hardboiled

racism: an amateur's perspective

I used to be flattered to get attention when people asked me how to say things in Chinese…or Japanese…or Korean. It meant that they thought I was an expert on something, right? They wanted to learn something from me! However, since coming to Berkeley, I have realized that being asked how to say something in an “Asian language” is not always a compliment. In certain instances, such a request is an ignorant assumption about my ethnicity, my culture, my background, and my knowledge. Bet you didn’t think a simple question could contain so many important implications, huh?

While I was walking on Sproul last Thursday, a pamphleteer tried to pass me a flyer. Unfortunately for me, his propaganda was accompanied by a “Ni Hao”.

What the heck.

It gets worse. “Arigato” followed. First of all, fool, I can speak English. Second, good job for somehow guessing that I was born in Beijing, but I’m going to wager that you didn’t figure that out by my mannerisms, my way of speaking, or the content of my words. No, because you didn’t stop for one second to let me get a word out of my mouth.

____________________

FOB: Fresh Off the Boat. Sorry to break it to you, but the preferred means of transportation overseas nowadays is an airplane.

Is this term a point of Asian pride? Or is it a derogatory label that perpetuates the “Asians as outsiders” view? Until I was asked to consider this issue, I had never given the acronym “FOB” much thought.

It’s common for Asian Americans to refer to themselves as “fobby-looking.” This descriptor basically means that they are sporting hairstyles or clothing or accessories that are more commonly seen on Asian idols than on teenage kids from California. But what about those students who do come from Asian countries? Hey, I’m one of them. Isn’t it okay for us to use that term? I mean, we’re legit, right?

After quite a bit of pondering, I can honestly say that I have no idea what my stance is on the word “FOB”. I guess it’s a matter of interpretation. On the one hand, you can argue that reinforcing the idea that someone is “Fresh Off the Boat” means that we’re also reinforcing the belief that he or she can never assimilate into American society. On the other hand, why shouldn’t we of Asian descent and heritage reclaim a word that has been used to segregate and exoticize us? Pick your poison.

____________________

Let’s consider the fraternal twin of fobbiness—being whitewashed. I’ve never been accused of being too “Americanized”, but I’m pretty sure that it’s always been on the back of people’s minds. Although I was born in Beijing, I moved to the States when I was five and haven’t really looked back since. I can probably rattle off People Magazine’s top five Hollywood scandals faster than I can name ONE Chinese celebrity. I’ve eaten more fries in my lifetime than pot stickers.

Here’s the question that we’ve all been waiting for: Does being assimilated into one culture mean that one has to give up another culture? I don’t know. I’d like to say no. But recently, I’ve been noticing how much longer it takes for me to find the right words when speaking in Mandarin with my parents. Those Chinese characters that used to be roll right off of the pages into my brain have acquired a more unnatural tone. In my mind, it’s not about choosing sides. Life is about balance. Sure, I might fall in my great balancing act, but I’m trying….okay?

Work with me here.

____________________

Angry Asian Man, the moniker for the writer of a blog that goes by the same name, concludes certain news items with the exclamation: “That’s racist!”….I can’t do that. I’m not angry enough. I get it though, I really do. Racism still exists. It sucks majorly to be defined by the color of your skin and sometimes (if they care enough to look past the yellow), your physical features. The problem is, it happens too often and too subtly for a stray eye or comment to faze me anymore. Numbed by the avalanche of little, ignorant comments that threaten to bury me, I have begun to adopt a stoic stance towards cultural assumptions or ethnic biases expressed through looks, words, and actions.

And hey, here’s as question for those of you who’ve ever cracked an Asian joke involving the phrase “me love you long time”: What makes you think that you have the right to sexualize me based on the color of my hair or alienate me because my eyes aren’t the same shape as yours?

In their Def Poetry Jam performance, the lovely ladies of Yellow Rage conclude: “Don’t talk to me anymore, don’t fuck with me anymore, because I am done talking to you.”

But is blocking out the problem really the cure?

No.

We can bash racists all we want, but dialogue is necessary if we want to bring about change. Okay, I know that sounds idealistic and unfeasible. But hey, I’m not asking for some kind of world summit on racist here. I don’t expect everyone to agree with me on an issue of this gravity. But let’s talk it out. If we don’t try to promote education about the pervasive problem of racism, we’re screwed.

____________________

Recently, in my Asian American Studies class, we were posed the question: Does racism still exist?

That’s a difficult question to answer. I am already overwhelmed by the deluge of criticism and disagreement that I can see looming in the minds of the readers.

My initial reaction is to say “yes”. Maybe it’s not overt, as some people may argue. No, it’s more insidious. It’s in the way that a school administrator treats me, giving me the benefit of the doubt because I am a good little Asian girl. It’s in the way that strangers approach me, hesitating to speak English because they are afraid that I will open my mouth and blare out unrefined Chinglish back at them despite the fact that I have no Chinese accent. And that’s even worse. Because people whom I don’t know, and whom I will probably never get to know, assume that there is something that inherently makes me the unapproachable “other”.

Racism is not skin deep anymore. It has penetrated us to the core.

____________________

So listen up. Look around. Stop assuming. We’re all unique. Really, we are. And I’m sure you’d love me, or at least understand me, if you gave me a chance. Talk to me.