Victoria Nalani Kneubuhl's The Conversion of Ka'ahumanu is, in many ways, a traditional story of how native peoples are colonized and converted to the religions and ideas of the white majority of American. Ka'ahumanu is a queen of the Hawaiian islands who rejects the Gods of the Hawaiian tradition and is persuaded to convert to Christianity by dedicated missionaries. However, Ka'ahumanu is not your typical submissive 'outsider' woman; she is strong, opionionated, and fears no man. In Ka'ahumanu, Kneubuhl has created an active woman character: Ka'ahumanu has doubts, fears, and prejudices, but strives to do what she believes is right.
It is interesting that the Hawaiian peoples are not portrayed as a 'model minority.' Some minority peoples, especially those in the Asian communities, are depicted by the media as being 'safe,' thus leading to the stereotype that Asian-Americans are hard-workers and borderline doormats, not rabble-rousers. But Ka'ahumanu, Hannah, and Pali are women with foibles, desires, even dark secrets. They do not obey anyone but their own selves. Even though Ka'ahumanu and Pali convert to Christianity in the end, one gets the sense that they have made the decision out of their own accord, not because they are blinded by any notion of 'white superiority.'
As I read the play, I naturally pictured the actors as they are described to be. But then I think back to our last class, where RJ was cast as the Filipino-hating bullies and Todd and Bobby were cast as Filipinos. Non-traditional casting puts such a different spin on perspective. I think that, in Virginia, it is more common to see Caucasians cast in minority roles since the population here is overwhelmingly white. So while it was not terribly strange for me to see Todd and Bobby in the roles in Filipinos, it was very strange to see RJ in his role. The disgust on his face as he was kicking Todd...it was very eerie. In a way, it was almost like a very twisted parallel empowerment. Even though it was acting, it was also not; for the first time, a Filipino was in the position of power, and could use it to channel his frustrations from having been on the bottom. I don't know. What I do know is, the entire scene was very powerful. I was almost scared by the emotions it invoked in me...I could feel RJ's character's anger, but mine was directed not at Filipinos, but all the times that I or someone I knew had been wronged because of our race. I was surprised that that much anger existed in me. But violence solves nothing. And I guess that's what we're trying to do in this class: invoke change in a meaningful and peaceful way. There is a lot that we can learn from the past.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Calling Somewhere Else "Home"
I've been thinking a good deal about immigration lately. Granted, this class is largely about immigration, but I've been thinking about it for a while now. I think it all started in high school, when one of my friends made the comment that if immigrants didn't like how things were in America, then they should just "go home." It seemed strange to me that if someone has a foreign face, their "home" is perceived as being elsewhere other than America, even if they are citizens of this country. If a person of traditional European descent was a flaming liberal and complained about Bush, taxes, and a lack of organic foods in the supermarket, would my friend have made the same comment? Would the liberal have been told to "go home," to go back to Germany or what-have-you? I think not.
This past summer, one of my best friends told me about her plans to move to Italy after graduation. She is white, never been abroad before, and felt nervous about having to go somewhere where she didn't speak the language or know the customs. "I can't take all my pots and pans with me to Italy...what if I don't like it there, and have to come back? How...How do people just pack up and leave like that?" I thought about what she said, and replied, "People do that because they have to. That's how the immigrants in America feel. They give up their lives in their home countries to come here, and even if they aren't used to life here, they can't go home." Where would they go? Back to the house that they sold? Back to the job that they've quit? Unlikely.
The movie that we watched today, "Picture Brides," was poignant and moving. Riyo's experiences as a picture bride to the sugar cane plantations of Hawaii is fraught with hard work and tears. At first, she feels that she doesn't belong to Hawaii; she still considers Japan to be her home. Whereas the other women sing in the fields while they work, Riyo remains silent. She is not yet a part of that community. But as the film progresses, we see that Riyo gradually becomes integrated into the plantation community; she never does return to Japan. We see how the immigrant groups incorporate aspects of their own culture into that of the white community in Hawaii. It was particularly apparent in their language; it was as though the immigrant groups developed a language all of their own. The film reminds me very much of the fact that no matter where we go, we carry a part of our past with us. It is also impossible to remain unchanged by our environments; no matter where we go, we take a part of that place and incorporate it into ourselves. For Riyo, Hawaii eventually becomes her home, just as stateside America became the homes for so many of us.
