Hey everyone, I wanted to rant about spoken word poetry and poetry slams, as well as their place in the history of hip-hop music. It might be interesting.


First, I think we should talk about spoken word and its function. Spoken word is, as we all know, a form of poetry that is meant to be read aloud and heard, rather than read. There are no limitations to the content that can be used in them because that would be ridiculous since it is in fact poetry; and as a form of poetry it is meant to evoke some kind of emotion to the listeners, being, in a way, more successful in relaying/delivering its message(s) because its listeners are receiving a direct issue and direct emotion to respond to. If we go back to the idea of poetry itself as a text (meaning, just "words" rather than a "meaning-directed work of art"), we can note that there are literally a bunch of words juxtaposed and the reader's job is to interpret it based on their own thoughts and experiences -- making the amount of possible interpretations hypothetically infinite. In spoken word, however, even though it itself is free in concept, the poems have limited interpretations because they are emotionally-driven and directed by the speaker -- meaning, you are supposed to think and hear exactly what is being said/heard.

Some say spoken word started back in the of the beat poets back in the 1950s, which supposedly started the "new", modern-day Spoken Word as well as hip-hop. There was usually some kind of overlay of music in the background, but that was just there for aesthetics. I guess that's what eventually gave way for hip-hop. Spoken word poems usually had some kind of important meaning to them and were presented to crowds of people that usually actively responded in a positive way (because, well, if someone was talking about how much their life growing up sucked, out of respect you wouldn't just respond with "hey, it’s because you suck", after all). I don't know too much about what kinds of things were said as a common issue in spoken word, but I do know that from my own experiences through live performances and in my English classes that they are, for the most part, about negative experiences in life. This found itself a public forum to discuss various social and/or political issues. The early rappers used this in creating their music: slap on a catchy beat and you have yourself a hit, right? And so that's how things were for a while and that was good and all, and then poetry slams and greed came along.

Spoken word is to Poetry Slams as hip-hop is to "the game". It's too bad they don't have analogies on the SAT anymore, as much as I hated them, but I think kids are getting it kinda easier for the test now. But anyway... The "game" that I'm referring to is money. Just to be clear, I am making a comparison of poetry slams as being just as bad as rappers who make crappy music just to make money. So, let’s start. At the beginning, spoken word was there to get your message out to the world, to let people know about something you really cared about that related somehow to common struggle and life to certain groups of individuals. As popularity had risen it could be figured just as much that this would be another thing to try to capitalize on, so of course there were competitions for it – some with prizes, others without. The better you were, the more fame you got from it. However, when slams came along, there was a problem soon to occur. As we read from Justin Chin’s “SLAMMED”, the discussion about the loss of the heart of spoken word is touched upon. I personally think it’s just a stupid idea to even be able to score someone’s experiences relative to another’s. No two people’s experiences will ever be the same, but that doesn’t make one more legitimate than the other. Something that’s easy or difficult for one person to deal with might not be the same for someone else. Chin talks about how in poetry slams that basically there’s this degradation in the true goal of the spoken word poetry because people are just fighting each other for points. This in inevitably led to people using common themes such as the “race card” and other political bashings as fuel to gain these arbitrary points, rather than trying to get some kind of personal discourse out. Now, whether or not they honestly felt what they spoke about is not something that I cannot speak for, but what I am going to say is that these slams were constructed in such a way that who ever had that one poem that talked more crap about something that anyone else, they won.

There was this critique in another one of my classes that we heard on tape. It was criticizing “modern” spoken word and poetry slams as being bastardizations of poetry that were limited to just talking bad about the government and repeating the last line of the poem about three times. If you take a look at certain poetry, that man was right. I want to use this imagery to talk about how the quality of hip-hop has lowered in the same way. Sure, there are artists out there in the world today who make music for the love of making music and there are probably just as many of those that we just don’t know, but for the ones that we do know, there’s the issue of “selling out” and things like that. I personally think that music (at least in America) has really gone horribly down hill in the past few years (and many of your probably agree). The artists of the previous decade who once talked about rapping from the heart are now those guys you always see wearing flashy things and talking about how they’re richer, “more legit”, or just somehow better than so-and-so. It’s the same thing every time – and it pisses me off. I want to hear good music! But I have to admit that maybe it’s not all their fault; maybe there was some kind of system setup to make these artists to have to fight to make as much money as possible… oh but then you have all the Bentleys, Mercedes and all that shiny stuff from Jacob – what’s that all about? Rapping from the heart? I didn’t know hearts needed diamonds and Ferraris to function. Forget that.

What I want to say on the last note is that all forms of writing and art are constantly changing; and poetry is not an exception. While there are those who would use their art as a medium to get money or fame (which kind of undermines the original meaning of art for most), there are still those few unrecognized individuals out there who do what they do just for the sake of doing it. It’s unfortunate that we need money in the world to survive otherwise we’d get some really “legit” art in the world. Well, that’s just my two cents. You can hate me if you want, but I’d prefer that you didn’t. Hope you enjoyed! -David Saetang

After the class where we had an opportunity to listen to some of the poetry we had read, I had a discussion with a friend about Park's readings of her poems. Similar to Alex, I felt that her reading was unneccesarily forceful. Although there were portions of her poetry that I did feel required a more forceful/angry/whatever you want to call it tone, I felt that it was not necessary all the time. When I had first read her poetry, I sensed nostalgia and regret in many cases, especially in "Jejudo Dreams" and "Anatomy of a Fish Store." I would like to think that Ishle Park, writing as a Korean American, expected other Korean Americans to be able to empathize and connect with the poem as their own experiences as well. I know that I certainly did, as my family's story of immigration was not necessarily rosy. I felt that her poem "Jejudo Dreams" could also link with all sorts of other aspects of Korean history that has been lost to the 2nd generation of Korean Americans, including stories of struggle during the Japanese colonialization of Korea and stories from the Korean War. I guess I felt that there was some sort of collective regret in the loss of stories and histories that was going on in the poems. Having Park read the poems so forcefully, however, seemed to indicate that perhaps this was not the case, and that her poems were her own, and did not expect people, except for those who felt equally angry/forceful/etc. as her, to connect to the poems.

Going back to my discussion with a friend. She felt similarly that the tone that Park uses did not match my friend's interpretation of how she would've read it. This lead us into a discussion on form, very much like how it played out in class. Unfortunately, we didn't get to talk to much extent about this topic, so I'm going to elaborate a bit on my thoughts on the matter. I was drawn to the poems because of all the pain, struggle, and perserverence that wasn't written into the story, and how I was able to almost write my own version of the poem as I read it. Poetry, and written form, is nice in that way that it is static and can be interpretted and replayed as one wishes and interprets. Park's reading, on the other hand, passed me quickly and left me stunned, unable to really react for a while. I will suggest that her writing of the poem was presented as how I first saw it, as a sort of unifying work for Korean Americans, and even other immigrants or whoever feels some form of empathy with the poet. On the other hand, her reading is her own, a personal declaration of her narrative with improvisations to further personalize and claim the story. Just as I had been mentally rewriting the poem as I read it, Park was able to do the same, except by speaking it out loud. I have a lot of talks with people about the power of spoken word, and hip hop, and other forms of art as tools for empowerment. It wasn't until this year, being exposed not only to poetry, but Asian American hip hop artists , that I started to actually appreciate it as a form of struggle, rather than just book-knowing it.

-Min

I want to make a short comment about "The Gift" by Li-Young Lee. This was one of my favorite poems that we read. I liked it, especially the last stanza, because it made sense to me and it's an interesting aspect of [I guess you could call it] coping(?) that I've never really thought about before. When I read about the boy's reaction I thought, "Yeah, that's so true!" When you pull out a splinter, you don't curse it and say "I HATE YOU STUPID SPLINTER!" You're more fascinated by it. In fact, the bigger and more painful looking the splinter, the better, because then you have bragging rights...you can say "hey look, this thing was in my HAND!...wHoa..." or at least I do.

