Why Mulan is my deepest insecurity
If you really want to pique my interest for a movie, give it a female heroine, fill it with an all Asian cast, awaken a story I grew up listening to, and better yet, just a few days before I decide to see it in theater, start an internet beef about its historical accuracy and then boycott it for a political cause. Live action Mulan pulled a publicity stunt like no other. As I sat in front of the big screen, all I wanted to know was what #boycottMulan is really about. 115 minutes later, I realized this movie is so much more for me.
I cringed when the first word was spoken. They are speaking English, with an accent! This was a reflexive kind of cringe, when your parents decide to drop in at your middle school dance and show off their moves kind of cringe. Instinctively I get second-hand nervousness when English is spoken with a Chinese accent; when I hear other Chinese people speaking English, I feel a strange connection to them. In those moments, I’m suddenly back in the dorm room, face flushed red, as my friends giggle while they imitate the Ming Moon delivery man saying, “Here is your fried rice Miss.” A judgment of them is a judgment of me. I am Chinese too, and no matter how valley-girl my accent may sound, I am inescapably a Chinese girl speaking English. Will American kids laugh at Mulan’s stiffened “r’s”? I was nervous.
I never overcame the “language barrier.” To watch and hear Chinese actors portray a Chinese story in English is like seeing a cat on a leash in the park. The irony is, I am the leashed cat too. You see, I am 100% Chinese, but I grew up speaking English. Believing in an international education, my family sent me to a bilingual school in Shanghai until I left for boarding school in Rhode Island. At this point, my English far exceeds my Mandarin.
When the pandemic sent me back to Shanghai in March, I reunited with a childhood friend, Chinese, at a bar. We talked about college classes, boyfriends, why TikTok is gaining so much traction…in English. The man a table over began glancing over and my eavesdropping kicked into overdrive.
He said, “Why are they speaking English? Chinese people speak Chinese.”
I was taken aback by the comment. Swiftly, I switched my conversation into mandarin and turned up the volume, as if to prove something to the man. I soon realized, he is not the only person who feels this way, and the sentiment reflects a growing nationalistic unease spreading across Chinese youth. This is two years into the trade war and days after President Trump called COVID-19 the “China Virus” and “Kung Flu.” Did my English suggest that I stood with the U.S, with Trump? Am I a betrayal to my Chinese roots?
When I see Mulan, I suddenly become the man at the bar and want to say, “Why are you speaking English? You are a Chinese story and Chinese stories should be told in Chinese.”
This awkwardness, a strained push and pull between western and Chinese, exists beyond the language of the film, but seeps into every corner of the story. In Chinese teachings and traditions, “Xiao” is a fundamental value preached by our families and rooted in our culture. Chinese philosophers — Confucius, Mencius, and Zengzi — taught extensively on Xiao. In Mulan, Xiao is translated as “devotion to family.” On the most basic level, Xiao is to care for one’s parents, protect them from pains, and be of company to them. To be a “Xiao Zi,” a devoted son to his family, is believed to bring honor to one’s ancestral lineage.
In the Chinese telling of the story, Mulan replaces her father and joins the army out of Xiao, a devotion to her crippled father, and she perseveres on her journey to bring pride to her family. In Disney’s Mulan, Xiao is only briefly mentioned when Mulan returns victorious but chooses to go home. Yes, this is Xiao, but any Chinese child would tell you that it’s the right thing to do. Mulan is a legend because she is willing to give up her life on the battlefield for Xiao, her greatest virtue. Instead, Disney endows Mulan with western feminist beliefs of trueness and individuality. At the height of the movie, Mulan is urged to embrace her identity and release her full strength. Standing on beautiful rocks, Mulan rips open her chest bind, transforms her armor into a skirt, and for the rest of the movie, executes perfect Kung Fu moves with a full mane of luscious hair flowing behind her. Like classic Disney heroines, Mulan overcomes gender biases and reaches success because she is a woman. But that is not Mulan; feminist Mulan is not Mulan, the devoted daughter of ancient China.
This is the problem; Mulan is neither western nor Chinese. To the Chinese audience, Mulan’s makeup does not conform to Chinese beauty standards, the Kung Fu moves are poorly choreographed, and the sets are built without meticulous historical records. On the other hand, #boycottMulan exists in a U.S American reality, where actors use their platforms to support freedom movements, and lead actress Liu Yifei supported police brutality in Hong Kong, an act against human rights. However, as a Chinese actress, Liu would be deprived of opportunities and a livelihood if she speaks against the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). In China, actors do not participate in activism because the context is an entirely different political environment, where free speech is rectified with severe consequences such as political detention, or worse, disappearing without a trace. Instead, many actors remain silent or in support of the CCP, which is the norm. It would be unfair to judge Liu against liberal U.S standards.
For me, I am Mulan, not fully western and not fully Chinese. On good days I feel like I am both, but on most days, when the headline reads “Biden Joins the Anti-China Chorus” or when LGBTQ activists are arrested in Beijing, I feel like I am neither. I sit at home in Shanghai for a semester, climbing over a firewall on the internet, to listen to a progressive podcaster say that banning Chinese international students from returning is not a harsh enough retaliation. On the other side of that firewall, the CCP took down yet another post about Muslims.
I spend my days walking atop the firewall, looking down at both sides. It’s tall and I’m scared, but it’s the only place that I know, neither one nor the other. I wonder if I will fall one day. Which side will I fall on? When the day comes, will I see the other side again?
