naascon's Xanga

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 02:19:43 GMT

I Like To Jog
Denny Chan, Co-Chair

I like to jog. I’ve found it to be a great time to clear my mind, get some fresh air and release some endorphins. There’s this very beautiful path right by my house, which is about a five minute walk away from a nearby lake. Along the jog, I usually pass the lake, some condominiums, gas stations, restaurants, a busy intersection, and so forth. Given the lack of activity in a small, Midwestern town like mine, going for a daily jog can be one of the highlights to my day.

On July 3 of this year, the eve of our nation’s birthday, I went for a jog in the early evening before dinner. I was starting my trek over the bridge, enjoying the sun setting on the small lake, when two cars passed me on my right. The first car was chock full of what appeared to be high school-age youth with their windows rolled down, having what seemed to be a genuinely good time. They were screaming something, but I couldn’t quite make it out. As the second car passed me, I concluded that the two cars were people who knew each other and that they were following one another. The second car was also packed with high school youth with their windows down and music blaring loudly.

And that’s when it happened. Some youth in the second car screamed loudly. I couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but I definitely heard the word, “ASIAN.” With their fingers and daunting looks, I had been singled out—for whatever reason—based on my race. This wouldn’t be the first time something of this nature has happened in my hometown. But perhaps the most annoying part was the timing of it all. Because this shout out occurred only about a quarter into my jog, I had the remaining 1.75 miles to think about this incident. Talk about clearing my mind.

It’s times like these when I really wish I lived elsewhere in the United States…anywhere else with a more sizeable people of color community. It does not surprise me that on the eve of our nation’s founding (the 200th-and-something-anniversary, mind you) that I would still so deliberately be made to feel like an outsider in a town I was born and raised in. But even if it’s not a surprise, it’s still painful, realistic, and unfortunate.

My friends from college and I have talked a lot about Midwest brain drain, people who are either born and or raised in the Midwest who leave to go somewhere else more “cosmopolitan.” Indeed, lots of my college friends have either left the state of Michigan or are making plans to leave the Midwest. Locations like New York and California often top the list of places where people end up. And I sometimes find myself fantasizing about what life would be like on a coast: living in the proximity to ethnic enclaves, hanging out with my friends, being active in a community that shares and espouses my values and ideas.

Usually about half way through the day dreaming is when I stop myself with the thought, “Denny, you’re FROM the Midwest.” A friend and mentor of mine who runs a racial justice non-profit organization once told me, in response to my question about how she’s able to sustain herself in this community doing the work that she does, that if everyone were to leave, this place would not get any better. This struck a chord. I do want to help build a more inclusive community, and I don’t want other people to have to face the experiences I did growing up in a hometown like mine.

What are the personal costs of doing this type of work in a community that is not supportive though? It can make the work more frustrating, challenging and tiring in nature. But this struggle, even if it is simply to make my community a more inclusive place, is worth it. Sure, other people can come here from the New Yorks and Los Angeleses of the U.S. and call this their “home,” but as someone born and raised in the Midwest, do I not have a greater responsibility to stay around and clean up this mess?

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 02:09:58 GMT

Histories are Real
Toby Wu, Programming Co-Chair

I am very interested in how we are taught our histories, which is why I chose to major in History & Education. I mean, these questions are worthwhile to consider: What do our histories entail? Why is knowing our histories important? How do we recognize and teach our histories? When I was helping out with CYI's Summer Leadership Institute this past weekend, I thought about these questions some more. The workshop allowed for these young people -- all in high school -- to take in significant periods of Asian American history and to process their own relationship to the history. For me, it was fascinating to hear their responses to our guiding questions.

At the beginning, the participants characterized their relationships to Asian American history as generally weak and impersonal. Learning about Angel Island, the Chinese Exclusion Act, Japanese American internment, and legal cases such as United States v. Thind and Ozawa vs. United States meant little to them, because they were all so distant from their lifetimes. When we asked why it was important to learn history, participants responded something to the extent of, "History repeats itself, so we should learn from our mistakes." It was a fine response, but I still wanted more. It just felt so trite, because it was how we were taught in our history classes on the first day of class. I wanted to challenge them some more.

With the help of the other facilitators, I think we had a successful moment of facilitation when I began to refer to the Ozawa and Thind cases as a jumping point. Why is citizenship important? What does citizenship give us? Why are those rights and privileges important? What do we enjoy now that are derived from our citizenship in this country? We continued the day with a screening of "Who Killed Vincent Chin?" and a brief Q&A with director Christine Choy. At the end, some of the participants did express a newfound appreciation for Asian American history. but even then, the responses to why Asian American history was important to know remained the same.

Their answers emphasized the content of the history, whereas I wanted the participants to think about the power of it. The omission of the histories of marginalized peoples is an act of oppression not only because we should all know our histories (which is a matter of principle) but also, because that limits the abilities of marginalized peoples to organize and to form collectives from their shared politicization. This dismissal of our histories in our channels of nation-building (such as schooling) hides, more than anything, the ways we are politicized or deprives us of a kind of vocabulary to articulate who we are.

