《星球大戰》光明和黑暗勢力的戰爭，驚天動地，震撼人心。後續和前述，一集又一集，幾十年來，積聚了粉絲無數。英雄和美女角色個性分明，幾多演員借此電影係列成名，星光燦爛。

網絡時代，粉絲們在社交媒體聚集，形成粉絲團Fandom。科幻故事係列，《星球大戰》粉絲團以男性為主。有些粉絲癡迷男性英雄角色和Princess  Leia之類的高貴淑女，但不肯接受宇宙中出身社會底層的堅強女人。

《星球大戰：原力覺醒》的主角Rey是個拾破爛的女孩。扮演這角色的女演員Daisy Ridley被粉絲們瘋狂攻擊，最後不得不關閉她的Instagram賬號。

近來種族主義抬頭，《星》粉團找到了新的打擊目標：亞裔女人。越南裔演員Kelly Marie Tran在《星球大戰：最後的絕地武士》扮演一個維修技工Rose Tico，戲份很重的配角。去年底電影上映沒幾天，就有人在星球迷百科網Wookiepedia上把這角色改名，用對華人種族歧視的字眼。隨後又在社交媒體上攻擊這個演員和角色，肆意宣泄憤恨和仇視。今年六月，忍無可忍的Kelly Marie刪掉了全部Instagram帖。

終究邪不加正，粉絲和媒體開始發聲譴責種族主義和男權對亞裔女性的網絡淩霸。今天夏天的Comic con年會上，Rose Tico粉絲們集會Rally支持這女演員。

今天Tran姑娘在《紐約時報》發文，抗拒被網絡暴力邊緣化。

Kelly Marie Tran: I Won’t Be Marginalized by Online Harassment

她控訴網霸對她所造成的傷害。她解釋說關網是因為大量的惡意攻擊對她有“洗腦”作用，使她失去自信。這種“洗腦”不僅是網絡效應，更是社會上各種偏見和勢力在她成長過程中的影響。今天她開始反擊，從正名開始，堅持自我意識，一個亞裔女子在多元社會中的self identify和平等地位。

你們自己看吧，一個亞裔姑娘的心聲，堅定勇敢。她在向一個不平等的社會挑戰！

It wasn’t their words, it’s that I started to believe them.

Their words seemed to confirm what growing up as a woman and a person of color already taught me: that I belonged in margins and spaces, valid only as a minor character in their lives and stories

And those words awakened something deep inside me — a feeling I thought I had grown out of. The same feeling I had when at 9, I stopped speaking Vietnamese altogether because I was tired of hearing other kids mock me. Or at 17, when at dinner with my white boyfriend and his family, I ordered a meal in perfect English, to the surprise of the waitress, who exclaimed, “Wow, it’s so cute that you have an exchange student!”

Their words reinforced a narrative I had heard my whole life: that I was “other,” that I didn’t belong, that I wasn’t good enough, simply because I wasn’t like them. And that feeling, I realize now, was, and is, shame, a shame for the things that made me different, a shame for the culture from which I came from. And to me, the most disappointing thing was that I felt it at all.

Because the same society that taught some people they were heroes, saviors, inheritors of the Manifest Destiny ideal, taught me I existed only in the background of their stories, doing their nails, diagnosing their illnesses, supporting their love interests — and perhaps the most damaging — waiting for them to rescue me.

And for a long time, I believed them.

I believed those words, those stories, carefully crafted by a society that was built to uphold the power of one type of person — one sex, one skin tone, one existence.

It reinforced within me rules that were written before I was born, rules that made my parents deem it necessary to abandon their real names and adopt American ones — Tony and Kay — so it was easier for others to pronounce, a literal erasure of culture that still has me aching to the core.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I started blaming myself. I thought, “Oh, maybe if I was thinner” or “Maybe if I grow out my hair” and, worst of all, “Maybe if I wasn’t Asian.” For months, I went down a spiral of self-hate, into the darkest recesses of my mind, places where I tore myself apart, where I put their words above my own self-worth.

And it was then that I realized I had been lied to.

I had been brainwashed into believing that my existence was limited to the boundaries of another person’s approval. I had been tricked into thinking that my body was not my own, that I was beautiful only if someone else believed it, regardless of my own opinion. I had been told and retold this by everyone: by the media, by Hollywood, by companies that profited from my insecurities, manipulating me so that I would buy their clothes, their makeup, their shoes, in order to fill a void that was perpetuated by them in the first place.

Yes, I have been lied to. We all have.

And it was in this realization that I felt a different shame — not a shame for who I was, but a shame for the world I grew up in. And a shame for how that world treats anyone who is different.

I am not the first person to have grown up this way. This is what it is to grow up as a person of color in a white-dominated world. This is what it is to be a woman in a society that has taught its daughters that we are worthy of love only if we are deemed attractive by its sons. This is the world I grew up in, but not the world I want to leave behind.

I want to live in a world where children of color don’t spend their entire adolescence wishing to be white. I want to live in a world where women are not subjected to scrutiny for their appearance, or their actions, or their general existence. I want to live in a world where people of all races, religions, socioeconomic classes, sexual orientations, gender identities and abilities are seen as what they have always been: human beings.

This is the world I want to live in. And this is the world that I will continue to work toward.

These are the thoughts that run through my head every time I pick up a script or a screenplay or a book. I know the opportunity given to me is rare. I know that I now belong to a small group of privileged people who get to tell stories for a living, stories that are heard and seen and digested by a world that for so long has tasted only one thing. I know how important that is. And I am not giving up.

You might know me as Kelly.

I am the first woman of color to have a leading role in a “Star Wars” movie.

I am the first Asian woman to appear on the cover of Vanity Fair.

My real name is Loan. And I am just getting started.