The Filipinoness of Justin Jones

He’s still Black activist Justin Jones. But we all know he’s half-Filipino. SCREENGRAB

How many times have we heard Tennessee legislator Justin Jones described as a “Black activist”? He’s more than that of course.

The Washington Post got it right last week once last week. MSNBC did when the news broke. But now the rest of the media is back to the shorthand.

He’s still Black activist Justin Jones. But we all know he’s half-Filipino.

But that’s what we we’ll be subjected to as the mainstream makes Jones a household name for standing up to one of the most obvious signs that our divided government is teetering toward fascism.

Great. But we won’t get the shout out we deserve. We’ll be invisible again. Instead, it will be like our own private joke.

I’ll admit I wasn’t paying close attention to what was going on in Tennessee when concerned students and citizens went to the state house in Nashville and demanded action on gun violence in our schools and society.

I didn’t really pay attention when Jones, joined by two fellow legislators led the outcry for the rest of his colleagues to pass an assault weapons ban.

I only saw the fallout when Jones in his white suit was the first to be expelled from the Tennessee legislature on Thursday.

Expulsion? I can see tap on the wrist, maybe. But the GOP response was more nuclear, an unprecedented reaction that should concern every American.

Jones’ expulsion was no less than a brazen attack on democracy. Disagree with the majority, even as an elected member of the legislature? The new GOP tactic is to silence the debate, and to remove the debater. Permanently.

As I witnessed it, the reality sank in even more because Jones was someone who looked like me.

Like us.

I could tell immediately, he was Filipino. But more like a few of my relatives, he was half-Filipino and half-Black. A perfect amalgam of modern BIPOC America. A dark Asian with Spanish colonial low notes, and most definitely Black.

Justin Shea Bautista Jones, 27, is one of the so-called Tennessee Three.

The one with the longer, wavy, but not totally straight black hair.

He’s one of the two I’ll dub the Justins for Justice, because only the Justins were expelled.

The other Justin, Justin Pearson, 28, with the throwback natural, the Big Black and Beautiful Afro, was born in Memphis, educated at Bowdoin College in Maine, and has been no less a fighter and activist in his first term in office.

The third member of the Tennessee Three was a white progressive Democrat and former teacher, Gloria Johnson. She did no less than what the Justins did.

So why was she was spared from expulsion by one vote? Johnson told reporters, “It might have to do with the color of our skin.”

State House Republican leaders said they did not look at the ethnicity of the members up for discussion.

Who can doubt that? How many even knew Jones was not just Black, but half Filipino and an Asian American?

They just looked and made assumptions.

Born and raised in Oakland, Calif., Jones, 27, is the son of a Filipino mother and a Black father. He grew up on collard greens and adobo, he told a friend of mine, Leny Strobel, whom Jones sought out four years ago to find out about his “Filipinoness.”

Jones told her his two grandmothers, Lola Tessie on his Filipino side and his Black Lola Harriet, were his first divinity teachers, in an article for the Filipino ethnic media. Through them he connected his diverse background to spirituality and activism, which sent him South to Fisk University in Nashville.

On Thursday we saw Jones, young and eloquent, cool under pressure, his activism in action, as he bore the undemocratic attacks of the legislature.

“We called for you all to ban assault weapons and you respond with an assault on democracy,” Jones said. “This is a historic day for Tennessee, but it is a very dark day for Tennessee because it will signal to the nation there is no democracy in this state. It will signal to the nation that if it can happen here in Tennessee, it’s coming to your state next. And that is why the nation is watching us, what we do here.”

Jones knew the legislature’s actions weren’t just about expelling him, but expelling the people. All of us. Including American Filipinos.

Condescension from fellow Asian

Not surprisingly, one of Jones’ detractors was from within, another Asian American, Sabi “Doc” Kumar, a 75-year-old retired doctor who has served in the state house since 2015.

Kumar, an Indian American born under the British Raj, who immigrated in 1970 to Florida and is a somewhat celebrated gallbladder specialist, was condescending in his floor speech on the situation.