I think children especially are more inclined to have that kind of awed reaction, because they are just more curious by nature. It also makes sense that a child would be grateful to have the splinter out of his hand (and therefore kiss his father).

A few people (in class and on the blog) focused on the negative voice of the last stanza. I disagree. I didn’t think it was meant to sound violent or angry, because the speaker’s saying I did not blah blah blah (angry words)… “I did what any child does / when he’s given something to keep. / I kissed my father.” It makes sense doesn’t it?

Kari brought up an interesting point in her post that this stanza could be kind of accusatory towards the wife and perhaps her lack of response. I didn’t think of it this way, and I’m still not sure how convincing this argument is.

I thought the point of the angry words and such in this section of the poem was to contrast and emphasize the boy’s actual response: gratitude…gratitude for his father’s “gift”—the splinter, the relief of pain, and of course (the slightly cheesy) example of tenderness and discipline.

~Kelly Cloward

“I’ve given up the dream of the Queer Nation. Race, class, gender, ideologies, and values will always divid us. It is ludicrous to think that since we share a common passion, we should all want the same things out of this life. We are each other’s angels, and we are each other’s demons. Beyond ourselves, there will always be those that wish for nothing more than to see us dead: They have been wishing and acting on it for centuries, but we are not vanishing. Call it sheer luck, call it divine intervention, call it tenacity. The fundamentalist Christians will call it a symptom of the end of the world as prophesied.

I have no idea what it is to be gay or queer anymore; nor do I care. I am so over being queer, and I don’t care what I call myself or what anyone else calls me; it’s all a matter of convenience these days. I believe in being unapologetic for my desires. All I know is when I wake in the night to find my lover’s body next to mine, no history—real or imagined, myth or fact, inherited or created—can make me feel any less than brilliant in his arms.”

I find this quotation bothersome for two reasons: 1. it makes me question my lasting interest in Asian American issues and political activism and 2. it reminds me of the following quotation in M Butterfly:

“Politics again? Why can’t they just hear it as a piece of beautiful music?”

Although Chin submits to surrender, his perspective appears to be one of a once politically active poet who has become jaded by the frustrating experience and lack of unity within his community. However, Helga, an ignorant White woman of high socioeconomic background speaks the latter. And while the two voices speak to two very different subjects, they both have the same implication: an encouragement to cease from constant political engagement. In reading Chin’s quotation, I cannot help but take his words as a form of advice and premonition. (While his words concern the queer community, I am applying it to the Asian American, Korean/Korean American community). And I will eventually reach the conclusion that there are too many internal differences for a marginalized community to unify and make a meaningful difference through the grassroots. And in coming to terms with this realization, raise my hands against the historically/sociologically formed structures of institutionalized racism and racial hierarchy and feel complacent. And if an individual from a community of a lesser political awareness can make the same end conclusion as one who has been politically engaged for many years, if it is worth it to try, to throw workshops and participate in protests and attempt to raise awareness. If I am being naïve and too idealistic.

However, I can’t help but suspect that agency, no matter how small and insignificant, sporatic and inconsistent, matters and can make a difference.

elisa

I see Ishle Park’s spoken word as some of the most powerful of the readings we had this semester. While I have no personal connection to the places she talks about, or the familial events she put at the focus of her work, hearing an author read her own words had an affect on me that reading the same poem 100 times over still wouldn’t create.

Last year in Literary Criticism with Professor Harper, he couldn’t stress enough his belief that poetry should be read out loud. This is a belief that I share. But regardless of whether or not the reader makes a habit of reading these particular works aloud, I feel that the experience of reading another person’s poem will in some way always lack the author’s original intention of how and why the words are intended to be read. Sometimes, it is only by hearing the pauses, emphasis, and intended cadence as read by the author, that the “reader”—in this case, the “listener,” is able to have the most complete experience of a poem.

When it comes to slam poetry, I feel that there one other additional element that adds to the reading process. It is the understanding that the poet reading her poem is consciously reading her own words to her audience. The very act of spoken word includes the “listener” in the saying of the poetry.

In addition to Park’s work, I was also extremely drawn to Suheir Hammad’s “First Writing Since.” The first time I read this poem, I got goose bumps. (Now, coming from me that is really saying something, because the only times I ever get goose bumps is when I’m cold.) I still remember 9/11 very clearly, the images of fire on TV screen floating behind Matt Lauer and Katie Couric’s grave faces. At school that day teachers were giving updates on what was going on. And I wrote a poem about things I didn’t really understand to go into the Chino Hills High School yearbook.

But in this piece, Hammad explores ideas and topics that she understands all very well. I find the following statement to be very powerful: “but I know for sure who will pay./ in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. Women will/ have to bury children, and support themselves through grief.” When transposed over images of Middle Eastern women crying and screaming in the streets of Baghdad—their own lives and loved ones casualties of the war on terror, this line seems almost prophetic. Though this idea was never far-fetched to begin with, I think that many times when people go into war, they are so focused on killing the world’s villains, that they forget about all the innocent people who are casually destroyed along the way.

I think it is important, when talking about race and cultural identity, to every so often stop and notice the humanity of all the people on this planet. Despite our understanding of the differences present in terms of color, creed and cultural identity in the United States, it seems to me that so many people have this belief that different lives have different values. I feel that in her poem, Hammad is working to combat this notion and trying to help her listeners to see the overall fragility and worth of all human life.

--Nicole Guillen

This post is kind of all over the place. It's just some things I was thinking about when I was looking over the reading again and some questions that came up for me.

I have enjoyed a lot of the reading for this month. One that I really enjoyed a lot was Mango. It was also pretty cool how the short story and the poem, written at separate times, tied into each other so well, as if they were meant to be a part of each other.

This short story was one of the first ones that we have read that has had a male narrator. The only other one that I can think of off the top of my head is M. Butterfly. It’s interesting that most of the novels and short stories we have read are written by women and have female narrators or protagonists. But that’s another conversation. There were some interesting points that were brought up in the discussion of this story in class.

When I started reading the story, after the page (like someone said in class) all of these images and words popped up in my head. It was as if there were trigger words within the piece that made me think of militarism and war prostitution and sex exploitation without explicitly stating that this was during wartime Vietnam. Since it is told through the lens of a child, the child is not going to know exactly what it means to be a prostitute to American soldiers in wartime Vietnam. The child refers to all the soldiers as his mother’s clients, clients he see in his home and outside the home. He also has a close connection to the soldiers because his father is a soldier and one of his mother’s clients. So in a way he finds these soldiers who come into his home both bothersome and intriguing. I know the discussion of whether the mother was a “good mother” came up in our class discussion, and for me that discussion was kind of disturbing. I hate to generalize, but it seemed like there were people who thought that she was not a “good mother” because she was a prostitute. I find it interesting that people can say that without acknowledging that being a prostitute sometimes (most of time) is not by choice. A lot of women don’t go into prostitution because they want to, but there are larger structures that force women into it. I don’t think that it’s okay to say that you prefer one son over the other to their face, but I also don’t think that should gauge whether you are a “good mother” or not. And another thing is is that I put “good mother” in quotes because I don’t know what characteristics constitutes a good mother. Is it what you see on TV where the mom stays at home and takes care of her children all day, cooks, cleans, etc.? Or is the mother in the story not a “good mother” because she is a prostitute? I thought it was interesting that the discussion went in that direction, to come to the point where it was said that she wasn’t a good mother because she was a prostitute. I guess I expected more, especially after reading about Korean comfort women and military sexual slavery during times of war. Obviously, prostitution/sexual slavery is not always voluntary, most of the time it’s forced.

