Amidst my crazy, fervent job-hunting, I was ambushed with an interview in Chinese this morning. Yes, that’s correct, a woman with a heavy Chinese accent from the LA branch of a Chinese company based in Beijing called and asked if I had time to talk now, right now. I don’t even remember applying for this job. And it went exactly as terribly as you think it went. The conversation started off a little something like this.
Her: Do you have a green card?
Me: I’m a citizen.
Her: When did you come to America?
Me: I was born here.
Her: Oh…
After a short while, she decided that it was best that we conduct the rest of the interview in Mandarin. Um… this will not be pretty, I think. Shortly after this exchange begins, she, noting my Taiwanese accent, stops me and asks, “Wait, are you from Taiwan?” to which I respond, “[I just told you I’m from America, but for all intents and purposes,] yes.” And again, she says, “Oh…” I did not live long and prosper for the rest of the conversation.
Let’s be honest. My Mandarin is barely functional at best. Sure, I can flawlessly order a killer bowl of beef noodle soup. I can ask for directions to the Chiang Kai Shek memorial. I can ask relatives about the general state of Taiwan’s social culture. But do I know words like “international co-production”? Can I read a script? No, and Lord knows I can’t read a contract. But that’s never been anything to be ashamed of. Even when I’m abroad visiting family in Taiwan, people humor me and say that the only way they can tell is by the way I dress. My, my, how you must make your parents proud. An American that can speak such good Chinese! I’m not naïve. You can’t fool me. However, I will take it.
And here comes this woman, seeking an employee that has, quote, “Chinese just as good as their English, if not better,” in Hollywood, of all places, daring to judge me for not being from China, making a mockery of my mastery of the English language. (That’s a lie. That, too, is probably functional at best.) Not only that, judging me for my family’s decision to follow where the democracy went? Come on.
But as much as we hope it is, it’s really not that much better on the other side, the American side, of this identity that we are creating.
I didn’t exactly grow up with the realization that I am a minority. My high school was, what, 48% white, 48% Asian, and 4% everything else? Something like that. Growing up, the “Asian” aspect was more prominent than the “American”, if that makes sense. There was an unspoken rule that shoes were to be taken off when we went into each other’s homes; everyone, and I mean everyone, including the Koreans and Indians, greeted their friends’ moms with a perfect, “A yi hao,” when they saw each other; nobody used their dishwashers for dishwashing purposes; it was weird if you didn’t know the newest, coolest K-pop song and its corresponding dance moves, and you definitely knew all the members’ names, birthplaces, and ages (at the very least), and you had a favorite one. It was just the way the world worked, this homogeneous, systematic way of living. But it still wasn’t weird to be as American as you wanted; you could care about Star Wars, American sports, Taylor Swift, fashion, rap. (There were other things. You weren’t limited to just those things.) Still, it was like the white students and Asian students coexisted side-by-side. Of course you had friends that on the other side, but mostly, as groups, we lived our lives apart from one another, convening only in the classroom, smiling cordially at one another in the hallway, separate but equal.
It wasn’t until I left that soft, warm, segregated nest that I understood what it was like for the other Asian Americans, and it wasn’t until then that I finally began to thirst for diversity. I began to see the homogeny for what it was, both in the general public as well as back home. I began to realize that in that safe, safe space, I wasn’t free to pursue what was interesting to me, and it wasn’t the utopia that it likes to think it is. Part of it is just high school in general, the social pressure wanting to be part of the crew, wanting to be included in the conversations, having a serious case of FOMO. For example, I always had felt like the odd duck, going to college to pursue something creative. (But believe me, you do not want me examining your body parts. In the name of medicine!) And the other part of it is just the solace of it all, the comfort of knowing that the next person you’re going to meet is going to have the same culture, the same interests, a similar social circle. Suburbia, right?
So when I left suburbia, I thought, “Oh man! What’s next? A world of possibilities!” And there was… and there wasn’t. Maybe if you’re an ethnic minority (I still have trouble labeling myself as “ethnic”. It’s not ethnic food! It’s just food!), you’ll have had this experience in a similar or different field, but for me, it was the film business. You see, it turns out that while I had been living a homogeneous Asian American way of life, Hollywood had been and still is living a different kind of homogeneous life. Oh, you’ve read the headlines and seen the hashtags. “Some Kardashian or Pop Star Did Something and Appropriated a Whole People Group.” #OscarsSoWhite. Honey Boo Boo and Duck Dynasty. There isn’t much room for someone like me, someone who didn’t grow up watching the films of Alfred Hitchcock, Woody Allen, and Steven Spielberg.
And I finally understood what it felt like to be on the outside. I finally knew what it felt like to be the butt of jokes. I finally had become the one that was always in charge of doing the math, and I hadn’t been prior to that because everyone at home knew I am no good at math. I looked at TV shows like Girls and Broad City, both of which are critically acclaimed and lauded shows, and thought, “What? Why is that even an issue? Is that even a thing that happens to people?” I had an employer look me in the eye and say, “Hollywood is finally starting to be diverse. And when they say diverse, they mean black people and Latino people. They’re not even thinking about the Asians yet!” and laugh. This employer was politically incorrect, but not incorrect in other ways.