I am an advocate of reconceptualizing the histories we teach our young people because history education is a crucial site for movement building. The potential is huge. The legal cases involving Ozawa and Thind are not two independent cases; rather, they contribute dynamically to the political formulation of our Asian American identity (though not to suggest that Asian Americans are folks who wanted to be white but aren't). Maybe then, there would not be so many divisive conversations about who is legitimately Asian American or what countries fall under Asia. Maybe then, we would begin to have more productive conversations about how our politicization is shifting, and how we may reconsider our identities to incorporate new groups. Maybe then, words like ching chong would have a stronger resonance with more of us, not because they are necessarily abrasive or vulgar, but because they are contextualized by a larger picture (or should I say, movie?) of history in our minds. And of course, content is important, but we will also need to consider the frameworks with which to present the content, because just as learning about the American Revolution has implications for informing our identities as Americans, learning about Asian American histories has implications for informing our identities as Asian Americans. (I'm not trying to be divisive by seeing color; I'm just trying to be real.)

Returning to the content-focused responses to why learning history is important, I would even assert that those responses are reminiscent of right-wing rhetoric, which I have often found to be dealing with principles and content more than about systems and frameworks. I'm currently reading The Revolution Will Not Be Funded, and of course, conversations about the nonprofit industrial complex emerged from the left. It makes sense to me that the right would not encourage those conversations, so they encourage conversations about the principles of charity instead. In my mind, the debates about abortion, same sex marriage, and immigration are only cousins to this issue of recognizing our histories. to move the country forward, we need to go beyond the principles of life-killing, institution-preservation, and legality and recognize these systems of sexism, heterosexism, and racism.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 01:12:27 GMT

This week's entry is from Communications Co-Chair Ryan Fukumori (a.k.a. the guy who posts these)

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For the Love of the Movement?

Three weeks into my freshman year at Columbia, I ran into a couple of twentysomethings representing a campus group called the International Socialist Organization. A week later, I sat down with them in the student union café to trade opinions on the state of affairs—Katrina, Iraq, Palestine, the Democrats, and so forth. By the end of the meeting, I was a member. Literally a card-carrying communist, to live a cliché.

Aside from some chunks of the Manifesto and a half-assed yet interest-piquing overview of socialism in my 10^th-grade history class, I hadn’t really considered myself a follower of principled radical politics to that point. I admired Malcolm X, grew up nearby the former stomping grounds of the Black Panthers, and found inspiration in the Third World Liberation Front, but back then terms like dialectical materialism and petit-bourgeoisie were far beyond my grasp. Yet I nevertheless jumped in headfirst, because for the first time in my life I had found peers not awash in the sterile, countercultural liberalism of Berkeley. I saw in them staunch devotees to a cause with the aroma of romanticism but the tenets of thought-out social critique. They advocated for a new, possible world, sought to rebuild a Left nearly dead in the era of Reagans and Bushes. And so I followed. Not just a member—a comrade. Cadre-to-be.

Eighteen months in the ISO seemed like a lifetime unto itself. I organized contingents to antiwar marches in D.C., grassroots student immigrants rights coalitions, and anti-police brutality speaker panels. I sold the organization’s weekly periodical in 40-degree weather on Saturday mornings in Harlem. Within four months I sat on the steering committee for our branch of the organization. I put my academic career at Columbia on thin ice when I occupied the stage during a speech by Jim Gilchrist, co-founder of the Minutemen. I became an able speaker on the Russian Revolution, Lenin’s Imperialism, the labor theory of value, the plight of the Gaza strip, and why NAFTA sucks.

And, after a year and a half, I was never happier than when I left.

Why? Beneath the powerful rhetoric and dedication of the ISO’s cadre lay an organization beset by a bevy of contradictions that I couldn’t take any longer. Comrades would consistently fail to do their assigned tasks, show up to paper sales and meetings, and thus the burden of labor would fall on the shoulders of a few. People who did not speak up in meetings were singled out behind closed doors, as if rattling off chance words had more merit than carefully weighed and well-thought out talking points. Senior cadre would take detailed and often intrusive notes on newer members, and leadership meetings often turned into inquisitions on why select people didn’t agree on certain points. Members from more affluent backgrounds would speak as members of the proletariat in public, and go home to snort cocaine.

Most heinously, an organization that touted itself on eradicating sexism and transforming the structures of human relations had its healthy share of chauvinists. Members would cheat on their partners, and a fairly prominent senior member used one of my friends as a sexual object—and I saw a few complaints about these practices go unheeded. My participation in Asian American organizations and volunteer groups on campus was questioned as playing into identity politics and reformism, or, at other times, a way to scope out other recruits of color. The attention paid towards bringing in black, Latino, Middle Eastern, and Asian radicals into a mostly white organization was remarkable in one vein, but also carried with it the uncertain taste that people of color were overly seen as “bonus points.” For an organization that called for the overthrow of capitalism and the fundamental upheaval of society, the ISO felt oddly confining, detached, other-worldly. I sat through four-hour meetings and lost touch with friends. So I bounced.

I’m still highly sympathetic towards radical theory and follow (points of) Marxism, I think theory and practice are inseparable, and yeah, I will always contend that the Democrats are kinda wack. I admire members of the ISO for their tireless efforts to legitimize socialist politics amidst significant disapproval, and their contributions to the antiwar, immigrants rights, anti-death penalty, and labor rights movements are commendable. But for me, a cabal of white Marxists sitting in stuffy reading circles held less weight than circles of progressive—not necessarily radical, but many were and are—fellow students of color and allies, where different ideas are given their proper credence and form a more organic, multifaceted whole. Fellow organizers should be genuine friends, brothers and sisters and those who identify otherwise, not just cadre and newbies. If that makes me an identity politico, a reformist, a right-opportunist... well, I’ll take that with a grain of salt and keep on doing what I do.