And another thing completely off topic. I went to Manzanar on Saturday and at the evening program there was an opportunity to reflect on the day and the discussion a little before and we wrote down on a piece of paper for 5 minutes whatever was running through our mind, a train of thought exercise. After, people were given the chance to present their writings and some people chose to immediately make their piece into spoken word. They would go up to the front and perform their piece of writing, and some would perform it in the normative slam poetry way of being really intense. It just reminded me of what was brought up in class about how there is such a culture around slam poetry and a lot of spoken word (whatever that is) sounds the same. I couldn’t help but smile when I heard people acting the same way as the culture surrounding spoken word because we had just discussed it in class. It brings about the question of what is then considered to be spoken word and what isn’t included in that. Is only spoken word if it is presented and performed in a particular way? Why is it that people who perform spoken word feel the need to perform it in that way? It was just interesting to watch some people just read what they had written and others “perform” their piece.

On Thursday I attended a lecture at CGU by James Lee, who is an English/Asian American Studies Professor at UCSB. The title of the lecture was, "Revealing the Sacred in Asian American Studies." Lee began the talk by saying that after the events at Virginia Tech, he felt that he couldn't give the lecture he was planning on. He was going to discuss such questions as, why are scholars in Asian American studies so reluctant to talk about religion? In what ways does Asian American studies allow students and teachers to find the sacred? He mentions a metaphor he is the middle of perfecting equating Asian American studies to a kind of relgious-like conversion that takes place in the classroom with literature as transformations, and the class itself as a kind of ritual experience. I thought that was a really interesting idea that can be applied to a lot of classes. But Lee said that this was the point that the lecture had to take a detour.

He shifted conversation to his initial thoughts after learning that Cho was the shooter. Lee said that he obsessively searched for details about Cho, because like Cho, Lee is of Korean descent and felt a shared identity, which he said he couldn't understand. He elaborated that perhaps his attachment to the shooter had to do with the Asian American "model minority" thesis, and Cho's complete refusal to be part of it. This thesis, Lee said, is the imperative to be good at something, to excel. Which is weaved into narratives of Asian American redemption and second generation glory. Lee gave lots of examples of his students who ended up as Biology majors, or pre-med, who eventually changed over to Asian American studies. Lee argued that Asian American studies was created to find an alternative to the model minority. Lee said that Asian American studies offers some of his students a place to find identity or be good at something for the first time. It teaches a way for Asian American students to live into their "otherness". It is a type of community formation that gives its students a language and context to express themselves.
At the end of the talk, Lee tied his religion thesis back in, saying that after taking an Asian American studies class, students act as evangelicals and go around telling everyone to talk that class.

I really enjoyed Lee's talk, because it not only gave new insight into Asian American studies, but it also gave me a lot to think about because I found I could apply a lot of his ideas to other things as well.
--RACHEL BERMAN

I enjoyed most of Ishle Yi Park's spoken word on CD we heard in class, and one of them that struck me the most was "Jejudo Dreams."
Jejudo is an island located south of the Korean peninsula, and it is mainly known for its tourist attraction. I had a luxury to go visit Jejudo last summer, and I realized that Jejudo isn't all about its beautiful beaches, palm trees, and green scenery with playful horses running around in the field. Jejudo is the country's largest island, and it became a separate province in 1946. I feel like Jejudo is a place that has been excluded from the main part of Korean history, and I was surprised to find out so many interesting historical incidents and events (and important ones that I didn't even know about!) when I went to visit some of the historic sites last summer.
At any rate, one of the reasons why "Jejudo Dreams" left a strong impression on me is the women divers' singing in the background. I have always felt that there is something poetic about these women divers in Jejudo; they depend on their strong lungs to stay underwater for a long time, and they also face numerous dangers and risks while they are in the water. These women are an important part of sustaining Jejudo's economy (tourism isn't going so well as much as it used to in Jejudo), and I don't think it's an exaggeration when "these women, seal smooth with black river hair tied thick into a bun, will, even nine months pregnant, hold their breath and submerge."
I wonder why "Jejudo Dreams" was such a powerful read for me. Why did the voices of the women divers chanting in the background spread goosebumps all over my arms? Why do I connect with the spoken word artist when she describes her mother's memory and the past even when I don't really share the same background or experience with Ishle Park?
While Ishle expresses nostalgia and a sense of shame for "erasing her mother's momories and replacing them," she also describes the women divers as strong and enduring human beings that continue to live on and support their family. Then I go back to my first question, what is so poetic about these women divers?

"How it feels... to hold your breath so long
your lungs, on the verge of bursting, steel themselves
while you grab, wrench that thing you ned more than air,
and break surface."

My question is answered in this one verse. Despite the difficulties they face such as "pollution from Seoul" or "broken shells shrapnel," they hold their breath until their lung is about to burst to grab that thing that they need. The thing--economic support for the family, their desire to sustaining life, and their effort to endure the economic difficulties Jejudo is facing is so powerfully portrayed in Ishle Park's work.
While reading "Uma Haiku," the same warm and bittersweet feeling overwhelms me. Personally, I think that the relationship between a mother and her child is so strong in its own sense that when described in written form, I immediately remember my personal experience and connect it with my personal feelings and thoughts. In this haiku, it's more than the relationship between the writer and her mother. By reading these three short lines, I drew an image in my head, and it's something like this:
Mother is sitting in the kitchen table searching through newspaper want ads. The economic difficulty the family is experiencing is implied here, but the child still wonders why Mother is looking for a job. The mother's smile creates so many different feelings, and I think it's wonderful how much emotion this haiku is able to create. The beauty of simple yet complicated things!

This is a shameless plug from me as a history major:

I thought those presentations were really great, and having known a lot of the presenters and seen their projects evolve over the year made it doubly rewarding. That said, I thought it was so interesting that almost every thesis talk was introduced with a couple minutes of historical background, as well as relevant theory. I think that in many ways, communities of color cannot be defined without being at the same time historicized, placed into a temporal context; the Asian American community cannot be completely understood without a solid knowledge of US immigration policy and the history of race in this country.

Elaine Wan's presentation, in particular, observed that the progressive social justice mission of the AARC at pomona is strongly informed by history and theory, and that AARC interns are assumed to have a background in that history and that theory during conversations planning events, doing outreach work, etc. Part of the problem with the way college classes are structured is that there never seems to be a time when each discipline has a chance to actually force students to read all of the theory that underpins its analysis of texts, events, communities.

I was personally reminded of this the other day. I was talking with a first-year about the direction history seminars take: more theory, more analysis of and synthesis from texts, less name-and-date memorization. She asked me if I'd read Hegel, and I blushed, admitting that while his work is in some sense foundational for a lot of what I've studied, I've never actually picked up any of his texts. "You should," she said, "his philosophy of history is pretty short."

So this is a "make-up" for missing an event...

I went to the IDAAS senior thesis presentations this afternoon. I was really glad to see that so many people attended! I really enjoyed Amanda Shortall's presentation, which included a short film that she made about her topic (she is a media studies major also...). Her thesis was about suicide in Chinese American women, and how it was such a "damning" thing for women to do in China. I thought it was really interesting. Another presentation by Meagan Tom on the Asian American community here at the 5C's was really enlightening for me. I am a peer mentor, and we work closely with the Asian American Sponsor program at Scripps that she mentioned. That's when I learned about the push for a 5C Asian American center. I assumed it was only a recent thing, and was surpirsed to learn through her talk that it is actually somehting that has been presented since the 1990s! This may be naive of me to say, but I have never really felt a huge sense of Asian American community action here at the 5Cs. Its probably because I am not Asian American, thus I am not privy to information among the inner circles of these organizations. However, I was surprised to learn that there was/is such a wanting for the AASC. Last year I felt like I heard things about it for about a week, and that was it. As Meagan mentioned in her presentation, its difficult becuase of the cycling of student population at the colleges. I think, though, that if this desire were publicized more to the Asian American community as well as the other college communities/organizations, there might be more support and action towards making this goal a reality.

