Chapter 43: This Is Not Right

At the Social Security Administration, it seemed they were utterly shameless. Even with Su Mu and Du Zhong standing right at their door, no one came out to speak with them or negotiate a resolution regarding Mrs. Lin’s relief payments.

The past relief payments had not been issued; by right, they should be paid in full in one lump sum. This was money owed to Mrs. Lin, and she was even entitled to compensation for emotional distress. Had she received her benefits regularly each month, she would not have had to endure such hardship for over twenty years. This wasn’t a matter of a few days or weeks—it was more than two decades. How many spans of twenty years does a person have in their lifetime?

With a single dismissive “From now on, you’ll get your payment every month,” the administration tried to erase all their previous wrongs as though nothing had ever happened. The thought sickened Su Mu, and his resolve to help Mrs. Lin recover her relief payments only grew stronger.

Du Zhong volunteered to help as soon as he heard what was happening. After discussing their plan with Su Mu the previous day, he arrived early that morning carrying a wooden placard. Many American households kept such boards for repeated use during protests, simply changing the slogans as needed.

Sometimes, for ordinary people fighting for their rights or the rights of others, there were precious few avenues left. In the end, they had nothing but protest to increase visibility and evoke public sympathy—a sorrow in itself. If the country were as fair and just as it claimed, there would not be so many protests, especially now in the early 1980s.

The legal system was still chaotic. Society was restless. Inflation was high, unemployment rampant, the economy stagnant. The Keynesian policies that had worked after the war had failed. America, only just emerging from economic crisis, teetered on the brink—wary of the Soviet threat, struggling to resolve its own troubles. President Reagan was trying to cut taxes, exempting millions of low-income workers and easing the burden on businesses. The world, as it stood, was far from perfect.

All of this felt distant to Su Mu, still a student. Yet in his frustration, he also felt profound sadness. He’d always known that most Chinese people looked only after their own. Today, he felt that truth more deeply than ever.

A young Chinese man, looking like a street tough, passed by muttering “lunatic.” Other Chinese who stopped to inquire were there simply for the spectacle, walking away indifferent—because it was someone else’s relief money, they simply didn’t care.

With only two people protesting, the staff at the Social Security Administration felt undisturbed. Perhaps they knew well that the Chinese community was fragmented, so they merely sent a security guard to drive them away. Had they faced a more united Black community, they would never have acted so dismissively.

Looking back over more than a century of Chinese history in America, even when the blatantly discriminatory Chinese Exclusion Act was enacted, few protested—at most, there were complaints and expressions of discontent, quickly fading away. Bowing their heads for so long, it seemed they’d forgotten how to stand tall.

Black Americans had Martin Luther King, who stirred them to fight for equality. The Chinese had no one. Centuries of “divide and rule” under feudal dynasties had left the Chinese people with a deeply ingrained passivity. Unless faced with existential crisis, they would accept anything.

Su Mu knew this was wrong—profoundly so.

Once the sun rose, there was no shade and sweat beaded on their foreheads. Facing a mustached, burly Mexican security guard, Su Mu spoke calmly: “We are seeking fairness, sir. Many elderly Chinese in our community do not receive relief payments. Take Mrs. Lin here—she’s ninety years old and still has to go out every day to sell food, earning a little money just to survive. She hasn’t asked for charity, only to support herself.

“I imagine many of your own compatriots in America face similar injustices. This is the doing of the SSA, whom you protect. They cannot understand the suffering of the poor—they have not fulfilled their obligations.

“If we leave, things will go on as before, and many will continue to lack support. That is wrong, sir.”

The Mexican guard was left speechless. Searching his mind, he realized that any response would be inadequate. Nodding awkwardly, he finally said, “Well... Good job. I’ll get you two some water.

“Our supervisor’s watching from upstairs. You’ve already ruined his mood. These folks spend their days thinking how to cut costs. With President Reagan trying to reduce spending, their salaries have dropped, and lately they want to do nothing. The whole country might grind to a halt.

“You’re inexperienced. Protesting here won’t do much—bring more people to City Hall, or maybe SSA headquarters. That would be more effective. This is just a local office—they can’t make big decisions.”

Su Mu sensed the guard wanted to send them away, but his advice was sound. They were inexperienced and hadn’t thought of escalating their grievance to higher authorities.

He replied, “They can cut their spending, but they shouldn’t cut the lifeline of the poor. I understand. We’ll gather more people this afternoon and protest at City Hall tomorrow. Thank you for your suggestion.”

“No problem. That way I can report back with a clear conscience...”

The guard did buy them two bottles of water. Du Zhong turned to Su Mu, visibly moved: “When you spoke about pursuing fairness, I got chills—it was electrifying.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick with you. We must help Grandma Lin get her relief payments. At her age, she should be enjoying her twilight years in a nursing home, not working so hard. We’ll have Li Ping’an join us this afternoon, and tomorrow we’ll all go together!”

Compared to the rigid thinking of their elders, young Chinese in this era possessed more selflessness and a greater sense of public duty. Unfortunately, their parents continued to instill old values, believing their own way was best. But what adults considered wise—self-preservation—was often nothing more than cowardice and selfishness. In the end, they would blame their children for lacking courage, never realizing it was the result of their own teachings. A rabbit only teaches its young to flee into a burrow, never how to fight the eagle; thus, the next generation is raised without the spirit to struggle.

Su Mu’s elders had not taught him much either, but he was clever enough to learn on his own. He’d simply lacked an opportunity to show it. He was anything but timid—perhaps because he understood the law and knew where the boundaries lay.

Resolved to try, they stood for another half hour. When it was clear no one wished to communicate, Su Mu left decisively. Forgoing lunch at home, he bought paper and went to Du Zhong’s house to use the printer. They printed leaflets describing Mrs. Lin’s situation, hoping to mobilize support, and called the Chinese-language newspaper, Sing Tao Daily, asking them to send a reporter the next day.

They kept working until the ink was gone, producing more than two thousand flyers. Now, they just needed to distribute them...