Yeah, this world needs to be wrenched from the hands of the profiteers and the corporate giants, no doubt. And certainly, it’s going to take some serious militancy on multiple fronts to get to that point. But I doubt we’ll get there if folks feel trapped by the forces that are there to purportedly liberate them. And progressive endeavors come in many forms, under myriad opinions and theories of what works. I’d be lying if I had a real sense of the steps it’ll take to bring the Powers That Be to their knees. Until we get there, though, I’ll be in it however I can, Shachtmanite-Trotskyist or not.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 15:00:13 GMT

This week's entry is from Advocacy Co-Chair Dorothy Young!

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Maybe they should ban Ethnic Studies, after all.

“The ethnic studies project is rooted in activism, with an agenda of social justice set by marginalized peoples.” – Professor Sharon Elise

Coming up on the 40^th anniversary of Ethnic Studies, and the possibility of a ban on Ethnic Studies in the state of Arizona, I’m left pondering the Third World Liberation Front and Movement and what they have brought upon us today. I have spent three years, going on four, learning to speak academic jargon and read unnecessarily wordy books about decolonization and critical race theory, writing endless papers (eight to ten pages, double-spaced), and resenting many a moment when some curious random raises their hand in an upper-div class and asks “but isn’t talking about whiteness racism too?”

I have also, therefore, had the misfortune of spending too much time with other Ethnic Studies majors, nearly every one of which suffers from some sort of Ethnic Studies Snobbery and makes me want to cut them. Hard.

Ethnic Studies Snobbery defined: Noun. Those kids who lord it over all others that they have read Omi and Winant backwards and forwards, those who can base an entire paper and/or conversation on critiquing Fanon and Foucault without having read an entire book (merely on excerpts), those who think that studying is good enough and that what they have read is what should be brought into practice. The future of most is as an Ethnic Studies Professor or Graduate Student, which will bring their E.S.S. to another level: Complacent Pretention. Or else, eagerly taking on a “career in activism,” perhaps working at a cultural, I mean, Community center; becoming an “art-ivist” (usually through spoken word and/or murals) and, always, always, to some degree, “organizing” (telling poor people what to do) (sometimes known as falling prey to the non-profit industrial complex). It severely worries me that critique of capitalism has long not been a part of curriculums, sometimes mentioned, yet rarely dialogued upon; that Ethnic Studies is still caught up in the idea of creating careers for majors to “take care of themselves”, a notion which too often seems to include a “need” for iPhones, designer clothing, expensive concert tickets, and whatever else.

Sure, I think it’s important to base our studies on unheard stories. But I wonder how many Ethnic Studies departments are truly paying heed to Spivak’s notion of the subaltern. Of those graduates who join Teach For America because they want to bring low-income students of color (read, black and brown) out of poverty through education, without being critical of the notions of education as a critical component to the American Dream, without problematizing their own bodies entering a space to Tell People What To Do With Their Lives. Or even supposed culturally relevant or radical teaching, with Social Justice curriculums, spoken word and media incorporations: do these challenge the structures of class, geographic location, whatever the fuck else, that are creating the realities of people’s lives? Are we really being critical of our selves, our decisions, and our words when it comes to so eagerly helping others? (refer to Ivan Illich)

Because really, what Ethnic Studies Majors most suffer from is know-it-all-ism. As do, admittedly, most college students in the

United States

.

What does it matter that we have good, well-versed Ethnic Studies students that would be equally good and well-versed Sociology or Pre-Med or Zoology (I don’t know what normal people study) students?

Ethnic Studies departments have worked overboard to legitimize themselves in the eye of institutions. San Francisco State University created a college of Ethnic Studies, my own department at the University of California, San Diego only does comparative and interdisciplinary work, while UCLA has taken the opposite approach with no Ethnic Studies Department and separate Asian Am, Black Studies, Chicana/Chicano, etc. However, in doing so, they are mutually reconstituting authority and legitimacy of the university to deem their work worthy of recognition. I would like to think the TWLF didn’t take the route they did in order to become a part of the institution. To become the department that receives Diversity awards for affirmative action, rather than the department that challenges power structures of the university and academia itself (academic freedom, publishing, tenure, etc.).

I kind of don’t want to be part of a mediocre academic movement. If the struggle is really to bring change to the ivory tower of academia, we don’t NEED a separate department. I want to see revolutionary work within all disciplines: womyn of color studies within History paradigms, not just classes; a critical dialogue around race in the biological sciences. I want to see some fucking revolutionary math, for god’s sake! (Which, for the record, exists: I’m thinking of a professor that uses numerological theories surrounding the number 7 and Tupac’s death to teach middle and high school students).

If it takes a ban for communities, for students, for the fucking PEOPLE to get fired up and put critical and radical theories into praxis (oops, another E.S.S. slip), then let it happen! If our infiltration isn’t working, if the university is going to take another twenty years to stay the same hostile environment for womyn and transgender folk, for people of color, for queer peoples, then either we devise a new scheme or we get on our feet and destroy this thing.

