Joyful Reading of "Chinatown Vancouver: An Illustrated History"

Reading Chinatown Vancouver: An Illustrated History by Donna Seto has been an absolute joy and revelation. From the moment I opened its pages, I felt immersed in a vivid and engaging tapestry of a community that has shaped the soul of Vancouver. The book’s vibrant illustrations bring to life a neighbourhood that is both historic and alive – and very near and dear to my heart. The historical Chinatown that I know — its narrow streets buzzing with memory, its shopfronts glowing with the warmth of people who built something enduring against the odds – brought back many fond memories for me. And to a past I have heard of but never visually experienced in a book.

I found myself lingering over the write-ups on the buildings, or searching on Google Street View, each one a small story of resilience and pride. The interviews with community members are deeply moving — their voices remind me that Chinatown isn’t just a place on a map; it’s a living archive of hope, survival, and belonging. Donna Seto’s research through archival photographs, too, offers a powerful window into the bustling heart of the community during its thriving days. I could almost imagine stepping through the doors of Cathay Importers, hearing the clatter of plates at Ho Inn Restaurant, or catching the aroma of a meal at Ho Ho.

For a librarian and historian like myself, Chinatown Vancouver: An Illustrated History isn’t just a history book. It’s a love letter to a neighbourhood that carries the weight of generations, a reminder that place connects us to our past and shapes our future. Reading it, I feel both pride and responsibility — pride in the community’s strength, and commitment to ensure its stories continue to be heard.

 

Competency Checking in the Modern Workplace

A decade ago, when I was earlier in my career, I experienced an incident that continues to follow. During a retreat, our team participated in a group activity to generate ideas about the program logic model. When it was my turn, I suggested that any initiative should have an element of autodidacticism. Expecting to build on this point or continue with the conversation, there were no comments. Instead, my boss noted I had used a “ten-dollar word,” followed by snickering amongst the group, who then moved on to break time.  

I had trouble articulating what I had experienced at the moment, but I felt demoralized. My contribution felt like a joke that didn’t resonate with the audience. Except I wasn’t joking. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first, nor the last, time I experienced such a microaggression. At its worst, I questioned my sanity in such situations. Now more than two decades into my career, I can confidently say that this is common among marginalized individuals.

Shari Dunn, an EDI consultant and author of Qualified, answers precisely what I experienced and have been puzzled by. It’s called competency checking. There are three primary ways competency checking is deployed in the modern workplace, and its roots are deeply crystallized from centuries of systemic racism. When the majority population perceives anything that threatens them, in this case, intelligence, it evokes an unconscious bias and cognitive dissonance. Competency checking illustrates three things happening:

Assumption – Manifests in low expectations, marginalization, and extreme micromanagement. Suppose someone assumes that they are intellectually inferior. In that case, they may question the individual’s qualifications more closely during an interview and, once hired, pay much more attention to their work while looking for any mistakes.

Expression - Particular surprise or unease with open displays of BIPOC intelligence, which can trigger requests or demands to confirm how it was acquired and whether it’s the result of rote memorization or actual, integrated knowledge. This can be manifested as dismissal, quizzing, argument, and tokenization.

Activation - A feeling of fear when confronted with a BIPOC person who holds any authority, especially someone in a leadership position. This manifests as requests for identification, undefined feelings of unfairness, anger, and unease.

The only way to truly deal with the impact of competency checking is to acknowledge that it is happening. It’s no wonder there is a lack of vertical career trajectory, which refers to the absence of opportunities for employees to advance to higher-level positions within an organization, often resulting in career stagnation for BIPOC individuals, and we're not just talking about libraries.  

 I’ve seen so many colleagues’ careers plateau, where an individual remains in the same role or at the same level for most of their career without significant advancement. I can certainly speak to this experience, and I can say it hurts the morale of an organization. It’s my hope that Shari Dunn’s work continues to help those who are in the ruts be more inspired that there are actions that can be taken and agency in one’s role if they feel underappreciated. We just have to look for it.

10 Years at the Helm of Ricepaper Magazine

 

This week marks a major milestone—ten years as Editor-in-Chief of Ricepaper Magazine. On Wednesday, I’ll have the honour of reflecting on a decade of storytelling, advocacy, and community-building in Asian Canadian literature.

What am I most proud of? Helping amplify voices too often left unheard. I’ve had the privilege of publishing both emerging and established Asian Canadian writers—each one reshaping the literary landscape and expanding the boundaries of what Canadian literature can be.

Back in 2016, we made the bold leap from print to digital. It wasn’t just survival—it was reinvention. That shift allowed us to embrace multimedia, reach new audiences, and publish fresh work from across the globe, including a growing wave of Southeast Asian voices who found us online and submitted their stories, often for the first time. That pivot wasn’t easy, but it gave Ricepaper a second life—and a bigger one.

As editor, I’ve helped shape some of our most potent and timely themed issues, including “Time and Space,” “Myths, Legends, and the Supernatural,” and “Re-Imagining Asian Futures”—themes that tapped into the pulse of identity, diaspora, mental health, resilience, and memory across generations. Our readers weren’t just reading—they were seeing themselves.

We are currently celebrating 30 years of Ricepaper with our latest anthology Infusions, a special collection of writing in Ricepaper Magazine that spotlights a new wave of Asian Canadian and Asian diasporic voices. Alongside that, we launched an archival project that captured the impact of the Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop (ACWW), preserving its legacy for the future.

Mentorship and collaboration have always been at the heart of what I do—nurturing new editors, mentoring interns, and building bridges with universities, cultural organizations, and literary festivals like LiterASIAN and Word Vancouver. We’ve grown stronger together.

One of my proudest moments? Renaming the ACWW Emerging Writers Award after my friend and mentor Jim Wong-Chu, following his passing in 2017. It felt right—to honour his legacy while making space for the next generation of literary talent.

Ten years in, I still believe Ricepaper matters more than ever. We’re not just publishing stories—we’re continuing to shape the future of Asian Canadian writing.