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"Objective Reality" and the Hawai'i of the MindPart 6 of “Becoming Asian American” series looks at truth, truisms, and virtual communityThe Truth About Truisms
When I was in graduate school, academia was beginning to debate whether or not books by women and people of color should be added to the core curriculum. It was tricky time of re-evaluating standards, shifting research paradigms, and so-called “culture wars” that were really, deep down, political turf wars. Unsurprisingly, it was around this time that many of my classmates began increasingly, but mostly jokingly to refer to “objective realities”: situations that were “objectively funny,” books that were “objectively superior,” people who were “objectively handsome” or “objectively more beautiful” than other people, and so forth. The only problem was that I never laughed at any of their “Objectively Funny” jokes. I did not prefer their “Objectively Better” books, and I did not find the “Objectively Handsome” ones attractive at all. What was wrong with me, I wondered. Obviously, I was a freak. For example, I had a frustrating chicken-or-egg-type argument with a friend who asserted that Dante’s Inferno was “Objectively Better” than other books that might be admitted to our core curricula. He challenged me to come up with a comparable book by a woman or minority author. I could not do it; primarily because at that time I had never read or studied any books by women or minority writers. Even if I had, my friend would certainly have dismissed them since he had never heard of those writers, either. Since that time, however, I have discovered new and newly unearthed works of Asian-American literature, studied Asian-American history, boned up on Chinese and Asian and American cultures, and become an editor for IMDiversity’s Asian-American Village. Along the way, I have discovered that a parallel universe coexists with the supposed “Objective Reality” of mainstream thought that one might, for contrast, call the “Alternate Reality” of ethnic or “minority” points of view. The more I engaged with ethnic media, organizations, and scholarly studies, the more I found myself replaying that argument about Dante’s Inferno in my head, filling in answers I had not yet come to possess in graduate school. But no matter what I say, I never “win” the argument. I can never convince my opponent of the subjectivity of his own standards of beauty, humor, or literary worthiness because he remains blissfully unaware of the alternative – of my world, perspective, and references. Thinking Outside of the “Objective Reality” Box
The more I trained myself to think outside of the box – to ask, “But is that true for me, too?” – the more examples I found of mainstream culture and experience (read “European-American”) presumed to be “universally true” or “the way all things are for everyone.” It remains a constant struggle. Since I grew up in America with Caucasian Americans, reading and hearing English all around me, I have internalized a great many untrue truisms. For example, yesterday, my five-year-old saw a young man with dyed neon green hair walking down the street and observed, “He must not have washed his hair after swimming because if you don’t wash your hair after swimming, it turns green.” This is something I have heard and taken as true all my life, something I have repeated to my own children about why they have to take a shower after swimming. Suddenly it hit me—only blond hair would turn green from chlorine; black hair turns brown. Duh! In high school, I had a conversation with my father where I parroted what I had heard about how Chinese could not be good leaders, just good scientists and engineers. He said, “China has a 4,000 year history—who do you think was leading it?” Duh. Social and medical studies are particularly suspect. For example, most American doctors, nutritionists, and mainstream health resources recommend that all women get 1000 mg of calcium a day or else be at risk of osteoporosis; they also insist that milk and dairy products are the best source of calcium. For someone like me (and 75% of the world’s population) who is lactose intolerant, the thought of drinking eight glasses of milk a day is overwhelming. After years of combing through vegan and vegetarian literature, as well as having a doctor who is Japanese American, I have learned that little old ladies in Japan do not get osteoporosis; that broccoli, spinach, and dried fish are also good sources of calcium; and that the reason Americans need so much calcium is that the typical American diet has so much red meat in it that the meat leaches the calcium out of one’s system. The medical studies that were done studied mostly Caucasian American women eating a regular American diet. The conclusion, however, is claimed for “all women.” So how much calcium do I really need as a vegan of Asian descent who does not eat American food? I do not know. Probably not 1000 mg a day, but am I willing to take that chance? Or do I take my vitamins just to be sure? Even when there seems to be agreement between the two realities, it can sometimes be illusory. For example, “everyone” loved Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. However, when I saw it in San Jose, California, with a mostly Chinese and Asian audience and only two Caucasians in the theatre, the audience reacted much the same way I did. But those two Caucasians laughed out loud at scenes that I did not think were intended to be funny—like when people jumped or flew up to the rooftops—standard fare for those familiar with the genre director Ang Lee emulated. But the laughter was so weird and out of place that everyone turned around to see who was laughing. When I saw it again at the Michigan Theatre with a mostly Caucasian audience, the whole audience laughed at those same wrong parts. What were they laughing at? What were they seeing that was so different than what I saw? Once you start thinking outside of the “objective reality” box, it is hard to climb back in again. Disjuncture of Worlds
