Not A Mail Order Bride
Last week, NBC greenlit a new series for development called Mail Order Family, a half hour sitcom loosely based on the life of writer Jackie Clarke about a white single father who orders a mail-order bride from the Philippines to help raise his two daughters. After 2 days of social media backlash from activists, bloggers, and members of the AAPI community, NBC scrapped the project.
Good call. Congratulations on not singlehandedly setting the era of Mindy Kaling, Fresh Off the Boat, and openly gay Hikaru Sulu back with a dumpster fire of racism and sexism. Just in time for Filipino American History Month! I still have one question. How did anyone think this was a good idea?
The entire premise of the show was a white family bringing a Filipina woman into their home through human trafficking. The history of the mail order bride business is rooted in slavery and the idea that women, specifically poor women from impoverished countries, can be bought and sold. Human trafficking today is modern day slavery, perpetuated in part by international “marriage broker” agencies that directly contribute to sexual exploitation of poor women and girls in developing countries. Human trafficking, sex slavery, and sex tourism overwhelmingly affect MILLIONS of women and children worldwide, especially Asian women and girls. In the United States, mail order brides — who are isolated from their family and friends in a country where they know no one and often can’t speak the language — are susceptible to much higher rates of domestic violence.
No part of that is funny or appropriate for the premise of a half hour comedy, especially when the problem is current, global, and threatens millions of lives.
The language of the statement initially provided by NBC is also telling. The show “follows a widowed single father who orders a mail-order bride”, squarely placing the white American man at the center of the show’s narrative. Showrunners and writers can bungle the issue of diversity in television by viewing people of color and other marginalized groups through a singular privileged lens; they attempt to tell our stories through the words and perspective of people who lack the context and awareness to portray us with truth and respect. In order for a show about sex trafficking to be faithfully carried out with sensitivity, it needs to place the subject of the trafficking at the clear forefront of the narrative…and not be written for laughs by people who lack cultural awareness of the issue. Refusal to do so runs the risk of perpetuating harmful stereotypes about Filipino women and trafficking victims (e.g. Orange is the New Black, where Officer Healy’s mail order wife Katya is somehow portrayed as the bad guy for not being an attentive spouse and explicitly asking for her freedom.)
Media about people of color viewed through a White lens often portrays us as objects to be observed rather than subjects with agency that the audience is supposed to relate to. When the writers themselves cannot relate to the characters in their shows, it’s easy to fall back on stereotypes. But, writing stereotypical characters, even if the stereotype is benign or even backhandedly positive (Model Minority myth, anyone?), is not just lazy. It’s dangerous. In her TEDTalk The Danger of a Single Story, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says the danger of a single story is simple:
“…Show a people as one thing, as only one thing, over and over again, and that is what they become.”
The problem is not merely that a Filipina is a mail-order bride on a sitcom. The core of the issue is that the only leading role on a major network that specifically called for a Filipino woman casts her as a mail-order bride. Filipino women are largely unrepresented in film and television. When we are, we typically fulfill one of three stereotypes: maids, immigrants, and sexual objects. Mail Order Family, what could have been America’s formal introduction to Filipina women in leading TV roles, promised a horrifying cocktail of all three. I’m almost impressed that a show boasting such a thunderously lazy premise was ambitious enough to efficiently represent all three stereotypes with just one character.
With the show’s development halted, my initial rage about the premise, its cultural implications, and the astonishing tone-deafness of the all white creative team has subsided. But, that rage gave way to a feeling that caught me completely off guard… Pity.
I feel sorry for every person involved with the project — the producers, the writers, the executives who spearheaded development, anyone who heard the pitch and thought “Yeah, this is a great idea!” Their understanding of our culture and humanity is so appallingly shallow that it is clear they have no personal connection with us. Do they have any Filipino friends? Have they ever met a Filipino person?
Often, the gap between what is true and what people simply believe about groups they don’t identify with is not the product of hate. It is the product of ignorance. It comes from not knowing us and thus, being unable to understand that we are just as interesting and human as they are. I understand the complexity of the Filipino experience because I live it every day and am close to people who do the same. I am incredibly fortunate to be Filipina, to be raised by them, and to have Filipino friends. It is a blessing that most people in this country sadly do not share. That is where the disconnect comes from, and media that reinforces stereotypes does nothing to educate and bridge that gap.
When ignorant people think of Filipino women, they think in caricature — crude representations of real human beings, free of nuance and rife with embellishment. To them, we are maids and immigrants speaking in halted tongues, a laugh track playing as we struggle to find the right English words. To them, we are altogether exotic and dirty, calling to white soldiers from the shore to save us, to take us to bed. To them, we are mail-order brides, demurely waiting to be bought, as easily ordered and delivered as kitchen appliances from Amazon.
When I think of Filipina women, those stereotypes are the furthest thing from my mind.
I think of my incredible mother, warm and compassionate, who survived an abusive childhood and went on to raise her own children with kindness and love. She is a fierce protector with boundless emotional and physical strength. She doesn’t just have more patience than I do; I’m almost positive she can benchpress more than me.
I think of my friend Kirsten, fierce and kind and full of laughter. A nursing student who loves surfing and L.A., hot dogs and activewear, generosity and mischief. She Iced me more than once, long after most of us had given up on the trend. She once scared away men who violated our personal space in the most effective way I’ve ever seen, a persistent high pitched siren screech.
I think of my cousin, a talented young artist whose mind is never short of creativity and insight. She is bold, independent, and sharply observant of the world around her. Her sketchbook is full of colors, brilliant illustrations, ideas in process.
I think of my friend Angel, a writer and blogger brimming with intelligence and compassion. An unapologetic fangirl full of infectious joy and a deep love of literature, especially YA fiction, the genre we first bonded over.
I think about my grandmother, my Lola, a tiny woman with an intimidating presence. She survived World War II in secret guerrilla rebel camps as a child and escaped an abusive marriage as a young woman. After decades of living in the United States, she flew back to the Philippines to tell her abuser “Fuck You” as he lay on his deathbed, asking for forgiveness.
And, I think about myself — passionate and flawed, messy and impulsive. A rape survivor. A performer. An idealist who never backs down from a fight.
Not a mail order bride.
I would rather watch a show about any one of these women than one touting tired sexual stereotypes. Wouldn’t you?
Stereotypes are more than oversimplifications of a complex group. They reinforce the idea that we are one thing and one thing only. They flatten our experiences. They make living breathing human beings entirely two dimensional. They accelerate a feedback loop of ignorance: people don’t know us, so they define us by our stereotypes. They believe they know the whole story and don’t bother to understand us. The cycle continues. And all the while, we get further away from each other, denying ourselves connections that could add joy and richness to our lives.
I continue to pity the people who believe the stereotypes, who repeat them back to others and write them down as fact. When they think of us as objects, it is a sign they do not know us. They have never had the pleasure of being our friend. They have never loved us. And that is the greatest shame of all.