This past summer, one of my best friends told me about her plans to move to Italy after graduation. She is white, never been abroad before, and felt nervous about having to go somewhere where she didn't speak the language or know the customs. "I can't take all my pots and pans with me to Italy...what if I don't like it there, and have to come back? How...How do people just pack up and leave like that?" I thought about what she said, and replied, "People do that because they have to. That's how the immigrants in America feel. They give up their lives in their home countries to come here, and even if they aren't used to life here, they can't go home." Where would they go? Back to the house that they sold? Back to the job that they've quit? Unlikely.
The movie that we watched today, "Picture Brides," was poignant and moving. Riyo's experiences as a picture bride to the sugar cane plantations of Hawaii is fraught with hard work and tears. At first, she feels that she doesn't belong to Hawaii; she still considers Japan to be her home. Whereas the other women sing in the fields while they work, Riyo remains silent. She is not yet a part of that community. But as the film progresses, we see that Riyo gradually becomes integrated into the plantation community; she never does return to Japan. We see how the immigrant groups incorporate aspects of their own culture into that of the white community in Hawaii. It was particularly apparent in their language; it was as though the immigrant groups developed a language all of their own. The film reminds me very much of the fact that no matter where we go, we carry a part of our past with us. It is also impossible to remain unchanged by our environments; no matter where we go, we take a part of that place and incorporate it into ourselves. For Riyo, Hawaii eventually becomes her home, just as stateside America became the homes for so many of us.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
In-Between Speak
As an English major, I know that I have a tendency to put a disproportionate amount of importance on the role of words in our lives. However, I feel that very few people will dispute the fact that language plays a crucial part of how we learn, interact and form relationships with others. Whole communities are built based on the power of words.
But this only works if we all speak the same language. And even then, the way the language is presented is also a factor in assimilation.
America is unique in that we have no official national language; we are a country of immigrants, and the diverse number of languages spoken in America reflects that heritage. And yet, the language of the first Europeans to cross over is still the dominant form of communication. Non-native speakers of English face greater challenges than do English-speakers when it comes to assimilation into the American social network. As we gradually become a more global community, it has become increasingly important to be multi-lingual. Nowadays, multi-lingualism is admired and strived for. But for a while, it was the trend for immigrants to abandon their native tongue and to only teach their children the language of America: English. But because language is so tied to community, these second-generation children find themselves in-between communities: they do not look like mainstream Americans, but sound like Americans; they look like immigrants, but cannot speak the language of their parents.
For me, growing up Taiwanese-American definitely presented itself as a balancing act between speaking English at school and Mandarin at home. Like many other second generation kids, I can write tomes about my assimilation experience: trying to figure out the English language; being mistaken for exchange student; having people compliment me on how well I spoke English. No matter how fluent I am in English, there are people who will hear an accent because the language is being issued from a foreign face. Even though I sound American, I still feel like there is a sense of not belonging to American society because my parents are, as Takaki is fond of saying, "from a different shore."
Interestingly enough, when I go visit my relatives in Taiwan, they shoot deploring looks at my mother because I've become a "foreigner" to them--to them, I don't belong to the Taiwanese community because my Mandarin is probably around the same level of as a 5-year-old's. I cannot read or write Chinese characters. I look Taiwanese, but I don't sound like them. This augments the sense of being in-between, of not quite belonging to either community. Being a hyphenated American forces us to look closely at our identities on a daily basis because "community," for us, is a transient sense of belonging that we are still seeking to establish.
But this only works if we all speak the same language. And even then, the way the language is presented is also a factor in assimilation.