When I started writing for Asian-American Village, I warned my Caucasian husband that if I took this job, I would become more up to date on minority and Asian-American issues. Racial injustice, workplace discrimination, hatred and violence – the work would inevitably make me angry, and I might start to resent and dislike white people. As the closest white person at-hand, he was doomed to bear the brunt of my anger with the world. He just laughed and said, “And how is that different from any other day?” Call it another occupational hazard, but I quickly tire of the “objective reality” that forgets to include me in its truths, and I resent having to explain my “alternate reality” over and over and over again. After four years, I found that my whole social circle has changed. Whereas I once had mostly Caucasian friends, now all my friends are Chinese except for my one Korean, one Vietnamese, and one Japanese-American friend. My children have no idea that they are minorities because I have surrounded them with Asian Americans. I sometimes worry that these new social preferences might be construed as racism on my part, but I have limited time and energy, and I feel that the Asian friendships have a higher probability of long-term success. Besides, I am part of many communities and I also do not go out of my way to build relationships with homeless people, uneducated rednecks, super rich movie stars, or Republicans. And while my condition may be particular to many Asians, I do realize that it is not necessarily, racially exclusive to us. A professor of Chinese Art History once told me that although he is Caucasian, because he works in Chinese language with Chinese people and has a Chinese wife and children, he feels more Chinese and experiences the same disjuncture that I do with the mainstream. He told me about how Caucasian friends would tell racist jokes in his presence, and when he failed to laugh, they would keep their distance. I was torn by the dichotomies – physical/psychological, mainstream/alternative – until I read an article by poet Garrett Hongo about living in Eugene, Oregon. Caucasian neighbors asked him to talk to their kids’ schools about “his culture,” to which he wanted desperately to reply, “You mean LA gangs?” Rather than terrorizing his neighbors, however, he decided to think of himself as living in exile. He stopped limiting himself to his physical location and began to build community with Asian-American scholars and writers around the country linked by telecommunications, books, and conferences. Hawai'i of the Mind
I do the same thing as Hongo, I realized. What I consider “my community” is proactively constructed not as a mere accident of geographical proximity – of people who happen to live on my street in the city where I happen to be living – but of people around the world who have similar interests, concerns, backgrounds, and frames of reference. By choosing to live my life and to work among others who share my “alternate reality,” I have moved to what Village editor Stewart Ikeda calls the “Hawai'i of the Mind.” For those of us in the Midwest or who grew up in places were there were not a lot of Asian Americans, Hawai'i has been like a mythical Shangri-la. And in part, the Village editors and other Asian Americans are increasingly working to recreate an imagined space where the government and political representation are APA majority, where our concerns are in the forefront, our holidays are celebrated, and our food is on the table. As its long-time “mayor,” Ikeda has variously edited the Village from Philadelphia, New England, and Milwaukee; Secret Asian Man lives in Boston, Yayoi Winfrey lives in Los Angeles, Gil Asakawa in Colorado, and we partner with organizations in San Francisco, Cincinnati, Seattle, New York, Texas; our corporate headquarters are in New Orleans. Offline, we have all at times had the experience of being the only Asian American in our neighborhood, office, class, and so forth. But every day we telecommute out of our neighborhoods to this imagined plantation where we work in pan-ethnic proximity and cultural exchange in a political pidgin of our own. For Asian Pacific Americans who do not live in proximity to the real thing, the Internet has become the new Hawai'ian plantation, the new Chinatown, the new Buddhist Temple. Hawai'i of the World
Last February, I went to Hawai'i for a week with my family. I thought I knew about the place already from Hawai'ian friends, books, and Spam sushi, but I was unprepared for how different it would feel from my “objective” mainland reality. When we walked into a little divey Mexican restaurant and bar in Puna, we could not tell what people’s ethnicities were, and it was obvious that nobody cared. Everyone appeared to be mixed—from the waitress to the owner to the customers. I did not stand out for being Asian. My husband did not stand out for being Caucasian. My children did not stand out for being multiracial. We did not stand out for being together as a family. Varied accents and languages filled the air, people of all ethnicities dined together on tofu tacos and le hing mui margaritas. Later, at the macadamia nut factory store, an older Japanese American woman assumed that I spoke English and just started making small talk! She did not ask of my multiracial children “what are they?” but asked normal questions about their ages, schools, etc. The feeling of “fitting in” was not like in China or Nepal, where I could blend into the crowd and merely pass for belonging until I opened my mouth. Nor was it like mainstream America, where I think I ought to belong (since I was born here), but often find myself either invisible or too visible as the only Asian in the room. The difference, of course, is that Hawai'i is America. I already belong. It is also APA majority, and so there, I was just, well, normal, like everyone else. It was up to me to decide how I wanted to stand out…or not. It was like a dream of how things could be in our multicultural country. Since we cannot all live in Hawai'i (yet), we can do the next best thing and construct our own virtual Asian Pacific American communities. In addition to the Internet, we also come together and communicate through Asian American Studies Departments, ethnic networking groups, ethnic clubs, ethnic media, and literature. It is not a place “other than America,” though. It is a place of our own that we carry around with us in America. For me, it is where I can choose to live my life along with others who share my “Alternate Reality.” Also of Interest
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