Overall, I thought all the presentations were great and really interesting! Some touched on topics we have discussed in class such as identity, racism and power, agency, etc. The topics were varied, but I think there was something mentioned that almost everyone could understand or find interest in at some point during the talks.

-- Ashley

Stepping back a little from controversy...

Professor Yamashita gave a lecture today at lunch on Letters from Iwo Jima and the portrayal of the Asian (in some cases specifically the Japanese) in American film.

He started with a summary of the historical portrayals of the Asian enemy in film, beginning with the wartime movies. He noted that in most cases, the enemy is either ridiculously villainized (i.e. the slanty eyes and sinister smile) or is completely anonymous. In most cases, you either see the enemy for a brief moment, or you never see them very clearly at all. This is true in films from the 1940s through the 1980s (he cited several, but I can, unfortunately, only remember the James Bond references).

This changes, he argues, in the 1998 movie version of The Thin Red Line. Even though it's just one scene and just 10 seconds, for 10 seconds the camera stops following the American troops and instead is inside the Japanese pillbox, focused on the two men manning the machine guns. As Professor Yamashita put it, for 10 seconds you can see the enemy, and you can recognize them; you can identify them as possibly your father and uncle, your best friends, yourself and your brother.

In a way, this set the context for Letters from Iwo Jima and the way it changes our understanding of the Asian enemy. I haven't see the movie, so I can't say with great certainty that I agree, but my grandmother and her friends saw it and loved it, as did my Japanese language exchange partners and their friends, so I think it's safe to say that it's not grossly offensive to an Asian/Asian-American audience.

Professor Yamashita also discussed other issues surrounding the nature of the film and why it couldn't have been made earlier. He showed a clip from a Know Your Enemy film about the Japanese, which described them as a "fantastic" people (and by this I doubt they meant "really cool"). At once the Japanese were portrayed as both modern (shots of buildings and machinery, etc.) and backwards (traditional music and dancing). The soldiers profiled were depicted as "trained from birth" to be soldiers. They were small, and simply equipped, but they had a great deal of endurance and knew what their job was. Professor Yamashita suggested that one of the reasons for an unwillingness to explore the Japanese "enemy" even after they stopped being enemies was that there was a prevailing feeling that "we know the enemy, what more is there to learn?"

Another contributing factor to the context of Asians portrayed in film was the history of photographs in relation to Asians. Most of the earliest images of Asia (taken by American and European photographers) were of beautiful landscapes, the exotic (for instance, he showed a picture of "traditional snake charmers"), the laughably backward (a photograph of men pulling geishas in a rickshaw), and the exoticized women (a large number of the photographs of women were of them bare breasted).

Along with this is the history of war photography. As in film, there was a shift from the "anonymous" enemy in photographs to the very human enemy. Historically, the enemy in pictures is either absent, or so dehumanized they are not recognizable as human. There was a very interesting set of shots (taken by the same photographer) of a Japanese soldier killed by a flamethrower compared to a slain American soldier; you could see the face and expression on the American soldier's face, but the Japanese soldier had been burned beyond recognition even as a body almost. However, Professor Yamashita offered a new set of images from a more recently released album on Iwo Jima that shows both Japanese and American soldiers as "human," in the sense that you can see their faces and place them as people.

Producing a movie such as Letters from Iwo Jima, he also posits, would have previously been impossible because it would have undermined the traditional imposed discourse about Japan's role in the war, namely that the Japanese people were ignorant and were forced into this crazy war by the military leaders. I wasn't entirely clear on what part of this Letters from Iwo Jima would have undermined, given that I didn't see the movie, but perhaps the suggestion was more that it would open up consideration of the war beyond the neat textbook discussion.

However, while the movie was excellent, there are, of course, criticisms. Some (especially British critics, apparently) found the film very "Orientalist." Japanese characters that were portrayed as "round" and "human" were coincidentally the characters that had studied in the United States or interacted with Americans; the suggestion, of course, is that they are only good because they have been somewhat "Americanized." This is obviously a fairly well-known narrative to us.

I'm sure very little of this comes as a surprise, I just thought it was interesting to hear about the issues related to film.

I saw Justin Chin as having double minority status—as being “otherized” twice, once for his ethnic/racial identity, and once for his sexual orientation. In “Slammed”, Chin was acutely aware of his double minority status: “in Ann Arbor, I was one of three Asians in a sea of over three hundred competitors. And as far as openly queer work goes, I was again in a serious minority” (81), and probably rightly so, as the audience did not react well to his works. I was appalled at the reactions his work incited, such as the straight couple who “decided to start making out” (82) and a man who had to be restrained so he wouldn’t hit Chin. It’s ridiculous that people would have such adverse reactions to someone reading poetry. Chin’s poetry didn’t hurt anyone, at worst, it offended, and at best, it touched and moved people, opened up their lives to “a different reality” (82).

Chin moves on from the negative reactions to his controversial poem to an article written about “issue poetry” (83). The article’s argument portrayed minorities as people who exploited the guilt of everyone who was not a minority for a good score in a slam, not as people who simply want to share their experiences. It sounded more like they were people who had had these experiences because of their minority status, but then instead of accepting these experiences and moving on, they would use their experiences to create the optimal amount of guilt. The article made a point, and yet at the same time, essentially said that people shouldn’t try to share their experiences of racism and sexism because “some issue poetry is actually also well-written and personal but those poets are in the minority by a long-shot” (84). “Playing the Race Card” (85), as Chin puts it, was a common accusation, but it was only made if the poem received a good score. If the poem received a low score, “obviously… the Race Card wasn’t played, or was played but the white judges (and they usually are) were too smart to fall for it.” (85) The effect of the “Race Card” is the portrayal of people of color as self-interested and manipulative, as people who use their experiences to guilt trip the judges and get good scores rather than just to share them, which just isn’t true. It is conceivable that a few people would have played up the issue of race to gain points, but it’s just not fair to accuse any person of color who receives a good score of “playing the Race Card”.

This issue brings to mind anti-feminist (and anti-minority) arguments that claim that we are already equal, and thus women and minorities should stop complaining, or that women and minorities play up the inequalities to gain an unfair advantage over the white male American. This is a counter argument that is made often, and it can be applied to anyone claiming discrimination or inequality. Essentially, the argument made in the article Chin mentions and the accusation of “playing the Race Card” are the same.

I noticed that Chin described his team as “like the Mod Squad, a multi-culti group (woman, Chinese, Black, gay, straight, Filipino/Latino, white)” (80) This description seemed a little off to me, although it may just be because I’m taking a women’s studies and an Asian American studies class. Why is it that he mentions that a woman is on the team, but not a man? (And we know that there is at least one man on the team.) He mentions two minorities as well as the dominant ethnic group (white), and yet he doesn’t bother to mention men. It’s as if we automatically assume that a person is a man, unless otherwise specified. He seems to give differences of race and sexual orientation attention, but he doesn’t delve into genders. I might be reading too much into it, because it’s just one line, but I did circle it when I was reading, so I must have thought it was important. (On a possibly irrelevant sidenote, when I typed asian american in word, it automatically capitalized American, but not Asian. Is that a coincidence?)