I didn’t catch all of his statement, but essentially, paraphrased, it was be like me, a success, I played the game and am part of the club. You could have been part of the club too.

I had it muted at first and caught only his genial and civil close. “I wish you all the best,” Kumar said to Jones as the near hour-long debate on Jones was coming to an end.

But then later I saw the video of Kumar’s floor speech where he essentially accused Jones of a racial assault.

“You walked up to me, had no business coming up to me,” Kumar said from the floor. “You shoved you’re finger in my face and said Kumar they will never accept you.”

And then he accused Jones of insulting him, his colleagues, the legislative body and the state.

Jones was astonished by Kumar’s attack. But it’s indicative of a real generational divide in the AAPI community.

“I don’t even know where to start, to be honest,” Jones said in response as he spoke from the podium. He said Kumar told him, “You see everything under the lens of race. When you joined this body, you should’ve just become one of us. Just assimilate.’”

Jones couldn’t believe Kumar’s words and repeated his response. “That’s very disappointing to hear my friend,” Jones said to Kumar and the entire body. “And what I told you was what you just exhibited, as the only member of their caucus who is not a member of the Caucasian persuasion, I said, that you put a brown face on white supremacy.”

That sharp assessment brought a rebuke from the house speaker, which sparked debate on whether Jones had a right to respond to Kumar’s attack.

Jones won that point.

To Kumar’s glowing praise of the legislators in the state house that he has never heard a racial slur, Jones said that was wrong, since recently one representative recommended that “we should bring back lynching in this body.”

Then Jones returned to Kumar’s main criticism that he “would not be up for expulsion if I just assimilated, if I just conformed, if I just confined myself as he has done to be accepted by this body.”

Jones also objected to Kumar saying he attacked the chairman in debate, when he was simply “asserting the voice of his district” and “upholding my responsibility as a legislator.”

Specifically, Jones referred to a bill that censored conversations on race and what kids can learn in school because it makes people uncomfortable to talk about black history

“And he [Kumar] expected me to be censored as an equally elected representative, to not talk about the history of racism in America when he made those egregious statements,” Jones said to the full House. “He expected me to sit there and conform and accept things because that is the only reason that he’s been accepted by these members here. But I don’t want acceptance from you. I want acceptance from the people of my district. I don’t want approval from you. I want approval from the people in my district because I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make change for my community.”

Shortly after, Jones was expelled as a member of the state legislature by a partisan 72-25 vote.

Good Friday blues

The theocratic right that drives politics in Tennessee’s legislature no doubt had reason for reflection on Good Friday.

Because the day before was not a Good Thursday for American democracy.

It was a political crucifixion, with a Republican super-majority in the Tennessee General Assembly expelling two of three members who dared to speak out.

But even the theocrats know how the story ends.

Resurrection?  On Monday, Nashville local officials are expected to fill the vacancy from the expulsion with Jones himself. And then Jones could run for his old seat once a special election is announced.

This is the ridiculousness of how democracy dies and gets reborn in our divided America these days. It’s self-righteously obstructionist and wasteful as an un-Christian theocracy drags down our politics.

But expect to see more of this sort of thing in the future, including the Filipino/Asian American flare ups.

As our democracy’s diversity evolves, class, race and age become entangled in new ways as we deal with everything—not just guns. It could be something like DACA and immigration, or as we saw late last week, abortion.  With dueling judges in Texas and Washington contradicting one another on the legality of the abortion pill, how do we resolve the politicizing of everything?

This week, Jones and Tennessee provided a glimpse of our modern American political future.

It’s simply modern fascist style. You shut down the opposition, and its visibility, including the hidden Asian American parts.  And though it’s spotted briefly, it too gets lost in the mix—the Filipinoness of Justin Jones.

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NOTE: I will talk about this column and other matters on “Emil Amok’s Takeout,” my AAPI micro-talk show. Live @2p Pacific. Livestream on Facebook; my YouTube channel; and Twitter. Catch the recordings on www.amok.com.

Emil Guillermo is an independent journalist/commentator. He writes a column for the Inquirer.net’s North American Bureau.