Living Justice is a space where we highlight the justice work PAAC members do, diving into the personal and theological motivations behind their work. We’ll explore the many different paths justice can take and how PAAC community members are bringing their faith to life by advancing justice in its myriad of forms.
Last week in Part 1, author, theologian, Catholic school teacher Dr. Michael Campos and I discussed taboos, sex, and ethics in the context of teaching kids. The following is Part 2 of an excerpt of my conversation with Dr. Michael Campos wherein we explore what...
How does a Catholic school teacher and theologian teach kids about taboos, sex, and ethics? Read all about it in Part 1 of this interview with Dr. Michael Campos.
I am Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian), Japanese, Irish, Swedish, and German. Living in the Bible Belt throughout childhood and adolescence was turbulent and at times hostile for someone mixed-race, queer, and transgender. But the silver lining I found despite my turmoil were the numerous encounters I had with who I believe to be a living and resurrected Jesus. These transcendent experiences were what sustained me through 10 years of teaching and preaching that said while everyone “sins and falls short the glory of God,” people like me were especially sick, broken, something to be prayed away, managed, or erased. I embraced this hermeneutic despite what it cost: my physical safety, mental health, and overall spiritual well-being.
Decolonization is not a metaphor, Eve Tuck and Wayne Yang insist. Carelessly calling to decolonize things like schools and other such institutions metaphorizes decolonization. To do so kills the very possibility of decolonization and re-centers whiteness; it is yet another form of settler appropriation. What would it mean then to decolonize something like theology – and Asian American theology at that? I want to suggest that decolonizing Asian American theology requires giving up the search for physical belonging, replacing it with a theology of landlessness, and to be in solidarity with indigenous struggles for sovereignty.
Though this passage is attributed to Paul, it echoes the radical love we see preached by Jesus in everything attributed to Him in the Bible. We’re told to love unconditionally, to give everything and then everything again, to take hatred and turn it around by offering the other cheek.
Forced duality — growing up multiracial Asian American, fresh off the boat from Seoul, now in an all-white environment. My mother moved from Korea, forsaking the comfortable life she worked for, so that I could have the chance of one without someone commenting on my dirty blood. She thought it would be better.
Artwork by Airam Dato-On. Original Photo (c): yulokchan We write as Hong Kongers from the diaspora and those from other Asian backgrounds, united as people of faith, to express our concern and solidarity for the protests now taking place in Hong Kong....
I graduated early from UC Davis with two bachelors in Psychology and Human Development with ambitions of pursuing a PhD in developmental psychology. I was volunteering in student research labs and about to apply to doctoral programs when everything, including my health, came to a halt.
The aspects of my identity are fueled by tension and otherness. The battles of tension and otherness shout at each other, debate each other, lie to each other, chase each other. They torment me, define me, limit me.
They tell me: I am not queer enough. I am not Korean enough. I am not American enough. I am not feminine enough. I have heard it all from society, even from my own community.
Transcript of a speech delivered by Jami Nakamura Lin at Chicago Writers Resist (January 15, 2017) When my grandfather, Tom Nakamura, entered the US Navy in 1946, he was like many other enlistees, if, at the age of 17, a bit on the young side. But like many American...
A young boy you know well cautiously walks into a classroom. Arranging his pencils, he glances over at the card positioned on the corner of his desk. He thinks his name looks a bit strange in cursive. Some of the kids look inquisitively at his last name. A few think it’s funny, and a few think it’s really cool. Most don’t seem to care.
There is a diversity within our racial category that defies naming (AAPI/AANHPI/APIDA, etc). What assortment of letters fits who we are?