Okay, this might be backtracking slightly in our studies, so please forgive me. And beware, I'll be discussing some controversial stuff ... please don't be offended, and if anyone has a response to the opinions I present, I welcome it.

When I was poking around for information about Justin Chin for my presentation last week, I found though an article search site an essay/article he wrote. This article was more about the homosexual experience than about an Asian American one, but I read it anyway in case I needed something to fill the time if my presentation went slowly.

From the very first paragraph I was shocked and a little horrified. The article was about fundamentalist Christian groups that are apparently trying to "cure" homosexuality. In order to write the article, Chin went to see the leaders of some of these groups and interviewed them, as well as some of the people participating in the programs. He even went to a meeting (scarily reminiscent of an AA meeting) and described that. I know homosexuality and its acceptance is a touchy issue in modern culture - I know it is one of my pet issues. To be frank, I was disgusted to see that people would attempt to "cure" a part of their life that really can't be changed. Fortunately, Chin felt the same way. It took a little while, but I recognized the sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek tone to his writing. He clearly thought that homosexuality was not something to be cured. As we could see in the essays we read for class, he didn't mind labeling himself as queer. Participants in the program were prohibited from acting in stereotypically "gay" ways, to find girlfriends or wives, and to start families. One of the ex-participants described it to Chin as "closeting their sexuality" again. Homosexuality is not something to be "cured," just to be forgotten or repressed. That is, perhaps, what I found most disturbing. But the figurative nail in the coffin to the essay that I read was that the two male leaders of one of the Christian groups had apparently left the program and started a relationship.

Something I attempted to say in class, and perhaps didn't articulate very well, was the similarity of "other"ness between homosexuals and Asian Americans. (Again, feel free to disagree.) In a white, patriarchal, heterosexual society, anyone not defined in these terms lies in the place of the "other." This reminds me of M. Butterfly, and not just because of the homosexual aspect. Because Song appeared feminine and was also Chinese, Gallimard saw him as "other" - he mentally forced Song into an Orientalist role as feminine and exoticized. In this way, he was able to trick Gallimard for far longer than if he had appeared masculine. Chin occupies two "other" roles by being both Asian American and homosexual. I thinnk perhaps this gives him a very unique view of the Asian American experience. It isn't the focus of the essays we read, but it is fascinating nonetheless.

Once more, I hope I didn't offend anybody by anything I said. And if anyone would like to read the article I spoke about, I can direct you there.

As we heard Suheir Hammad’s First Writing Since, It clearly brought back a lot of memories of the attacks on US government buildings on 9/11/01. However, as she was speaking about pride and shame, mixed in with sorrow and anger, my mind jumped to the recent events at Virginia Tech. I felt for the author, because I can’t imagine dealing with the same horror and sadness that everyone is sharing, and all the while having an isolating sense of fear for yourself mixed in. I thought it was interesting that she never actually said that she was talking about 9/11, but it was obvious from her imagery and such. However, several significant parts of her piece could be applied to any number of events which result in racialization. I don’t know if that was her intent, but it certainly works as a more timeless piece, and I can see where this could describe the feeling of a lot of minorities, more often than U.S. society would like to admit.
I will try not to treat this work like a poem, but it is sort of difficult to deal with it in another way when I have the physical text in front of me. For some reason the section in which she talks about people being thankful that they were not, for whatever reason, near the world trade center on the morning of the attacks. She begins this by being thankful for Korean food. As she further reveals, her craving for a particular Korean restaurant prevented her from being a victim of the attacks. I thought this was very reflective and satirical of human nature. Not only do we blame people who had nothing to do with unfortunate events because of some remote tie, we also equally absurdly thank those (and often ourselves) who had a remote tie to a more positive event. I guess this is part of our nature to not simply accept things, but we must find a reason, no matter how disconnected our logic. People will also resort to religious reasoning for this same effect, but that is another debate for another time. This is a bit frightening to me, as I’m not sure (if my speculation is in any way correct) if there will ever be relief from minority profiling for scapegoats. I guess that depends on our level of understanding about one another, like when Hammad said that most Americans don’t know the difference between different Asian racial groups, or can separate them from the different religious groups that are more mainstream in Asia.
The anger of the spoken word almost had the same effect on me as it did on my feelings toward Americans. It seemed not to have a concrete target, except towards people’s misunderstandings, and her own fear. As a white American, I almost felt like she was angry toward me, even though I am not personally guilty of the racism which has caused her so much pain. She seems to be angry at all white Americans, which is a bit insulting. I am lumped in with a group of people who are racist, and there is nothing I can do to prove my innocence. Like the man on the Wilshire bus, I feel like there is little I can do either to separate myself, or to prevent it from happening to other minority Americans. I guess this contention within myself is the closest I can come to understanding of her much more unfortunate position. We are all guilty of pointing fingers and afraid of the finger being pointed at us. I did like the end of Hamman’s piece, in which she calls people to take some responsibility for this, since even though there are only a few of us who are guilty of what they have been accused, we have all had to defend ourselves from the accusations, some admittedly worse than others. Hammad in the end is more optimistic than I, as she calls people to peaceful action in order to combat racism, I suppose. I just feel that somehow it isn’t quite that simple, and that there is no clear starting point for that action. If anyone has any ideas, please, please share!
-Megan

More on Spoken Word

After realizing in class that our readings for today were in fact spoken work and not poetry, I decided to do a little bit of investigative work. My first stop was Suheir Hammad’s website (for those of you who are interested: http://www.suheirhammad.com/#). One of the poems on her website, entitled Jenin, struck an emotional chord for me:

Jenin

a woman hungry
and dry asks a
stranger with a camera
pointed at her to
put it down
please

help me find my children

it has been five days

Like First Writing Since, Hammad’s work seems to depict her own personal hardships and those of women in general. From the two readings in our Reader and the other five on Hammad’s website, it is arguable that there lies a hint of self-confidence and assurance in the words that are spoken. Even though the poems paint a picture of sadness, the writer seems to emerge more confident and strong having experienced such adversities.
When I read Ishle Yi Park’s spoken word in our Reader I noticed an element of sorrow in all of her works, especially that of the haiku. However when I came across Pussy the first thing that came to mind was “Why on earth did Professor Suh choose to include this poem along with the others.” The only sense that I could make of it was that she, the speaker, is angry at the Man…well, I take that back. Livid would be more appropriate. However, after bashing the male sex, she seems to switch dispositions, and desperately yearns for contact with him. Park’s flurry of contradictions puzzled me. If she is trying to evoke a sense of questioning and emotion from the reader, in that case, I would have to say that she succeeds. Do y’all have any thoughts on the matter?
Also, if your interested, Ishle Yi Park’s website is http://www.ishle.com/. I found it interesting that both Park and Hammad were raised in New York. Perhaps one can attribute their edgy writing and vocal skills to this.

I think it is an interesting point that Kari has brought to the table here. Although the media points out that Seung-Hui Cho had a history of mental problems, it emphasizes the fact that he was a Korean immigrant (NOT a citizen, just a permanent resident) and that he came to the United States when he was about 8 years old.
I was talking to a group of Asian American students on Wednesday in regards to this tragic incident, and one of them brought up an interesting point on why the media makes sure that he is identified as a Korean immigrant, not an average American. She said that since the United States has a history of gun shootings in schools, the media wants to show that this incident does not happen in everyday American society. Rather, it was a disturbed foreigner who had serious mental problems. Not surprisingly, this event is racialized throughout the media, and I cannot help feeling very self-conscious when I am walking around campus.

