Everyday Occurrences

“So are you from China?”

I was at the cashier in the Gap (yes, I still shop there) in the biggest and “most diverse” city in the United States. Walking through the streets of New York City, you see people around you of all races and ethnicities—and my yellow skin definitely does not stick out at all.

Approaching the cashier, I started off with a “Happy Thanksgiving” (this was Black Friday) and a “How are you?” just to be friendly. I sympathized with him over the ridiculous hours they would be open that day, and as I was about to pull out my wallet to pay, I heard those words I dread to hear as an American.

“No,” I respond, “I’m actually from LA.” My teeth are gritted tightly and I glace over my shoulder to my friend behind me in line with an exasperated look on my face.

“Born and raised too,” I added.

The cashier nodded, gave me my receipt, and I walked off. Steaming.

As I walked away, I thought of a million things I had wished I had said or might have said if I lost my cool. Yes, sir, my ethnic background is Chinese. But no, I am not from China. No, just because I look Chinese does not mean I am from China. No, just because I can speak Chinese does not mean I am from China. No, just because I’m a visitor here in NYC does not mean I am from China.

No, sir, I am not Chinese. I am American. I’ll show you my goddamn passport if I have to.

Defining “American”

I took an US Foreign Policy course this past semester, with a fantastic professor and a group of very engaged students. In the final day of the course, as we discussed the future of US grand strategy, the professor offered a comment, paraphrased by me here:

What makes the United States different is that the definition of “American” is open to all—it is a mindset and a set of beliefs, unlike other nations, and so long as you hold those ideals, you can be American.

After the class ended, I went to the professor and recounted the story I have just told you. I told him that many times, being Asian-American, I am constantly questioned whether or not I “belong” here, whether or not I’m “American.” That when I’m asked where I’m from, people don’t care that I’m from Los Angeles, but instead they want to know that my parents are from Taiwan. That when it’s not just my parents that expect me to get great grades and become a lawyer or doctor, it’s American culture and society.

Some History

This alienation of AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander) is deeply rooted in American history—a history that is barely taught in classrooms, rarely recounted, and largely ignored (because why look to the negative things in the past when we have it “so good” now, right? Right?).

A quick timeline of some events for you (largely from the last century):

1865: Chinese workers begin to be recruited to work in the harsh conditions to construct the transcontinental railroad.

1882: Chinese Exclusion Act banning Chinese immigration into the USA.

1913: California bans Japanese immigrants from owning land.

1922, 1924: Japanese, then Indians, barred from naturalized citizenship.

1924: US Immigration Act bans most immigration from Asia, with quotas for Asian nations at zero.

1933: Filipinos ruled ineligible for citizenship, CA makes it illegal for whites and Filipinos to marry.

1942: Beginning of Japanese Internment camps during WWII.

1943: Fighting with the Nationalists in China during WWII, Chinese Exclusion laws are repealed.

1965: Restrictions on immigration from Asia largely lifted, now largely on same immigration policies as other nations.

1982: Murder of Vincent Chin.

Obviously there is a lot missing here, and a lot that cannot be attributed to one particular year. Some things missing include alien land laws (which existed in about eight US states restricting “aliens” from owning agricultural land), various forced exoduses of Asians from cities and towns, anti-Asian riots, discriminatory judicial rulings, etc.

Not to mention the heavy US involvement in East Asia in the 20th century—the Chinese Civil War, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the occupation of the Philippines, World War Two—that profoundly shaped the future of countless Asian-Americans here in the United States today.

What is the point of all of this?

My point was to just (really) briefly illustrate not just the facts, but the perspective in which US history tells these events. In my K-12 education, all I can recall being taught about any of these things only came in whispers and inserted comments. With things such as Japanese Internment in WWII, the history books and the teacher would definitely say it was wrong, but also add “at the time…” which doesn’t lead to anything good.

Never have I been taught the deep racism and discrimination Asians and Asian-Americans experienced in just the last century. It’s as if it doesn’t exist—why not just forget about it all and move on?

When we are unable to place ourselves within the context of history, we then truly lose grasp upon our own current potential and place within society. You’re taught that you need to forget that you’re yellow—just try to be like the white man and succeed.

When I Grow Up I Want to Be…

…Not President

At my kindergarten graduation (because finishing graduation is such a feat!), I recall saying on stage, “When I grow up, I want to become a scientist.” And although the idea of studying science now kind of turns me off (social science is more of my thing), back then, that’s what I truly wanted to do. I wanted to study astronomy and look out deep into space.

Never would it have ever crossed my mind to say or believe, “When I grow up, I want to be president.”

Because why would I? The president then (Bush Jr.) was white. All the presidents that preceded him her white. The leaders of the country were (and largely still are) white. When I would color in coloring books or those “homework” assignments, I would finally get to use the elusive peach crayon to color in the skin of the president. Because there is no way the president of the United States would be anything but white—and sure as hell not yellow.

We sometimes seem to forget the significance of President Barack Obama between bashing him on the Affordable Care Act (yeah people, that’s the same thing as “Obamacare”!) and taking a selfie with European leaders. We seem to forget that the significance of his presidency opened the door of the highest office in this land to people that aren’t white.

But yellow?

I’m still not so sure.