Right now, Ethnic Studies is not informing actions or lives, at least not to the degree it is informing capitalist career choices. Do people in your Ethnic Studies classes know how to love people any better? Are they living transformative lives that inspire change in yours? Maybe my standards are too high but at least trying to live a revolutionary life is, for me, better and more important than getting an A on my paper about revolutions of the past.

Dorothy Young lives in Los Angeles, attends school in San Diego, and is organizing in Hong Kong for the summer. She makes comic books ostensibly retelling fairy tales to detail her anger at the white supremacist patriarchy. Her current favorite song is “Powerplant” by Andrew Jackson Jihad.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 16:40:07 GMT

This week, we have two entries: the first from Co-Chair Christina Chen, and the second from Finance Chair Johnny Vo!

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A New Kind of Yellow Peril? Why Fears of an "Asian Century"¹ will be of Concern to APA's

For the past week or so there's been a calamitous uproar over actress Sharon Stone's suggestion that China's earthquake may have been some kind of cosmic restitution for how its government has mishandled Tibet. Here's a snippet of those remarks, the original footage of which is still widely circulating on YouTube:

"I'm not happy about the way the Chinese are treating the Tibetans because I don't think anyone should be unkind to anyone else.

And then all this earthquake and all this stuff happened, and I thought, is that karma -- when you're not nice that the bad things happen to you?"

Stone's comments created quite a stir on the Internet and in Chinese news media. I didn't expect anything less than an uproar, as of course, her comments had been cold, insensitive, heartless, demeaning, and (as if ways to insult Sharon Stone haven't run the gamut)- just plain idiotic. What I was really impressed by, though, was the rapid-fire response Chinese internet users coordinated within just hours of the video's release. Hell hath no fury like the swift and exacting vengeance of Chinese purchasing power! Within hours of the video's debut, thousands of Chinese consumers had signed onto a boycott of all products attached to the actress, ranging from cosmetic creams peddled by French fashion house Christian Dior and its parent company, LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton (which counts China as one of its most important markets) to Stone's movies (hmm, won't be a problem for me. Has she done any good movies lately? Oh...uh, sorry to all you Catwoman fans out there!). Dior pulled all advertisements featuring Stone. On Wednesday, organizers at the Shanghai International Film Festival, one of the largest film festivals in East Asia, announced that they'd declared Stone a "persona non grata", banning her from this year's event. And if that didn't add enough salt to Stone's wounds (her contriteness is being disputed: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/01/fashion/01stone.html?ref=fashion), in perhaps what may constitute the most dire threat to Sharon Stone's welfare and livelihood yet, my parents got pissed off. My mom swore to never watch any of her movies or patronize any of her products. Without a doubt, if my dad- with his uncanny ability to predict the future with his rarefied insights into the fickle world of celebritydom- is right, Sharon Stone will be "out of work for the rest of her life".

Well, while I'm not so sure about that (Basic Instinct 3, YESSSSIR) - I'm not surprised that this still hasn't blown over, and that Asians and Asian Americans alike are genuinely upset over Stone's remarks. Though I am not as in-tune to China-bashing as my parents are, I found myself taking offense to Sharon Stone's comments. And though I attribute this more to my revulsion towards the disturbing implications that Stone's remarks held for whole of humanity (than, say, to the fact that these comments had been directed toward the Chinese people) it was at *this* moment that I realized that I'd become much more sensitive to reports of pervasive anti-Asian prejudice in our media culture. It seems as if, even before the Burma and Sichuan disasters had invited an additional layer of international scrutiny into their country's state of affairs, that the Western media had become increasingly fixated on the vacillating lots of Asian countries and the problems that plague them. (Note: I am not a Chinese nationalist [and of course, nationalist is such an exaggeration of terms as well. After the earthquake, accusations of "patriotic fervor" were flung around so capriciously. What about America post 9-11? Such is the tenor of countries dealing with post-traumatic stress.] I am not gonna claim, and will never claim that China's reputation's squeaky clean because, like any fledging capitalist government confronting decades of social, political and economic turmoil - its tarnish has been indisputable.) I've never been very attentive to China's political affairs. In fact, in the past, I've considered myself indifferent to accusations of anti-Asian bias; I shrugged off every accusation, every angry retort my dad has up his sleeve, ready to fling at any journalist reporting about China's problems with... er everything.