After finding out that the gunman was South Korean, I became more alert of my existence on campus. When I was walking at night, I feared that someone would come up and shoot me because I am South Korean. Although this sounds dramatic, I realized that a lot of Korean American students shared the feelings as well--that we were targeted, and people won't see Seung-Hui Cho as someone who had psychological problems, but rather they see him as a KOREAN kid with serious psychological problems.

President of South Korea, Roh Muhyun, publicly apologized for the incident, and the rest of the people in South Korea felt ashamed that such incident happened. It's incredible how Korean people feel somewhat "responsible" for this incident. Why? I remember American soldiers running over two innocent girls with a military tank vehicle, the US government disregarded the case and refused to apologize. Of course what happened at Virginia Tech was horrible, but I think it's important for us to note the power dynamic between Korea and the United States, and why South Koreans feel a certain way and feel responsible toward this tragic event.

Adding to my post from the 19th, I received another email with an article on the Virginia Tech shootings called "When ethnicity brings an unwelcome focus." Here is the link:

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-me-minorities19apr19,0,2127441.story

It is true that most people's "visceral" reaction, selfish as it may seem, is, "Thank goodness the shooter is not one of our ethnicity/race." I suppose it is hard for historically marginalized minorities not to think this. In all honesty, our country does not need another reason or excuse to cast non-white groups in a bad light.

An interesting point is that the Korean government has issued a formal apology to the victims of the shooting, and many Korean-Americans are taking it upon themselves to apologize for Cho's crime. That radio DJ Kobylt (see the article) would accuse or make fun of Koreans and Korean-Americans of "playing the race card" seems very insensitive to me. Were he a part of an ethnic minority, I am sure he would also want to let others know that no, one (mentally unstable) individual's actions are not indicative of the nature of an entire group of people. This is what I believe is the mindset of those Korean and Korean-Americans who are apologizing for the shootings. I read an online post by Prof. Glenn Omatsu of Cal State Northridge in which he writes:

"I think it's fairly common for immigrant adults to feel guilt for the shooter's actions and to try to assume responsibility. This is probably both a consequence of Korean/Asian cultures but also the racialization of minority groups in America...Most politically conscious Asian American young people would immediately realize the contradiction and the problem in this thinking."

While Prof. Omatsu has a valid point, in this case, I do not think the apologetic Koreans are necessarily blaming themselves for what has happened. Rather, they are making certain that anyone who might think otherwise knows that they as a people do not condone the doings of one man; in fact they think, like everybody else, that such a crime is downright atrocious. Thus the two views - those of 1) the older and 2) the younger, "politically conscious" generations - which Prof. Omatsu presents are quite reconcilable: neither generation wishes to (nor should) be held accountable, but are aware that in this racialized nation, it would be wise for them to say something about the occurrence. Remaining silent and allowing misinformed racial/ethnic talk and speculation to circulate would be a bad idea.

Unfortunately, emphasizing that the Virginia Tech massacre was the doings of an individual does not go without consequence. The article in my previous post ended by saying that at least now the model minority myth can begin to be dispelled:

"After the shootings, my best friend, a Korean-American lawyer in Washington,
D.C., felt in his bones that somehow aKorean was responsible. He didn't know
why. but, "one thing's for sure now," he said, "we can safely lay the model
minority theme to rest."

While many might like to think of this as one positive (if this word can be used in this context) outcome of the recent events, I feel that this is untrue. Since Cho should be seen not as the average Korean-American, but rather a highly disturbed man regardless of his ethnic background, he also cannot help "lay to rest" the issue of the model minority. Non-Asians, having been encouraged to view Cho notas Asian, but instead as an American, will logically continue to view Asian-Americans as a model minority. Furthermore, if members of other Asian communities are going to keep emphasizing that Cho is not one of them, how can they also expect the model minority myth to be dispelled?

As for me, I do not think we should focus too much right now on whether or not Asians are still considered model minorities, or how this reflects on a certain or on any people as a whole. For the victims, families, and survivors struck by the horror of this mass murder, these relatively trivial details do not matter. We should all really be thinking of how we can help ease the pain and suffering of those affected by this tragedy.

I just received this email from a friend who goes to Scripps. Her aunt sent her this article, and here is a link to it:

http://www.thenation.com/doc/20070430/lam_2

The article is "Let It Be Some Other Asian" by Andrew Lam and refers to the Virginia Tech massacre.

Lam brings up a good point - when rumors circulated that the shooter was Asian, the various Asian ethnicities all hoped that he would not be one of theirs. I never really thought about it, but after reading the article I agree that I probably would have felt a whole lot worse if the shooter had been Japanese or Japanese-American. This is a shameful and rather selfish thought, because no matter what the perpetrator's ethnic background, he has made countless people suffer because of his cruelty. We shouldn't focus on whether he was Korean-American, Chinese-American, Vietnamese-American, Japanese-American, etc., but on the objective fact that he was an individual who committed an atrocious crime.

Lam's article reminds me of the issue which Hisaye Yamamoto brings up in her short story "Wilshire Bus." The Japanese-American woman on the bus is relieved that the man on the bus attacks the Chinese couple, and not her. She makes the distinction between herself and the couple who are being unjustly attacked. Why does she not do the right thing and, rather than being inwardly smug because the white man did not target her, particularly, stand up for her "fellow" Asians? While there are times when clumping certain ethnicities under the "Asian" label is undesirable, or even offensive, there are also instances when people need to learn to unite under a common cause.

I know it can be difficult to separate the criminal from his Korean-American identity. Nevertheless, we need to see past this and realize that we are all responsible for helping each other get through whatever happens in the coming weeks, months, years. The "other" Asians cannot just sit around being relieved that it is not someone of their ethnicity who did this. That is very self-righteous, and unnecessary in a time when we should be coming together rather than discriminating and pulling apart.

I also want to talk a bit about the Justin Chin essays and take up one of the questions that was brought up monday during the Lee Young-Li conversation: are these poems Asian-American enough? (to put it bluntlty). It is an issue that Chin discusses in a different context. He brings up the other side of the issue when commenting that many poets of color are accused of 'playing the race card' with their poetry in order to gain points from guilty-feeling white judges. I am less concerend with to what extent this is or isn't true, and more interested in the idea itself. How far does a poet (or any person of color) have to go before they are accused of somehow milking their minority experience for gain? Isn't it possible that these poets were simply sharing the experiences of their lives? Should they have to censor themselves so that everyone in the room listening to their poetry feels comfortable? I think we would say, no. Chin seems to agree with this, but moves on to lament a slam contest in which everyone was giving depressing poetry. Here, I think Chin misses the point. Perhaps these members of the Queer community use their poetry to express the emotions and feelings they have about traumatic instances in their lives. The slam poetry that I have seen, at least in part, has taken up some of these same issues. The poem is the poets way of compartmentalizing experiences in a very personal way. It logically follows then, that some poems are happy and some are sad. I think it is limiting to complain when poets bring 'depressing' poems to slam competitions. Chin does not take into account the fact that while his poetry may usually be more 'fun', his experiences are not the same as others' and the slam events should be a forum for all sorts of ideas and experiences, including Chin's.

This is beginning to sound like I am slamming (forgive the choice of words) Chin. That's not the case at all! I really enjoyed his pieces and they definitely made me think. On to my other point of the poetry we read being 'Asian-American enough'. This is a difficult question that has no one answer, as it is something that every Asian-American writer/artist/etc... (not to mention anyone who does not fit into the category of white and christian)has to answer for themselves. I think it is hard to be an Asian-American and not express that somehow in your writing, because it is simply part of who you are. Maybe this means mentioning the different cultural ways of eating a persimmon. Maybe this means bringing up issues of being the right kind of sister. Whatever it means to the person is what is going to show up naturally in the writing. It is dangerous to categorize any group into one style of writing (or anything else) because then this image basically becomes a stereotype, doesn't it? If we expect every bit of Asian-American literature to be about silence or the feminized man aren't we seriously categorizing all kinds of people as one thing and not another?? Maybe most Asian-American literature does allude to these two important ideas in varying amounts, I do not know. But I do think it is hard to answer a question about anything being 'Asian-American enough' because that naturally depends on multiple factors, situations, and choices of the author.