As I began to grasp a deeper understanding of the industry and of myself, I realized how ingrained this ideology was in me, that nobody was thinking about the Asians. For example, I’ll be the first to admit that I cringe at Asian American content made by Asian Americans for Asian Americans. And this is specific to this demographic. I have no problem with the Tyler Perrys and Robert Rodriguezes of this world. In fact, I applaud them. But not us, no, never us. Ang Lee? Good. Fresh Off the Boat? Goood. The Assassin, the Taiwanese-made film that was praised and was in contention to be one of the Oscar nominees for Best Foreign Film? Gooood. But Asian Americans? Stop trying, you goobers. Don’t you see? They don’t care about you. Stop with the film festivals and award ceremonies. Forget about it. Leave it alone.
And then I have to slap myself awake. What do you even stand for, woman? I had begun to think that the only way that the stories I have to tell and what I have to say matters is if a white person tells me it does.
I have a confession to make: I cry frequently during random Fresh Off the Boat moments that are too real, and I cried during the first season of Master of None. (Just so you can gain some perspective, I also cried, like, 10 times in The Help, but that was for a different reason.) What most people think of as a culture quirk meant for humor, I think of as a reality and a life that I had never seen reflected back to me before that moment. And it’s in those moments that I realize how suppressed we are in this realm. Can you imagine if a white person cried every time they saw something on TV that happened to them in real life?
To my fellow Asians out there: you can tell me as much as you want that representation in the media doesn’t matter to you, but at the end of the day, the majority of you will still point at Beyoncé’s Filipino background dancer and say, “One of us! One of us!”
And it permeates all of society. To this day, my sweet mother doesn’t understand that when her co-workers exclaim, “Ching chong ling long!” that that’s not an okay thing, because “just let the foreigners have their fun! (Yes, how one would describe a white person in Chinese is literally “foreigners”. The irony.) They don’t mean anything by it!” Do you think those white co-workers would say that if they saw more Asian people in movies and understood that those are real people and not tokens?
She also cannot tell, for the life of her, the difference between Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise. Yesterday, the day after Leonardo DiCaprio won his first Oscar, she called me to say that the guy who won Best Actor looks familiar. “Leonardo DiCaprio…? He was in Titanic.” “No, Matthew something.” “Mama, you’re looking at the wrong year.” But she’s trying, for me.
Yet, she knows exactly who Zhang Ziyi is. She knows who Gong Li is. She knows Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and of course, Ang Lee, the pride of our motherland. She’s so familiar with the faces and names of Taiwanese and Chinese actors and actresses, and she’s so invested in these Korean dramas she’s started watching that she’s beginning to answer the phone in Korean. So keep telling me Asian representation doesn’t matter because Asians aren’t watching anyway. You’re wrong. They’re just not interested in being belittled, humored, patronized, and stereotyped, by a system that’s never showed an interest in them.
Maybe if Asians mattered a little more in Hollywood, Hollywood would matter a little more to Asians.
Maybe if we mattered a little more, kids like me who want to grow up and tell stories wouldn’t be discouraged to do so. Maybe if we mattered a little more, those of us in medicine and tech and engineering would understand that the media can make a difference in our lives and that we haven’t been forgotten. Maybe if we mattered a little more, we wouldn’t gloss over what would otherwise be incredible storytelling, simply because it has nothing to do with us and has nothing for us to relate to. I have faith that the fight isn’t over, and that we haven’t lost, and that this isn’t the way that things are just going to be, and let’s just roll over and let it happen.
And I have faith in us. And now, when I say “us”, I mean Hollywood. There are literally billions of people’s endless stories that aren’t being tapped into because some guys (And I do mean “guys”) at the very top have decided that the only lives that matter are the lives of people with lighter skin, higher noses, and statuesque bodies. (To be fair, the female statues of the olden days possessed quite regular bodies. Beautiful, nonetheless, but nobody looked like a Victoria’s Secret Angel.) I have faith that we aren’t as closed-minded as everyone thinks we are. I have faith that we will strive for what makes for the best storytelling, not just chase what we think will make money (I actually think this is how we will make the most money). I have faith that there will be a day when things like this year’s Oscars’ Asian joke fiasco, things that deny us a claim in diversity, won’t happen again.
Sasheer Zamata put it my favorite way in her Lenny Letter post earlier this month:
Like, a bag of M&M’s is diverse, because they have a bunch of colors in the bag, and I’m assuming each color is evenly distributed (I’ve never counted the different colors in a bag of M&M’s, but I’d like to think it’s a good representation of a utopian society). If I opened up a bag of M&M’s and it was mostly full of green M&M’s and only a handful of blue and orange M&M’s were sprinkled throughout, this would not be a diverse bag, and I would think,Whoever put this bag together is really obsessed with green M&M’s.
TL;DR: We like to think that just because we tack “American” onto an identity, it means we are free, and that full-length discussion will come at another time. Hollywood, it’s time to make more stuff with more realistic, well-rounded Asians in it. Asians, stop pretending like it doesn’t bother you when you see yourself portrayed as a sex object friend, or a nerd friend, or Hollywood’s new favorite token: the edgy, gay Asian friend. Let’s all just kiss and make up.