But imo things have definitely changed. Over the past few months the anti-Asian bias has been almost impossible to ignore. With every food scare, toy recall, environmental assessment, accusations that somehow Asians are causing every rice and fuel shortage that "disproportionately impacts" America, manufacturing inspections scandal, castigations of Chinese political shortcomings, demonstrations for democracy, revelations about the imprisonment of political prisoners, and human rights-related rebuke that rolls along, the net of pathologization and dehumanization that's been cast by the American media, and by extension, the American government is ensnaring more and more American critics within its meshes. And although disliking China does not automatically equate to an assumption of anti-Asian bias or racism, portrayals of Asians as a frigid people- incapable of self-governance, subject to mass neurosis, twirled around the iron thumbs of Communist authorities to do their mindless bidding– have been occurring with alarming frequency. I am concerned – nay, adamant, that the misconceptions and dehumanization of Asians abroad have and will continue to have a huge impact on Asian Americans at home. The net has been pulled over not only those living in Asia, but also over Asian Americans whose very identities are mediated by representations of consumptive Asian goods. As Jack Kuo Wei Tchen asserts in his book "New York before Chinatown: Orientalism and the Shaping of American Culture", in 18^th Century America, before substantial Asian waves of migrants arrived to American shores, "desired Chinese-style luxury goods and ideas, imbued with symbolic meanings, were integral to the formulation of a new American individual and nation – an identity to be further reconstituted in the process of exchange itself"(Tschen, 24). Once direct trade and interactions between real people began, objects no longer served as proxies between American and East Asian civilizations; American admiration of Chinese opulence and "exotic consumables" quickly turned into disgust for China's inclinations toward tyranny, despotism, patricianism, and Confucian antiquity as America struggled to define itself post-Independence, and to seek out and achieve its occidental destiny. If this all seems much too abstract, let me provide a contemporary example of such phenomena: the conflation of Asian culture with Chinese take-out, and recent reports of large percentages of Chinese American restaurants failing quality-control assessments.

Imagine my horror when I signed into my facebook account months ago, and saw that a non-APA acquaintance of mine had posted a facebook note with pictures of fried rats and chunks of dog meat, warning his friends to be painstakingly careful in eating out at Chinese restaurants. This acquaintance f mine believed that Chinese restaurants were trying to trick patrons into buying repugnant, cheap ingredients, disguised as "normal" American food. The comments were an unabashed orgy of oriental othering, conveying a sense of ignorance that was simply astounding; comments were made along the lines of "the Chinese are disgusting", and "never trust Asians, esp. with what you eat" and "Chinese people are dirty"... I kid you not. Furthermore, most of the commentary had drawn no distinction between Asians and Asian Americans (or even Chinese vs. other Asian ethnicities, for that matter) in passing judgment on the groups of people in question.

As perpetual foreigners, Asian Americans will always be susceptible to the stereotypical qualities ascribed to people who (however much they bear a phenotypical resemblance to us) live in countries that most of us consider "foreign", save our parents and our own migrant affiliations with such native lands. If the leap of "this is affecting Asians exclusively" to "this is affecting APA's too" well, seems like a stretch, than I'd recommend going beyond simply referring to perhaps the most common, institutionalized example of how U.S. political encounters with Asian countries and/or its disfavoring of Asian regimes have directly impacted perceptions of APA's - the internment of more than 110,000 Japanese Americans during World War II, as their allegiances to America were questioned and ties to Japan were closely investigated. Consider the forced special registration of more than 85,000 South Asians, Arab Americans, and Middle Eastern Americans post 9-11; how Cold War-era accusations (leveled against the United States when it was imposing it's "freedom on the third world") of how the U.S. had never successfully overcome its own specters of racism and imperialism, facilitated the passage of sweeping domestic immigration acts; the spike of hate crimes committed against South Asian American communities during heated debates over the outsourcing of "American" jobs to South Asia in the late 90's; and tragically, in a case of mistaken ethnic identification, racial scapegoating, and sheer bigotry, the motives that prompted Ronald Ebens' and Michael Nitz's murder of Vincent Chin. America is a place where we are expected to pay penance for actions committed by other countries. APA's, it seems, will never be permitted to fully integrate into the American mainstream; society tells us that we are forever doomed to be bound to how Asian countries have been assessed by the U.S government- as allies, acquaintances, enemies, etc. It comes as no coincidence that this purported bias and prejudice against China has been aligned with the parallel trajectory of China's ascendant star in a time when, according to zero-sum rules of the political game, China will be perceived as the U.S.'s primary competitor in the constant need to establish international precedence. How easily, and perhaps subliminally, can hostility and resentment slip into the media coverage of our biggest competitors.

And finally, Sharon Stone's comments also get at another pet peeve of mine that's been bothering me for a long time, which is how white activists have framed the "question" of Tibet. Tibet, which white activists have long seized as a canvas in which they can project vivid re-imaginings of White Rescue, have moved on from fantasies of re-educating our "little brown brothers" in the Philippines (and other projects of white tutelage) to saving the people of Tibet, substituting yesterday's sweltering, uncivilized jungles with the dreams of friendly, peaceful plateaus peppered by temples and monasteries that ripple with Buddhist incantations and yoga mats. Stone and many others of which I (if the internet forums and blogs I see cheering her on her comments are representative of what at least a minority of these people feel) believe are dehumanizing their enemies, devaluing human lives while defending the lives of others, and compromising their cause with actions that smack of blatant hypocrisy. Forget that people of color and disenfranchised communities in the United States are institutionally oppressed, living the effects of a system shaped by years of societal and statutory marginalization; the plight of the unseen, unheard, and stigmatized in this country seem to carry little weight. Instead, many of these activists have looked to the teeming masses of Asia, sidetracking hundreds of years of inter-country complex history and tensions to declare that they have solutions to all of Tibet's problems which, is no less of a feat than to dismantle the ugly, "oppressive" monolith that is the PRC. Again, China should not be immune from criticism, but I find that this reversion to propaganda that hearkens back to the Cold War to be frightening and dangerous. Cultural relativists in the U.S. have co-opted Tibet's image to tuck neatly within the confines of what is constructed as socially "good." How patronizing... and familiar.