I don't know if these ideas make sense, I hope I haven't offended anyone. These are just things I have been thinking about.

-Rachel Berman

This will be a post on several things, including our readings for this week, Virginia Tech, and portrayals of Asian-Americans in the media.

First off, our readings. We haven't yet discussed the Justin Chin pieces yet, but I have some initial reactions I'd like to talk about. First, the "Slammed" piece by Justin Chin. When it comes to the conversation involving the "used and reused" aspect of such slams (and here, I am referring to the reverend who said that any member of a minority can play the race/gender/sexuality card and win a competition), I think that this is related to the conversation we were having a couple weeks ago when we were discussing "The Upside-Downness of the World" and how it could be received as just another unoriginal multi-culti text in the ethnic studies canon. I didn't really think this was true when I read it, but when we started talking about it in class, then I started thinking about it and realizing that this did seem to be the case. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that even though the text may seem unoriginal or redundant, the fact that I can read it and still get so much out of personally makes it a worthwhile read. So with regard to the "playing the Race Card" issue that Justin Chin was talking about, I think that if you voice that criticizing opinion, then you are probably in a position of privilege and power, and for you to trivialize another's experience as "just another poem about racism" suggests to me that that person treats racism as something of the past, which it is not. So, after thinking about this for a long time, I've decided (for now, at least) that such texts and poetry is entirely necessary because it is a reminder to the larger community that people still hurt from being discriminated, marginalized, etc. But perhaps, these national poetry slam competitions need to be seriously restructured if we are to avoid the commodification of pain.

Now, onto the second point: Virginia Tech. After reading the news this morning about who the killer was, I was immediately afraid and scared for my safety, my Asian-American friends' safety, and the safety of the entire Asian-American community in the United States. I started thinking about the possible backlash that the API community would experience as a result of this. I imagined little Asian-Americans kids on school playgrounds being bullied and alienated for the actions of one man, even though children are not guilty or responsible at all. I started thinking about America's treatment of Japanese-Americans during WWII and towards Muslims and South Asians after 9/11. I remembered the stripping of civil liberties of these groups, the contradictions that this government perpetuated through their treatment of these people. And not only was it the government's policies which reinforced the "alien" status of these groups, but average Americans also unleashed their anger in numerous hate crimes across the country. I started thinking about all this when I read that it was an Asian-American man who'd killed all those people. And I was hoping the media wouldn't be as horrible as it usually is, but sadly, the media lived up to all my predictions. I read story after story about this man, who "was a legal permanent resident, not a citizen." Every article that I read alluded to his alien status and the fact that he was not an American citizen. I even read one article in a mainstream US newspaper that had an entire paragraph explaining how a lot of South Korean college students come to the United States to get their graduate degrees. And I thought, "How is this relevant AT ALL?" That is just entirely irrelevant to this situation and unnecessary information for this case.

According to the reports, the gunman immigrated to the United States in 1992, and since he's 23 now, he was probably in 2nd or 3rd grade at the time. He's practically lived his entire life in the United States, which means his English is perfect, and he's probably been through most of the social ups and downs like most other American students in the public education system. I have many 1.5 generation Asian-American friends (1.5=they were born in another country, but immigrated to the US at an early age), and they've been socialized exactly like myself, going through the American education system, hanging out with friends, etc. I was born in the U.S., but had my parents decided to immigrate here 3 years later than they did, then I would also be a 1.5 generation API kid. So, if I'd committed some horrible crime and I had been an "alien" instead of a U.S. citizen, would the media also focus so much on my foreign status even though I've spent almost my entire life here? Are school kids going to start hating on the quiet Asian kid because of this? It struck me as entirely irresponsibly, uninformed, racist for every single media outlet to allude to the gunmans' foreign-ness, to constantly refer back to his citizenship status, or lack thereof, as if him being of South Korean descent instead of an American citizen was entirely relevant to what happened. This also says a lot about how the general population sees immigrants. Are they suggesting that this tragedy was another horrible thing committed by a bad immigrant? That, he's not one of "us"? It's interesting the way that even these articles which aren't blatantly anti-immigrant still suggest an underlying prejudice towards anyone who isn't white or a citizen. Is citizenship supposed to be a litmus test for morality?

In many ethnic studies classes, we're always talking about media depictions of Asian-Americans, about stereotypes and how they affect our thinking and actions, etc. Here, I found a glaring, concrete example of just how a media depiction of an Asian-American as the perpetual foreigner (even though he's been here almost his whole life) can affect how we're all seen to other Americans. I was talking to several Asian-American friends of mine today about this, and they ALL said that this is exactly what they thought too. The fact that we've all become frightened for the API community's safety again reminds me how much work we have to do before race relations in this country can get better. It's a problem that one of the first things that came to our minds was the further discrimination that members of the community would face as a result of the way the media portrays us. And I'm still really angry about the way this whole issue is playing out in the media right now, but it's been good to talk about it and to realize that others feel the same.

It is difficult to even scratch the surface of one poem in a class period, let alone attempt to delve into the depths of four different poems. I wanted to discuss the poems Payton and Alanna presented on a little more, though this post is in no way a comprehensive analysis of any of them. I found Li-Young Lee's poem, "This Gift," quite intriguing. There is a lot of love present - the love between a father and a son, and that between husband and wife. The narrator says that his father instilled "measures of tenderness" and "flames of discipline" in him, which he will carry with him "to keep" as he moves on in life. Because of his father's guidance, the narrator can now bestow the same tenderness upon his wife, whose splinter he now removes. At the end, however, the poem changes its tone. On one level, there appears to be some kind of resentment between husband and wife. There are a lot of "I did not"s, words often heard in arguments. Perhaps the narrator is hurt that after he removes his wife's splinter "so carefully she feels no pain," his wife does not kiss him as he kissed his father upon removing his splinter. Instead, she grumbles to him, "lift[s] up [her] wound and cries." The narrator seems to be complaining, or chastising his wife for not giving him the kiss he expected for thanks. I may be completely off the mark with this interpretation, so I'd like to hear what others think!

Today in class Alanna talked about Ikeda's poem, "Night Light." I found it contrary to the ways of nuns and monks (or at least those in Korea, as Prof. Suh said) that the narrator and her Buddhist monk husband procreated. At first this was surprising, but after reading more closely, it makes sense, because the narrator does not wholeheartedly embrace Buddhism. Her wishes are incongruent with the ascetic beliefs of the monks and nuns - as Alanna noted, she wishes for material things such as eternal life, her child's father, and money. While for a person outside of the monastery/nunnery these are all reasonable and desirable, for a nun to harbor such thoughts shows that she values things other than religious austerity. I am not passing judgment on her; she has a right to want these things for son and her wishes demonstrate her great love for him.

The title of the poem is "Night Light." On the surface level, this brings parenthood to mind, as children often sleep with night lights. It also has resonance with Buddhism and enlightenment. To the narrator, Buddhist temples are "dark," and she is not likely to be close to achieving enlightenment. For her, her son, whose "round face is full and luminous," is the light of her life. In the darkness of pre-enlightenment, her child gives her such great joy. However, because for whatever reason she has not, cannot, and probably will not be renouncing Buddhism, she calls this bliss "foolish." Her son may bring her utmost happiness, but there are so many things she feels she cannot provide for him.

