We are so excited to share this submission to the Field Guide from corps alum Crystal Chen! At the time of writing, Crystal was an Appalachian Conservation Corps Science Communicator intern working with the National Park Service. Thank you so much for sharing this piece with us, Crystal!

Growing up, my family spent a lot of time visiting the National Parks. It was a way for us to connect with one another and the natural world. I’ve now explored and worked for National Parks all across the country. As an intern with Appalachian Conservation Corps, I work alongside the National Park Service (NPS) as a Science Communicator. In my position, I create digital content about scientific findings to support eleven National Parks. One of my favorite parts about my position is the community built upon NPS Inclusive Science Communication practice circles, where we analyze NPS and other articles through the lens of diversity, equity, and inclusion. I seek to use what I’ve learned in these conversations in my work, and in my everyday interactions.

the author of the story, Crystal Chen, smiles at the camera. She is wearing a grey hoodie and has a septum piercing. She is standing on an overlook with mountains and the sunset in the background.
Crystal spearheaded a movement to make park content more inclusive.

Despite my long history with National Parks, I didn’t realize that I was missing a core personal connection with our public lands — learning about Chinese American history. While I learned a lot about white American history, from the battles of the Civil War to colonial settlement, it was rare that I came across exhibits featuring my own cultural identity or history. But, I didn’t really question it. I just thought there weren’t that many stories to tell. Or perhaps the stories would fall on deaf ears.

In May, I visited a National Park featuring Chinese American history — my first time hearing stories that connected me to my heritage in this setting. To my utter dismay (and disappointment, sadness, anger, etc.), the stories being told lacked representation. They also contained multiple instances of harmful language that perpetuated negative stereotypes. 

Some of it was blatant. One statement claimed that an unfair wage gap allowed Chinese railroad workers to have a healthier diet, because they had to cook for themselves. Back then, Chinese railroad workers received less pay than their white counterparts, and had to pay for their own food, housing, and clothing.

Whose stories do we hear? Who is telling them?

A shady trail stretches through a grassy hillside toward a mountain peak in the distance, which is illuminated by the sun.
In her position, Crystal created digital content about scientific findings to support eleven National Parks.

Some of it was missing an opportunity to be inclusive. Over 90% of the transcontinental railroad workforce were Chinese. But, not a single Chinese person was shown in any of the exhibits. There weren’t even translations offered for visitors, including descendants of these workers. 

When I visited with my parents, my mom commented on how she wished she could read the original poems that Chinese workers wrote about homesickness. Sadly, the exhibit displayed English-translated poems, omitting the original version. This was a chance to connect with a broader audience that was overlooked, and directly impacted my own family’s experience and connection with the park’s history. 

This experience solidified my desire to share the tales of those who have been historically excluded from the storytelling spotlight. With dogged persistence, I spearheaded a movement to make the park’s content more inclusive. Through this process, I’ve learned a lot about how to institutionalize non-dominant narratives. I seek to center the voices of the people whose stories are being shared. It’s important to question, “Whose stories do we hear? Who is telling them? What voices have been removed? How can we expand the dominating narrative, which is often isolating and exclusionary?”

Stories are powerful. They shape people’s identity and help people feel connected while exploring complex emotions. Stories can also capture a world where anything is possible. If someone that you can relate to has a role in a story, you can put yourself in their shoes. When your stories are continuously excluded, it gives the impression that you don’t have a place, that there’s no precedent for someone like you in that space. Finding out about the contributions of people before me or that these stories existed all along felt like parts of myself were held from me.  

Throughout all of this, I’ve learned some key lessons that I’d like to share for our readers of this zine:

I also learned from my experience that we must challenge what stories we commonly hear, and always question: who gets to tell these stories? Looking back on these stories can serve as an important catalyst for the more inclusive future we can create. My hope is that when I next visit the park, these issues will be fixed, and the stories of the people will be told in their lens – their language, their humor, and with their personal testimonials.