Here's to hoping that history won't repeat itself again, though based on precedent, I'd advise young APA's (as journalist and Asian American activist extraordinaire Helen Zia suggested at Columbia's Asian Pacific American Awareness Month's opening reception) to prepare for the impending backlash that will follow if the loci of international power happens to shift, however slightly, to the East. No doubt, Americans will be bracing themselves to fend off a new era of yellow peril, directing their frustrations and resentment to not only Asians abroad, but against brown and yellow skinned Americans at home.

1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asian_Century

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AAPI Health Disparities: How’s Your Health?

According to the most recent census numbers released this past month, Asian Americans have reached 14 million, about 5% of the total United States population (301.6 million). Population models predict that by 2050, Asian Americans/Pacific Islanders (AAPI) will compose approximately 11% of the total population at ~41 million people.

Published health research data AAPI is severely inadequate. For data that does exist, it is heavily focused on Asian Americans of Japanese or Chinese heritage. Unfortunately, this data is not a particularly useful tool since the AAPI population remains the most diverse of minority groups in the US.

In the National Vital Statistics Report of 2007, there is a list that includes the top 10 leading causes of death in the Asian or Pacific Islander (API) population. Unique to APIs, when compared to the other groups (White, Black, or American Indian/Alaska Native), cancer is listed as the leading cause of death. Statistical data suggests that part of the problem stems from inadequate screenings in the AAPI population (Asian American women have the lowest cancer screenings rates and are usually diagnosed at a later stage compared to other racial and ethnic groups); thus, diagnosis and treatment is delayed. One of the major problems is the inadequate availability of appropriate services for the subpopulations in the AAPI communities. Not only do some groups not have access to necessary healthcare, but language, income, transportation, and education pose further barriers.

Furthermore, mental health problems in the Asian American community may be going undiagnosed and untreated due to social stigmas in this population. Asian women aged 75 years and over have the highest suicide rate in the country compared with any other population in that age group. In 15 - 24 year olds from 2002 to 2005, suicide ranked as the third leading cause of death. Other concerns in the AAPI population include a high risk of osteoporosis, prevalence of Hepatitis B, and the increasing rate of diabetes.

With everything else we worry about, we should not forget about our health. Go to the doctor once in awhile, read up on relevant health issues, get screened for common diseases, and just talk to someone. We can get so caught up in the chaos that is daily life, struggling to make sense of things and making sure everyone else is alright. But sometimes we can forget one major thing – to take care of ourselves. And make your mom go too.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Sat, 24 May 2008 23:35:23 GMT

This week's entry is from Advocacy Co-Chair D. Lok Yung!

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The Master’s Narrative

After eight years of President Bush’s regime, this year’s election should be that light at the end of the tunnel. Grasping along the twisting labyrinth of neoliberal policies, perverted multiculturalism, and capitalist accumulation, I arrive at the light – the failsafe of maximum presidential terms. What should be the breath of fresh air, a fresh start, is just the same ol’ story.

We have all been indoctrinated with the master narrative of the Amerikkka’s. However, as I grow older, and more attuned to the flow and dynamics of our histories entwined, I realize that we take America for granted. Not to say that we don’t appreciate America, but that we believe that America will always be there, even it’s against us. Maybe that’s why people get so stressed during the Presidential elections, when superficial lines are drawn between people over candidates who are strikingly similar in their policies and linguistics. Policies that dictate free trade and continued infringement on our “rights.” Words that say, “We are All American.” Any deviation from the color-blind and semi-liberal personality must be apologized and distanced from, like Obama and Reverend Wright.

Perhaps it is only when the politicos stress the unified fabric of our nation, that I become especially sensitive to the tears endemic within. I listened to Obama’s speech on race and distancing from Reverend Wright. I read the reactionary comments to Reverend Wright- “Oh Jesus Christ! He’s preaching racism!” Yet surprisingly, I agree with Wright, not necessarily his theories but his sentiments. Obama’s speech did not instill hope, but a sense of dread because he was not speaking to me, but to those who needed to believe.

I am not saying that we should forgo the elections, but to put so much emphasis on it, to think that it is the end-all-be-all, is again to believe in the legitimacy of our un-democratic system, which was built from the continued exploitation and extinction of the indigenous tribes of the U.S., the ancestors of the chattel slavery, the coolie labor from the east and south.

I am not an American. I am a citizen of the American nation-states.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Thu, 08 May 2008 23:15:00 GMT

This week's entry, on the complications of identity and belonging, is from Programming Co-Chair Justin Reyes!

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I was in my Pacific Island Peoples in History and Diaspora class today, and the inevitable question came up: Are Filipinos Pacific Islanders? There was a lot of discussion. Some people from the “yes” camp said that there was so much historical similarity in the experiences of colonialism and culture. Some people from the “no” camp said that there's much more heavy influence of Chinese and Japanese presence in the Philippines. Then there were the “maybes” who said that it depends, and that the Philippines is, after all, an archipelago in the Pacific.