America is unique in that we have no official national language; we are a country of immigrants, and the diverse number of languages spoken in America reflects that heritage. And yet, the language of the first Europeans to cross over is still the dominant form of communication. Non-native speakers of English face greater challenges than do English-speakers when it comes to assimilation into the American social network. As we gradually become a more global community, it has become increasingly important to be multi-lingual. Nowadays, multi-lingualism is admired and strived for. But for a while, it was the trend for immigrants to abandon their native tongue and to only teach their children the language of America: English. But because language is so tied to community, these second-generation children find themselves in-between communities: they do not look like mainstream Americans, but sound like Americans; they look like immigrants, but cannot speak the language of their parents.
For me, growing up Taiwanese-American definitely presented itself as a balancing act between speaking English at school and Mandarin at home. Like many other second generation kids, I can write tomes about my assimilation experience: trying to figure out the English language; being mistaken for exchange student; having people compliment me on how well I spoke English. No matter how fluent I am in English, there are people who will hear an accent because the language is being issued from a foreign face. Even though I sound American, I still feel like there is a sense of not belonging to American society because my parents are, as Takaki is fond of saying, "from a different shore."
Interestingly enough, when I go visit my relatives in Taiwan, they shoot deploring looks at my mother because I've become a "foreigner" to them--to them, I don't belong to the Taiwanese community because my Mandarin is probably around the same level of as a 5-year-old's. I cannot read or write Chinese characters. I look Taiwanese, but I don't sound like them. This augments the sense of being in-between, of not quite belonging to either community. Being a hyphenated American forces us to look closely at our identities on a daily basis because "community," for us, is a transient sense of belonging that we are still seeking to establish.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Ghosts of History
The second chapter of Takaki's book, "Overblown with Hope," spoke of the hardships endured by immigrants who came to America in hopes of striking it rich, or even just breaking even. What most found instead was backbreaking work with very low wages in places rife with racial discrimination. Takaki breaks down the experiences by race, but the similarities in the difficulties faced by each are overwhelming. The hardships span from the obvious, such as discrimination and isolation at the hands of bosses pitting one race against another in hopes of increasing product output and preventing unified strikes, to the minute, such as being given unfamiliar and untasty food. Though it may seem that the experiences of Asian immigrants are not unlike those of their European counterparts, one must keep in mind that these Asian immigrants did not have the opportunity to be visually assimilated in the way that European immigrants were. Even today people from "a different shore" as seen as just that: different.
Over the summer, I watched a heart-wrenching documentary called "Ghost" about illegal Chinese immigrants that comprise a large (and invisible) labor force in the U.K. After reading the second chapter, I am struck by how little things have changed. The Chinese who illegally enter the U.K. today are in search of the same things that the Asians who went to America were: the promise of money, being able to provide for their families back home, starting a new and better life. They face the same difficulties: low wages, hard labor, corrupt supervisors, very poor living conditions, unfamiliar food.
And they, too, are overlooked by the masses. The impact of Asian immigrants in a country is still ignored. Granted, the documentary spoke of Chinese immigrants in the U.K., not American; but one must wonder, if the stories of Asian immigrants from a hundred years ago are largely suppressed, what modern stories are still hidden as well? It is an uncomfortable truth to have to acknowledge that Asian immigrants have a history; that uncomfortable truth still remains untold today.
Over the summer, I watched a heart-wrenching documentary called "Ghost" about illegal Chinese immigrants that comprise a large (and invisible) labor force in the U.K. After reading the second chapter, I am struck by how little things have changed. The Chinese who illegally enter the U.K. today are in search of the same things that the Asians who went to America were: the promise of money, being able to provide for their families back home, starting a new and better life. They face the same difficulties: low wages, hard labor, corrupt supervisors, very poor living conditions, unfamiliar food.
