I’m more critical of this phenomenon among Asians because I am Asian, and I feel like I have the right to make that critique and not do the same for other minority groups.

I wondered: what if someone wanted to leave my community like some people leave ultra-Orthodox communities? Do they get shunned or ostracized? Do other people just pretend they never existed?

But I have come a long way to be more understanding. I live my life and aspire to my own values when it comes to friendships and relationships. If someone is a lot more comfortable only hanging out with other Asians, it’s their life — all the power to them, especially if they’re an immigrant.

For me, my revulsion for this Asians only hanging out with other Asians phenomenon is partially not because of my preference for racial mixing and integrated friend groups. Part of it is because of my hate for these Asian communities. Growing up, it was like being the child of a pastor — any mistake you made or grade that was not an A or less than perfect was a scarlet letter and mark of shame for your parents.

I have long been vocal about my distaste for Asian culture and try not to displace that distaste on other people, but it is ruthless. One mistake or blemish on your family’s image, and you can easily be an outcast in your community. I’ve long witnessed Chinese parents that laugh in each other’s faces only to spend hours talking shit about the other person when they leave.

At the same time, the problem is on a systemic rather than individual level. There are some people who are more than willing to lend you, say, $10,000 to help you get on your feet and buy your first house in this new country when you have no money and no connections. It may even be the person who talks shit about you nonstop behind closed doors.

As first-generation Asian Americans, we have long felt the extreme lengths our parents went through to protect that image and reputation amidst these communities. For our parents in the culture, it’s sometimes all they care about — it’s why they restlessly take a million pictures any time they’re on vacation in a new destination (so they can one-up and brag to friends after), or why they get into screaming matches and fights over who’s going to pay the bill.

I can’t tell you how many of my dad’s “friends” no longer spoke to him or acted like he disappeared when he was unemployed when he was deemed to no longer have any value to them.

I don’t see being in a community like that as just suffocating to me. I see it as suffocating to the parents. It makes me feel bad for anyone indoctrinated in that kind of community. When your whole identity is what your “friends” think of you and the image you give off, that feels like a cage you can never break free from. The community does not believe in concepts like unconditional love or acceptance — that love is always conditional on a job, achievement, or some other status symbol.

I spent too much of my life beholden to the judgment of that kind of community to want to spend the rest of my life according to those expectations and standards of constant comparison and perfection. At this point in my life, I’m perfectly fine being an outcast in that culture if it means I get to make my own choices and live life according to my ideals and values.

For most of my life, I didn’t have the option to opt out of that community — now I do, and it’s great. I have a lot of close friends who love me for who I am, not what I do or what I accomplish.

I’m sure there are elements to that reputation idolizing in other communities and am aware of the particular similarities in Nigerian culture (as someone who married into a half-Nigerian family).

But part of why I don’t like hanging out with other Asians as much, particularly those indoctrinated in those same face-saving and reputation-idolizing cultural values, is because it’s great not to be sized up according to the standards of perfection. It’s awesome to have left that world and those thinking patterns.

Sometimes, when I’m with other Asians, I feel like I’m constantly being judged or talked poorly about when I’m not there. I don’t keep all my family’s issues in the house (although I don’t reveal absolutely everything anymore). I didn’t go to medical school or become an engineer. I didn’t marry an Asian person. I’m just a lowly teacher. I probably fit the mold of not being “Asian enough.” I don’t feel this way, strangely, among my Filipino co-workers because they’re a lot more accepting and less elitist, but that feeling I have around (some) other Asian people will always be there.

So the reasons why I actively avoid most situations where I’m only hanging out with other Asians are probably more personal than anything. It’s not like I don’t have those friend groups where a bunch of us Asians gravitated towards each other — but they’re usually people like me. They don’t speak their native language much, if at all. They’re first generation, have similar interests, and talk about the same things.

The fact is that there’s so much diversity amongst Asians that it’s hard to necessarily just see a bunch of Asians and hang out with them, at least for me. I’m not even talking about differences between East Asian, South Asian, Hmong versus Cambodian versus Korean. There is heavy diversity across generations, across whether someone speaks English or the mother tongue.

So, for me and many other first or second generation Asians in the diaspora, only hanging out with other Asians is complicated. Seeing other people only hang out with other Asians is complicated. I’m not superior to an Asian who only chooses to hang out with other Asians because I don’t, although I still do think there’s so much of the world you’re closing off by only navigating your people and your culture.

Yes, a lot of it is because I bought into a vision of a multiracial, multicultural America where everyone gets along. A lot of it is because I genuinely sometimes don’t like hanging out with some Asians — the groups that always size you up or talk poorly about people behind their backs.

Asian culture seems to make this practice of self-segregation a bit more extreme. Either you’re in, or you’re out, and that sense breeds a level of insularity that closes itself off to anyone else who doesn't share the same race, culture, language, and values. I think that’s a shame, but if that’s all you’ve known your whole life, there’s no opt out button like there was for me.

Any Asian person can choose who their friends are. But for me, it’s never going to just be other Asians.