I've had this discussion many times, and it never fails to be constantly conflicting in my own understandings of my identities. There have been phases when I have vehemently objected to any conflation of Filipino-ness with Pacific Islander-ness. And there have been times when I've said to myself "Fuck it, I'm tired of hearing about Chinese exclusion and Japanese internment in my classes, is that ALL we talk about in Asian American Studies?" Where does that leave me as a self-identified Filipino American? In this sort of quasi-Asian, semi-Pacific Islander, fully-confusing space where I constantly have to choose. I think if there's anything I've learned about myself and about my communities, it's that culture and identity are constantly shifting, moving, and colliding. Personally, I can identify as Asian American—and I do—politically. I totally get it—the Asian American Movement, the fight for ethnic studies, the need for communities to stand in solidarity. Everything in my experience and in my education tells me that this is important. But, I can't help but feel a little out of place sometimes.

In class, in pan-Asian organizations, I am usually the sole "representative" for the Filipino community, a second-class Asian American community that sorta is, but sorta isn't, really "Asian." And don't get me wrong, I'm not angry about it; no fists are in the air just yet. I'm just pondering, and excuse my stream-of-consciousness rambling, but this is something that I feel is so inherent in what we can call a Filipino American experience—this constant need/desire/struggle to fit in SOMEPLACE, identify SOMEHOW, and complicate in SOME WAY. Culturally, ethnically...I identify as Filipino. And, I thought it was important for our discussion in class to move away from this sort of binary framework. Are Filipinos from the Pacific? Yeah. Do Filipinos have a shared history of colonialism with Pacific Islander peoples? Of course. But, is that all the criteria we need for being able to mark a box on a census report or application?

Culture, I feel, is constantly being redefined, and isn't enough to say that my people are of this or that classification. And who was classifying us in the first place? Whose concept and construction are we using to classify ourselves? 'Cause fuck, I really don't think my ancestors were fighting over who was Asian and who was Pacific Islander. Anyhow...I don't think there's really an answer for the question that was posed in my class. I think we're constantly in a state of understanding our identities and their connections to our history. There are too many exceptions to come up with an essentialist answer, so I choose not to come up with one.

I will continue to do my work in the communities I identify with, and I will continue to enjoy the beauty of my queer, Filipino, Asian, Pacific, ever-changing, always-fluid, forever-discursive identities and cultures. But discussions like these are good; they stretch my brain a little bit more each time, and they give us firmer ground to stand in conviction of ourselves. So, ask me if I'm Pacific Islander or Asian...and I'll give you this answer (in the vein of Gloria Anzaldua): I am a constant conversation with myself and my worlds. I am the body, soul, and spirit of centuries of colonialism and imperialism. I am the product of love, desire, and necessity. I am the face of a thousand more. I am forever in this process of reclaiming myself, my history, and my experiences. I am a Queer Pinoy.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Sun, 04 May 2008 20:39:11 GMT

Co-Chair Denny Chan waxes words on home & college in this week's installment!

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On April 28, 2008, I graduated from the University of Michigan. I say this not to gather accolades, but to open a narrative on my college transition experience, transitioning back to Grand Haven, Michigan from UM-Ann Arbor. Grand Haven and Ann Arbor are two very different worlds, and both are integral parts of shaping who I am today.

Growing up in Grand Haven, Michigan formed my consciousness as an Asian American. As one of a handful of people of color in the entire public school system and the only family of color in my neighborhood, I realized early on that I was not like everyone else and wanted to do something about the problems I perceived. Therefore, it is not too surprising that during my senior year in high school, I organized a conference for eleven area high schools—totaling over 100 students—on racial justice. I consider it one my first escapades into organizing. Without Grand Haven, I am not sure I would have taken the path I did today.

On the other hand, I am forever indebted to my experiences in Ann Arbor. Labeling it as immersion would not be horribly incorrect, for in my four years at UM, I took many different opportunities to surround myself with a community that I had always lacked in Grand Haven: an Asian American community. It was like a rebirth, learning about my own history, being involved in organizations that specifically paid attention to my identities, and being friends with people who looked like me. It was simply exhilarating.

That’s why I wasn’t quite prepared to move back to Grand Haven after graduation. The sense of exhilaration abruptly ended as I stepped back into my former community. I didn’t have too much say in the matter of returning, either. I have received an internship working in West Michigan this summer, and it made the most financial sense to move back home. Ignoring all the issues of moving back home and living under my parents’ roof after four years of pseudo-independence, I was struck by one thing.

Driving back from Ann Arbor, I stopped by a local gas station to get gas. When I walked in to pay after filling up, I could not help but notice the fact that I was the only person of color in the entire, bustling station. It was not like one of those scenes in a movie where everyone drops what they’re doing and looks at you, but that didn’t need to happen in order for my consciousness to increase and my comfort level to decrease. And to clarify: Ann Arbor has white people, too, but I always found comfort in the fact that much of my support system was diverse by deliberate choice. A psychologist I will never claim to be, but I will testify to the importance and satisfaction of having a support system who understands you and the intersections of your social identities. It may take a while, or it may never happen, that I readjust to life in Grand Haven in the same way I lived in Ann Arbor. I have learned at least one very crucial lesson through this. As my friend C.C. would say, “I just want my safe space, yo.”

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 20:19:38 GMT

This week, Programming Co-Chair Toby Wu breaks it down with his open letter to Lucy Liu!

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Dear Lucy Liu,

Your name must have come up in nearly all conversations I've had or heard in regards to Asian Americans and media representation. Many folks don't really like you, because you seem to be pretty shameless about being typecasted as a dragon lady. They bring up Charlie's Angels, Kill Bill, Payback, Lucky Number Slevin, and so many more, as I'm sure you know. But I'm not a hater (or so I try). I haven't even seen you in most of these movies. Most recently though, I've seen you on television -- Ugly Betty and Cashmere Mafia.

