“The only thing worse than the feeling of paranoia is the sickening realization that it’s not paranoia after all,” the staff writer Jiayang Fan wrote in a recent piece. Fan was studying the shadows of the Asian-American experience—and the experience of Asian-American women, in particular, in which ambient fear can curdle suddenly into outright violence. Her words followed a spate of such violence: a mass shooting, in Atlanta, that left six women of Asian descent dead, and a series of anti-Asian attacks across the country, often targeting the elderly. The air of anxiety is also captured in the magazine’s latest cover, by the artist R. Kikuo Johnson. We recently spoke to Johnson about the image, his own experience as an Asian-American, and the ways in which he hopes the country can move forward.
This image is a delicate balancing act, all about timing and tension. How do you use color, lighting, and details to create a mood?
Once I arrived at the dark-gray shadow descending from the top, the whole mood of the piece fell into place. The position of the mother’s feet and eyebrows was what required the most finessing. I wanted a gesture that was somewhere between vigilant and fearful.
You grew up in Hawaii and moved to New York after college. Were your experiences as an Asian man the same or different in those places?
Being hapa (mixed-race) was so common in Hawaii that I was rarely confronted with my racial identity there. As I prepared to leave Maui for college, in Rhode Island, I received an indication that things might be different on the mainland. A letter sent by the school I would attend began, “Dear students of color…” It was 1999, and the phrase was new to us. My family and I initially misinterpreted it for two reasons: 1) we weren’t accustomed to being grouped by race, and 2) I was headed for art school, where color theory is a basic part of the curriculum. All students, by our logic, were students of color. Since then, navigating race in America has been a learning process.
As a cartoonist, you frequently play with symbols and stereotypes. What were you trying to accomplish when portraying an Asian mother and child?
I began preparing for this project by revisiting news coverage of anti-Asian hate crimes committed during the pandemic. As I absorbed one account after another, they became increasingly difficult to read. So many mothers and grandmothers have been targeted. I imagined my own mom in that situation. I thought about my grandma and my aunt, who have been among my greatest sources of support. The mother in the drawing is made up of all these women.
The movement denouncing entrenched racism and xenophobia is more energized than ever. What do you think the goals of that movement are, especially in relation to the recent attacks?
Fundamentally, I think the hope is to eradicate the idea that Asian bodies are inherently foreign.
Do you have favorite A.A.P.I. writers or artists that you turn to for inspiration?
A favorite Asian-American artist, one who seemed to capture something real about her own experience, is the musician Mitski. On the surface, her song “Your Best American Girl,” from 2016, is a story about an ill-fated interracial romance couched in grinding indie-rock guitars. But the devastating moment comes in the first chorus, when the narrator simultaneously confronts her “all-American boy” and hints at the shame that she feels about her upbringing. Growing up in Hawaii, I never experienced that kind of shame, but so many friends whom I’ve met on the mainland have confessed to having a similar feeling at some point in their lives. The narrator’s shame is never completely resolved in the lyric, but a crescendo of guitar feedback becomes a blaring statement of self-acceptance. Apologies to Mitski for reducing a complex piece of music with my narrow reading—but, also, thank you. The song is an anthem I needed this month.
See below for more covers by R. Kikuo Johnson:
Find Johnson’s covers, cartoons, and more at the Condé Nast Store.
