In the second week of March 2020, I felt the world move beneath my feet. Online orders for my business products had increased 300% over the previous month, but the factory told me they were shutting down. My mother called me in a panic, urging me to take my son out of school and stock up on masks. And for the first time since I was on the playground, I was called a chink by a customer.

My sustainable cleaning products company, Blueland, was born out of my identity as a mother and environmentalist, and has nothing to do with being an Asian American woman. However, since the rise of COVID-19 in the United States, my "Asianness" has become inseparable from my company. Through social media and email, the brand was inundated with derogatory comments about my race and the Chinese manufacturers we use. This pandemic brought fear and economic insecurity and encouraged Americans to voice their most hateful and extreme opinions about their neighbors.

Over the past year and a half, Breuland has received 1,500 comments on social media saying they should be ashamed of their employees and manufacturing methods. Many of them were hateful: "I don't buy from chinks anyway" or "Don't you think enough is enough from China?" For the first time in my career, I wondered if associating my name and face with the company would be a safety concern for my family. My heart aches with that fear.

Another kind of comment that may seem innocuous at first glance but is equally uninformed: "I thought it was made in China. I will not buy your product," someone wrote on Facebook. These comments come from a perspective that was already festering as part of America's long and conflicted relationship with China, even before COVID. To be clear, these ideas are also racist.

There is a belief among consumers that "made in China" products are shoddy, harmful, and unethical, a perception that first became widespread in the 1980s and may have been true 30 years ago when China's manufacturing capabilities were far less advanced than America's. Today, however, Chinese factories often have the technology and capacity to produce specific products at the highest level of quality and quantity that a company needs.

The "Made in China" issue highlights broader social and economic concerns. There is absolutely an opportunity to reinvest in American manufacturing. The U.S. needs the infrastructure to produce higher quality products at more reasonable costs, and keeping the supply chain local is good for both the economy and the environment. However, the reality is that this is far from being realized, and companies like mine exist within a larger ecosystem of supply chains and manufacturing capabilities. Going global is the only way to achieve the quality and scale our customers demand at an affordable price point. Patagonia, Dove, BABYBJÖRN, Toms, IKEA, and Apple are just a few examples of brands known for quality, safety, and ethics that have chosen to manufacture in China. The difference is that none of these companies are Asian-American.

We have been told by peers and fellow business leaders alike to minimize the truth about our supply chain. Investors have suggested that we focus on how cleaning ingredients are manufactured in the U.S., or that we emphasize that our products are designed in California. However, denying China's manufacturing capabilities is a form of exclusion and racism at its core.

In the past year, this sentiment has overlapped with Asians, myself included. It is a sentiment that we, too, are grossly inferior, harmful, and unethical. Many people believe that Asians are a threat to the health of their own families. President Trump repeatedly used the coronavirus to denigrate Asians, calling it "Kung Flu" at his rallies (opens in new tab), while he and most of his constituents refused to wear masks to prevent infecting each other (opens in new tab) (opens in new tab).

Given this growing rhetoric, it is perhaps not surprising that verbal and physical hate crimes against Asian Americans (opens in new tab) have skyrocketed across the country. It is frightening to witness such prejudice in this century, but sadly, Asian Americans have historically been unfairly associated with illness and dishonesty. It is not merely part of our shameful past; it is a part of our living present.

In response, I found myself refraining from appearing in social media posts for Blueland and suggesting that they use a white social media manager for their demo videos and ads. When the creative team suggested a product shoot featuring only Asian American models, I hesitated. I didn't want to subject the models to the same racist attention I had experienced. And then, to my shame, I realized that I had bought into a racist frame of reference when my intention had always been to do the opposite.

COVID-19 changed people's priorities. It became clear that nothing was more important than the health of myself and my family. That is one of the reasons my company is experiencing a boom in relevance and sales. Blueland's products speak for themselves without me as a spokesperson and without our team manipulating marketing materials to exaggerate patriotism. But as a consumer, I know that I appreciate a company that stands by its beliefs, even if it is unpopular with the majority. The way I treat my team, my partners, and my customers must be consistent with my values.

My products support people's health. Some parts are "Made in China." I am a proud Asian American businesswoman. While some may think these three aspects of my business are contradictory, I am beginning to understand that these truths support each other. Even if being honest means leaving some consumers behind, losing potential investors, or slowing the growth of my company, I am willing to accept it. In fact, I celebrate it. Because I know it is the right thing to do to protect the health of our country.

Sara Paisi Yu is the CEO and co-founder of Blueland, which is reimagining cleaning products to eliminate single-use plastic packaging.