And they, too, are overlooked by the masses. The impact of Asian immigrants in a country is still ignored. Granted, the documentary spoke of Chinese immigrants in the U.K., not American; but one must wonder, if the stories of Asian immigrants from a hundred years ago are largely suppressed, what modern stories are still hidden as well? It is an uncomfortable truth to have to acknowledge that Asian immigrants have a history; that uncomfortable truth still remains untold today.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Talking Story
Last class, Francis brought up the question of truth. Truth is a tricky little thing; it is subject to individual perspectives and experiences. My truth may be completely different from someone else's. Our past experiences shape our identity; thus, two people from different backgrounds may view the same event in an entirely different way. This is a struggle that is faced by many people, but Jeannie Barroga's play, Talk-Story, specifically addresses the differences of race. Her story is populated by people of color: Dee is a Filipina-American; her friend Clara is African American. We see a clear rapport between Dee and Clara. They understand each other, as women and as members of the racial minority. Dee's relationship with Lon fails because he does not understand her frustration and preoccupation with her heritage. As a member of the racial majority, the idea of racial tension is just that: an idea. It is not real for Lon, in a way that it is real for Dee. He did not see little incidents as being worth fussed over because, for him, they are isolated and unimportant. For Dee, these little incidents represent a generation's fight to be accepted as Americans. Every time she is slighted, it is a much bigger deal because it simply should not happen. Thus, the question of truth: is racial discrimination real, or does it only exist in people's heads? Does it matter?
Talk-Story raises another interesting point regarding the question of truth: is the truth about the past really that important, or is it what you make of it that is more crucial? Towards the end of the play, Dee is horrified to learn that her father's talk-stories have been greatly embellished, perhaps even made up. As a writer, being truthful is critical. She has put his oral stories into print, and the printed word has always been regarded as being true. If her father's stories are not true, then Dee has packaged lies to be taken as the truth. But Frank tells her that stories are armor, are what makes people stronger. Pedro begs her to remember them as heroes. It seems that, for Frank and Pedro, the truth is whatever that needs to be told to help people survive. Like the Oracle in The Matrix, Frank simply tells Dee what she needs to hear, not necessarily what she would consider to be true.
The question of identity that Dee struggles with is one that I feel that many of us can relate to. Yes, she is Filipina; but she is also American. Lon sees her as being white, but she knows that she is not. And yet, she cannot say that she is Filipina, either. Her identity is split between the two, just as many of us struggle to reconcile our American and Other identities into one, cohesive identity. But if the truth can be multi-faceted, can't our identities be as well? But how is one person to manage a multi-identity?
Talk-Story raises another interesting point regarding the question of truth: is the truth about the past really that important, or is it what you make of it that is more crucial? Towards the end of the play, Dee is horrified to learn that her father's talk-stories have been greatly embellished, perhaps even made up. As a writer, being truthful is critical. She has put his oral stories into print, and the printed word has always been regarded as being true. If her father's stories are not true, then Dee has packaged lies to be taken as the truth. But Frank tells her that stories are armor, are what makes people stronger. Pedro begs her to remember them as heroes. It seems that, for Frank and Pedro, the truth is whatever that needs to be told to help people survive. Like the Oracle in The Matrix, Frank simply tells Dee what she needs to hear, not necessarily what she would consider to be true.
The question of identity that Dee struggles with is one that I feel that many of us can relate to. Yes, she is Filipina; but she is also American. Lon sees her as being white, but she knows that she is not. And yet, she cannot say that she is Filipina, either. Her identity is split between the two, just as many of us struggle to reconcile our American and Other identities into one, cohesive identity. But if the truth can be multi-faceted, can't our identities be as well? But how is one person to manage a multi-identity?
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Strangers from a Different Shore
I thought that it was funny that Francis should bring up Alzheimer's in class the other day. The idea of losing one's mind is a frightening prospect...after all, what is identity but a compilation of all of one's past experiences? Who are you if you have no conception of the past that has shaped you? What is one's identity if one has no recollection of one's past?
