Why Asian-Americans don’t really support each other as much as others would think.
Last year in August 2018, Crazy Rich Asians was released. It was the first feature film since The Joy Luck Club in ’93 to star a majority Asian-American cast. The masses flocked to the theaters as the film finished atop the box office on its opening weekend, then the second, and then the third. As of December 2019, it has grossed over $238 million worldwide, according to Box Office Mojo.
It took me three months to watch the movie.
But I wasn’t protesting. In fact, I quite enjoyed it. I thought Crazy Rich Asians was well made and from what I could tell those Asian actors performed well. The response and fanfare, in my mind, was deserved.
But I didn’t run to the movies the moment it came out, nor do I think it’s the greatest movie of all time. I didn’t love it — I just liked it. And by the tone of my words, I’m sure people out there will think that I’m hating and wonder why I don’t support Asians in Hollywood more than I do…
I support Asians doing their thing.
I think I do.
Do I?
We can’t, and don’t, talk to each other
This is a friendly reminder that Asia is a continent, not a country. If a Korean takes that 2-hour flight from Seoul to Tokyo, it’s not like a Californian going to Louisiana and adjusting to the Southern drawl; it’s more like a Californian going to Mexico and hearing Spanish everywhere.
This language barrier does not even factor in the centuries of bloodshed and conflict, comfort women and island disputes, a divide that goes much beyond any linguistic differences.
I’m also aware that there’s a good number of folks out there who don’t realize that Chinese is not a language, so one can deduce that said folks don’t know that certain groups of people within China don’t even share a common tongue.
If you grew up in Southern California like me, then you might have noticed that some Koreans only hang out with other Koreans, some Chinese only hang out with other Chinese, some Filipinos only with other Filipinos, so on and so forth. Because of this, certain areas have formed into mini representations of Asia — Koreatown for the Koreans, San Gabriel Valley for the Chinese (there’s usually always more Chinese so they need multiple cities — it’s not racist, just math), and Westminster for the Vietnamese being a few examples. Our immigrant parents struggled enough to adjust to Western culture and learn English. There was no time to familiarize with other Asians, and so the segregation of being from different countries with different languages carried over to the U.S.
We are slowly learning to break away from this pattern, which was evident in my utter excitement over Linsanity in 2012. A Korean-American getting hyped over a Taiwanese-American. He even torched my beloved Lakers during his insane run.
See? Progress.
But still, I doubt a Chinese guy and a Japanese guy in a crowded room are giving each other the nod upon eye contact, but maybe.
We’re taught to look out for ourselves
Like it was for many like me, it was all about academics growing up. There was no self-discovery, no individual expression, no carving out my own lane. My parents immigrated from Korea to give my brother and I a better life, and the plan was all laid out for us — get good grades, go to college, make money, get married, buy a house, have kids, set them on the same path, then die.
These were specific goals, and when your focus is this razor sharp there’s no use for anything else around you. It’s all extraneous and rather bothersome. I didn’t play little league baseball or join an AYSO team because the only thing my parents saw for me was studying. I can’t blame them — life was hard enough as is. Worrying about hitting little Billy’s curveball would get in the way of getting an A on that Algebra test.
During my childhood years, my mom would take us to church on Sundays. We would go to different services, and before we would split up, my mom would give both of us a dollar to put in the offering basket. At first, I wondered why. A dollar isn’t much. I asked her once why we don’t give more money. She grew a little indignant and told me that they don’t need more than that. I didn’t ask again.
By the tone of her voice, I understood the deeper message. We didn’t have much money, so we could only look out for ourselves. I didn’t grow up in a charitable house. No one ever spoke of volunteering for anything. I never saw anyone in our family go out of their way to help someone less fortunate. But it wasn’t out of malice or hate. This was part of the immigrant mentality — life is already a struggle. Just like my lack of participating in extracurricular activities, my parents couldn’t overextend themselves by helping anyone else because they were too focused on getting by.
Comparisons made us resentful
I also experienced being compared to other kids constantly when I was young. If a friend’s child got straight A’s — the pièce de résistance of achievements — my parents would let me know about it. “See? Brian got straight A’s, why can’t you?” They were playing fantasy sports and we were the players. When our stats weren’t up to par with the other kids, we would know.
I grew a little resentful and started tuning out the criticism. My parents weren’t trying to be mean. It was supposed to be a motivational tactic that just didn’t come out right. I started hoping none of the other kids did too well. I just didn’t want to hear it from my parents. They were competitive with their friends, and we became competitive with ours. I can see the effects today when I hear Asian-Americans hating on other Asian-Americans. We were raised in a world of comparisons where if someone did something great, that meant we weren’t doing enough. We needed to be better than, to do more than others like us.
To this day, my mom will mention how all of her close friends have granddaughters, and she’ll inevitably ask me when I’ll give her one of her own. Some things will never change.
“Again???” I said.
A few weeks back, I was vacationing with my wife in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. She’s Chinese-American, so in a strange way I feel like I’m contributing towards uniting Asian-Americans through my marriage. It’s probably a dumb thought.
“I can’t wait!” she said.
It was the third time that evening that she watched the trailer for the upcoming Mulan reboot. Like Crazy Rich Asians, I’m not all that excited about watching this movie in 2020, but should I be? Would it be wrong of me to not support another movie featuring a predominantly Asian cast? What’s the proper response from Asian-Americans to this upcoming release? What steps can be taken to further unite the 5.6 percent of the American population that identifies as Asian? I don’t really know the answers.
But I am going to watch. I do not want to upset the wife. That concept is universal.