Seeing you as Grace Chin and Mia Mason (respectively) was just as refreshing as seeing you as O-ren Ishii. In Kill Bill, O-ren wasn't going to let others define or reduce her as only/not enough Chinese or only/not enough Japanese. she was a fierce, bicultural character who wasn't going to play and who hasn't been featured in the mainstream. You kept up the work on both Ugly Betty and Cashmere Mafia, and I loved you in both.

On ugly betty, I especially loved that Grace Chin re-established the gender dynamic between Daniel Meade and herself. She did it not only for herself, but for all the women he's played in the past. You weren't just acting like a dominatrix to Daniel Meade (which is really straight men trying to re-frame/gaze the whole story, with them in the center); you were unapologetic about your fierceness. To me, there ain't nothing wrong with that! Yeah, Grace Chin may not be the answer to all of Asian America's media problems, but I definitely appreciate the racializing and gendering of fierceness that you brought to the screen, even if you may not realize it. It has a place in our collective imaginary of Asian America, you know?

I guess you kind of toned it down for Cashmere Mafia, playing Mia Mason (whose last name doesn't really have to be "Asian," given the real history of Asia's colonization, much like Alex Munday and her father in Charlie's Angels). Still, I loved it because Mia didn't let a man define her boundaries. But what I loved more was Mia's dating Jason Chun. These were two characters who admittedly did not date other Asians in their histories, and thus, I found their relationship to be so political, even if it was unconsummated (or rather, if America wasn't ready to fully consume it). I think that relationship highlighted the racialization of these relationships that is so rare on primetime television. More than less stereotypical portrayals, I want to see portrayals that deal with the politics of identity. In any case, it also had an interesting twist to the age-old frustration over the emasculation of Asian American men in the media. That was hot.

Honestly though, I don't even know how I feel about that. Is the answer to beef up Asian American men on the small and big screens? Jason Chun wasn't a particularly muscular man who constantly asserted his presence. Instead, I found his understated masculinity to be sexy, because he seemed so secure about it. I mean, maybe the issue of Asian American masculinity isn't about how to become more masculine, but rather, how to redefine and expand our conceptions of masculinity (as a gender, not a sex). After all, how are we supposed to be inclusive of non-gender conforming people, who clearly exist in our community?

You know, I don't even particularly like this side of the conversation (identifying what is and isn't problematic) on mass media as a site of activism, but I wanted to say this and to let you know that I kind of get what you are doing. You've played some pretty unusual roles, and I'm pretty much a fan.

Sincerely,
Toby Wu

P.S. I'm a Stuyvesant alum too!

Saturday, April 05, 2008

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 03:16:35 GMT

This week, our entry is from Advocacy Co-Chair Will Ching!

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A friend of mine, whom I met in Washington D.C. during a fellowship retreat in January, had asked me if I would be willing to speak to her student group from Stanford regarding my HIV status and my ongoing project. I have a real bad habit of enthusiastically saying yes to anything a friend requests of me then slowly warming up to the idea, rather than becoming fully committed from the get go. Suffice it to say, as today approached nearer and nearer, I had to abate my fears and refrain from canceling on her at the last possible moment. Despite the increasing ease in sharing my story with strangers — rather than with already close and beloved family and friends — I found it harder to maintain a steady breathing cycle. The fight or flight instinct was in full effect as I tried my damned hardest to remain in control of the situation.

To clarify: It is much easier to share my story with strangers indirectly, whether it be online through a website, physical and electronic missives and perhaps even telephone calls. I have always had a difficult time speaking in front of groups, however small or large. Give that these participants were from Stanford and were one to two years younger than me didn't do anything to assuage my anxieties.

My friend didn't give me too much information and I wasn't as prepared as I would have liked to have been. It's informal, she said, don't worry about it. I am the type of person who methodically plans every single world, sentence or phrase. I hate to appear as a bumbling dolt.

The actual talk itself was not as frightening as it played out in my head — in hindsight of course. We had relocated to a nearby cafe after dinner. I went roundabout, shedding an uneasy stream of consciousness. I didn't know how much background I should go into before actually explaining the goals and missions of my project. The result was a lot more personal than I had intended. That seems to be the case with me. I fear opening up to people for the vulnerability that it brings but, these experiences make me the person that I am today and that was the fundamental purpose of today's talk.

Despite my misgivings, I am glad I had the opportunity to share my story with fellow students who are dedicated to social justice and change, all of whom have decided to spend their spring break connecting and interacting with various individuals, nonprofits and organizations all across the Bay Area. They were very attentive and were sincere in their questioning. Despite my initial anxieties, I am now glad that speaking to a cause where there are very few individuals doing so. I needed to take my insecurities aside and put myself out there honestly and openly to raise awareness. If there were just one or two individuals that I have affected on some remote level, that thought alone makes all of this worth it.

If I want to continue raising awareness and sharing my stories, I will need to learn to cast aside this crippling doubt. Individuals, people and society will always find, pick and exploit any and all perceived flaws, no matter how well thought out or rehearsed. These few moments of discomfort pale in comparison to all the potential good (patiently) waiting to be reaped.