Maybe an AAPI can run for office in Congress (first Asian American was Dalip Singh Saund in 1956), be appointed to the President’s Cabinet (first: Norman Mineta in 2000), or even be governor (George Ariyoshi in 1974). But president? That’s still one hell of a bamboo ceiling.

Bamboo Cage

My point is not exactly centering in on politics exactly—although that is another equally exciting topic—but to what AAPI are allowed to be or become in American society.

We rarely see Asians in American television or media. Whenever I see an Asian on a TV competition (I love watching things like The Voice or The X Factor), I almost unreservedly and immediately begin rooting for them—sometimes before they even open their mouths to sing. When I see actors, such as Lucy Liu, on TV dramas, I get giddy and spend the time thinking about how remarkable it is to see an Asian on TV instead of focusing on the plot at all.

And yet many times Asians or references to AAPI that appear in popular culture are fetishized and temporary. A clueless teenage girl can sing a song talking about her love for Chinese food. Jay Chou, a king of entertainment in Asia, is at most a sidekick in an American film. When someone non-Asian acts as an Asian on TV in some sort of skit, they must put on an accent. In animated shows or films, Asian characters have slits for eyes, and must bow with their palms together to say goodbye.

The stereotypes that pervades the culture, and what I also grew up to believe, is that Asians become doctors, lawyers, or engineers—not politicians, actors, or creatives. The stereotype is that Asians are incapable of managerial duties and cannot lead, the stereotype is that a B is equivalent to an “Asian F,” the stereotype is that Tiger Mom seems to speak for “us” all, the stereotype is we must all speak our “native” languages, the stereo—I will just stop here for now.

It’s not just a bamboo ceiling—it’s a cage of stereotypes and prejudices dividing America.

“Yes Sir.”

Undoubtedly, we learn a lot and are influenced significantly by our parents. Growing up, I noticed that my father would always use the term “sir” or “ma’am” when talking to someone who is white, but not otherwise, and I never gave it much thought my entire life.

I even began to pick up on that. If I accidentally bumped into a white man, I would automatically snap, “Excuse me, sir,” and only say “excuse me” if they weren’t white. Always a “thank you ma’am” when an older white lady holds the door open at a store.

And I only realized I had this habit recently. It may seem like something unimportant to some, but it instilled in me some notion of submission—even though I am sure my father never meant it to be that way.

So how could I ever want to be president?

Removing the Asian-ness

Racial Transformations

Julie Chen is one of the few successful Asian faces in American popular culture. She has been the host of Big Brother since 2000 and is the moderator for the daytime talk show aptly named The Talk. She, like many Asians trying to climb the ranks of society in the United States, has had to face tremendous roadblocks not due to the integrity of her ability, but the color of her skin and the composition of her face.

Last year, Julie Chen revealed on The Talk that her solution to eliminating the roadblock to catapult her into her success was plastic surgery. And this isn’t something to be taken lightly, nor brush aside in comments that “people get plastic surgery all the time.” Her motivation was different—to breakdown her bamboo ceiling, she needed to do just one thing—look less Asian.

“But the agent said, ‘You’re good at what you do. And if you get this plastic surgery done, you’re going straight to the top.’”

In a piece on Gawker, Vassar student David Byunghyun Lee writes:

The people who we described as successful Asian Americans seemed to be the ones who successfully grew out of their Asianness and become Americans.

In the controversial piece “When Does Plastic Surgery Become Racial Transformation?”, the white privilege and racism that pervades through the article led me to write:

But all of this talk of wanting to turn white? This author is feeding the words into Leo’s mouth and blending his story into the author’s very own biases. This author makes a brilliantly stupid jump from quoting Leo to discussing the boom of plastic surgery in Asia, and then goes on to quoting comments that refer to Asians wanting to “Westernize their appearance.”

I see Asians striving to keep their skin as white as possible both here in the States and in Asia. The whiter you are, the more palatable and beautiful you are.

Person of Color

But this also should be discussed in another direction. Are Asians “people of color”? On paper, when universities, for example, give statistics on the number of students of color on campus, Asians are included. But when we talk about issues outside of that, “student of color” quickly is adapted to mean something else—e.g., just black and Latin@ students.

Maybe that’s correct: Asians as whole have a higher median household income than whites do or a higher percentage hold a bachelor’s degree than whites.

Ha, no.

If everything I’ve written above has not been enough to convince you otherwise, I’m not sure what else I can do.

The color of my skin is yellow. It is far from being white. I am a student of color.

“I’m Gonna Make This Place Your Home”

I was born in a suburb of Los Angeles and I grew up in the urban sprawl that is LA. But somehow, for me, this doesn’t feel like home. I don’t feel like I belong. Perhaps it’s an accident of language—when my parents used to say “going home” in its deepest sense, it would mean back to Taiwan. All my life, I’ve been left with this yearning for home—but does it even exist for me?

I go to an American liberal arts college, I primarily think and speak in English, my collection of books are all in English, and I have never lived in another country.

Asians, Asian-Americans, and Pacific Islanders continue to be otherized in American society. It’s this subtle, “What kind of Asian are you?” and Captain Sum Ting Wong discrimination that is quickly laughed off or ignored that hurts the most.

I put my right hand on my heart, and pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.

But America always reminds me that I’m still just an outsider. She reminds me that my yellow skin isn’t “American enough.”

“Are you from China?”

It seems as if I might as well be.