In this way, I think of Takaki's emphasis on the lost histories of Asian Americans. He raises issues that every American of Asian descent has faced: the struggle to accept our faces, and the coming to terms with a history that has been largely ignored by textbooks and mainstream media. Takaki is frank about social prejudices; people are not generally maliciously racist, but certain remarks (like that of the white woman about the Vietnamese restaurant) reflect the ongoing sense that Asians are still perceived as being outsiders, even if they and their families have been in America for generations. An Asian face is still seen as foreign, while an European one is not. These are uncomfortable truths that history does not seem ready to confront. After all, the Asian American presence is hardly mentioned in the course of high school history classes. Do we belong here, as the Europeans and blacks do, if our main role in America history seems to be that of exclusion? Even in college, the system in charge does not seem quite prepared to deal with the fact that Asian Americans have, indeed, played a significant role in American history. Perhaps it is out of embarassment; after all, the idea of having to publicly admit that whole histories have been omitted out of mainstream American history solely on the grounds of race requires a certain amount of chutzpah to carry out. Perhaps that is why the word "history" was taken out of our course title; it would require the educational system to acknowledge too many skeletons in the closet. We see here again that the Asian American experience is characterized by omission. To even discuss Asian American history, one must first talk about its absence from history books; this is a task that, unfortunately, many find daunting.
During WWII, H.D. was obsessed with the notion of a palimpsest (and personally, I think that it is an amazing idea...it's one of my favorite words...okay, yeah, I'm a nerd). The idea of writing over something that has been partially obliterated is analogous with the way that we live our lives. Our perspectives are shaped by our past experiences; our present identities are built up of the events of the past. We are constantly writing and rewriting our identities. The past has shaped us to be who we are today; there is no better time than now to find these lost histories. That is why I think that this course is extraordinarily important; it is time for our College to take a stand against what is conventional, what is easy. The truth must be told, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. It is vital to every American's identity to know the range of diverse races and ethnicities that have lived and died on American soil. Because, after all, can one's identity truly be complete without an understanding of one's past?
In this way, I think of Takaki's emphasis on the lost histories of Asian Americans. He raises issues that every American of Asian descent has faced: the struggle to accept our faces, and the coming to terms with a history that has been largely ignored by textbooks and mainstream media. Takaki is frank about social prejudices; people are not generally maliciously racist, but certain remarks (like that of the white woman about the Vietnamese restaurant) reflect the ongoing sense that Asians are still perceived as being outsiders, even if they and their families have been in America for generations. An Asian face is still seen as foreign, while an European one is not. These are uncomfortable truths that history does not seem ready to confront. After all, the Asian American presence is hardly mentioned in the course of high school history classes. Do we belong here, as the Europeans and blacks do, if our main role in America history seems to be that of exclusion? Even in college, the system in charge does not seem quite prepared to deal with the fact that Asian Americans have, indeed, played a significant role in American history. Perhaps it is out of embarassment; after all, the idea of having to publicly admit that whole histories have been omitted out of mainstream American history solely on the grounds of race requires a certain amount of chutzpah to carry out. Perhaps that is why the word "history" was taken out of our course title; it would require the educational system to acknowledge too many skeletons in the closet. We see here again that the Asian American experience is characterized by omission. To even discuss Asian American history, one must first talk about its absence from history books; this is a task that, unfortunately, many find daunting.
During WWII, H.D. was obsessed with the notion of a palimpsest (and personally, I think that it is an amazing idea...it's one of my favorite words...okay, yeah, I'm a nerd). The idea of writing over something that has been partially obliterated is analogous with the way that we live our lives. Our perspectives are shaped by our past experiences; our present identities are built up of the events of the past. We are constantly writing and rewriting our identities. The past has shaped us to be who we are today; there is no better time than now to find these lost histories. That is why I think that this course is extraordinarily important; it is time for our College to take a stand against what is conventional, what is easy. The truth must be told, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. It is vital to every American's identity to know the range of diverse races and ethnicities that have lived and died on American soil. Because, after all, can one's identity truly be complete without an understanding of one's past?
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