Perhaps she worries that in the modern world, those who stringently practice Buddhism will be left behind. In a previous stanza she mentions that the Buddhist rituals they perform could have been a scene from 100, even 1,000 years ago, "and perhaps it is" - in other words, their community has not changed with the times. The Buddhists do, however, use a Black & Decker night light, showing that all cultures, no matter how spartan, must eventually turn to modernization. The fact that the poem is called "Night Light" tells of the importance of this technology. Ikeda addresses the need to incorporate outside ideas into one's culture in her poem when she alludes to Indra's net. According to http://www.cs.kent.ac.uk/people/staff/saf/networks/networking-networkers/indras-net.html:

"The [Buddhist] myth of Indra's Net provide an allegory of this interdependent
organization. This net exists in Indra's palace in heaven and extends infinitely
in all directions. At each node of the net where threads cross there is a
perfectly clear gem that reflects all the other gems in the net. As each gem
reflects every other one; so are you affected by every other system in the
universe."

The narrator of the poem knows that no one civilization can or should exist in a vacuum void of the influences of and interactions with another. She wants her son to grow up in a modern world, so that he has many options and experiences. As Indra's Net is a Buddhist metaphor, the Buddhists should, in theory, agree with this. However, the narrator's ritualistic, ascetic Buddhist sect remains in the dark ages save for their one Black & Decker night light. They also have the narrator's son: as a child he represents a new generation, and an opportunity to herald in the new. Thus he is a guiding light, a hope for his mother and for the rest of his people.

PILGRIMAGE

Tonight I viewed a screening entitled PILGRIMAGE about the incarceration of Japanese and Japanese Americans during World War II around 1942. Director Tad Nakamura, a film graduate from UCLA, documented the pilgrimage to Manzanar in California. His intentions for his documentary are to provoke social change through the medium of film. The film is able to bring the tragic past to light, allowing Asian Americans to reclaim their history instead of being ashamed by it.
During WWII there were 11 internment camps, which incarcerated more than 120,000 Japanese and Japanese Americans. Over two-thirds of the internments were American citizens. After the attacks on Pearl Harbor, Asians were marginalizes because of their racial identity; they were all thought to be linked to the ‘enemy’.
One of the people that Nakamura interviewed stated that the officers in the internment camps “terrorized you into being silent.” The interviewee made reference to the stereotype of quiet, Asian Americans. Never before had I realized that it is possible that the ‘dominant’ Americans (those in power during the time) created, formed, and implemented racial stereotypes in order to control other ethnic populations. To see the possible historic origination of supposed stereotypes is quite shocking and interesting.
Today, the pilgrimage to Manzanar has gathered together a community of different cultures and ethnicities to claim and celebrate their histories. It is a way to honor one’s community instead of running from the past. By doing so, they are only growing stronger as people.
After the attacks of 9/11, Muslims were identified and marginalized, as were the Japanese and Japanese Americans during WWII; the United States once again organized against the supposed enemy. Muslim people were beginning to lose their rights, even basic human rights, just because of their skin color and ethnicity. Nakamura showed how the Asian American community banded together to prevent the past from happening to Muslims and Muslim Americans.
Having been in Connecticut during the attacks of 9/11, Muslims in the New York area and across the entire United States were marginalized no doubt. The crackdown at airports demonstrates how quickly the United States is willing to turn on the ethnic ‘Other’ in order to protect the country’s security. Yes, the government is responsible for the safety of its people, but to what extent can this security be implemented?

"The house I live in"--the Ena Thompson lecture

Before we get a lot of responses to “The Women Outside,” I wanted to write a little bit about the Ena Thompson lecture from last Wednesday night. The featured speaker was David Roediger, a historian from the University of Illinois Champaign-Urbana. His academic work is primarily a study of the development of whiteness in the US, and he has also worked as a community activist for anti-racist causes. His lecture last week centered on “The House I Live In,” a short film that won a special Oscar for its patriotism back during World War II.

In the film, Frank Sinatra takes a break from recording in a studio, only to stumble across a group of boys chasing after a dark-haired kid who they accuse of not being of the same religion as the rest of them. Sinatra intervenes, invoking the idea of a shared American community to demonstrate to the boys that ostracizing a neighbor over this type of difference is more in line with America’s fascist foes than real patriots. Offering an example from wartime and singing the titular song to them, Sinatra changes their minds, and the persecuted boy is accepted by the group. At the time of its release, the film was seen as anti-racist (even though every single person in it is white) and groundbreaking. Roediger contextualizes this characterization through his work on race in America during the first half of the twentieth century: as immigration patterns shifted to favor Eastern and Southern Europe around the close of the nineteenth century, these new immigrant groups suffered discrimination and bias that was transmitted through the framework of race. As such, the little boy being attacked is supposed to be Jewish, his accusers Catholics from Ireland, Italy, and other ‘non-white’ areas of Europe. Sinatra, himself an Italian Catholic (representing an assimilated success), is thus a credible moderator. Essentially, the anti-racism that the movie espouses is particular to its era, and while relevant to a type of ‘racism’ practiced then, it nevertheless ignores racism against groups that are still targeted today.

Sinatra’s song “The House That I Live In” highlights this discrepancy. Its lyrics operate by metaphorically considering the neighborhood as a representation of America. However, there was a possessive investment in whiteness taking place at the time. Through the mechanisms of the New Deal, restrictive housing covenants, the GI Bill, and other legal and social means, the neighborhood in which most whites lived during and after the war was informally segregated, even as these institutional directives made it easier for new immigrants to buy homes. When Sinatra preaches tolerance towards everyone he meets on his way to work, the butcher he buys his steak from, he may be referring to members of new immigrant groups, but he’s still only talking about white people. Although to an extent anti-racist, the film’s message normalized other kinds of discrimination against other groups of people.

The film also carries disturbing implications about the construction and performance of masculinity. Sinatra’s argument about race is preceded by a taunt at a gang of boys willing to attack a lone victim, smaller and younger than they, and he uses the threat of violence to force the boys to listen to him. His prescription for how to act patriotic is also rooted in violence—Sinatra’s example of interracial cooperation is when a Protestant pilot and Jewish bombardier team up to avenge the (emasculating) attack on Pearl Harbor by bombing a Japanese battleship. It is in this example that the film proclaims its affirmation of other kinds of racism: not only are “the Japs” a monolithic and incomprehensibly foreign foe, conflated with Japanese American citizens, but the retargeting of racial violence from assimilating new immigrants onto people of color is legitimized as a means of staying masculine. Sinatra, despite being a tenor (an unmanly vocal range) who is singing Stateside while most men his age (probably his 20s around this time) are overseas killing fascists, is able to reach the gang of boys principally (maybe even solely) through the employment of violence—first in the threat against them if they don’t listen, then in the way in which Americans can show their solidarity despite their differences by directing violence outward. While the special Oscar the movie receives for its patriotism does not arise from anything that would today be called “idealism,” its messages about acceptable targets of discrimination and violence is nothing if not American.

Although we talked a little bit in class about the scene in “The Gangster We Are All Looking For”, in which the young girl throws the paperweight butterfly and breaks the glass animal case, I thought it was worth discussing a little more. I couldn’t help but notice the possible symbolism of the animals, as they were arranged “lined up in pairs, like animals in a parade”. I may be looking to deeply into it, but This made me think of Noah’s Ark of the Christian Old Testament, in which two of every type of animal is saved from a flood in the boat of Noah. This symbolism seems to work well with the story, as the girl, her father, and the uncles were saved, by boat, from Vietnam, and brought to safety in the US. If this is an accurate assumption, I think we as readers can learn a lot from the reaction of the girl to the animals. She repeats often that she feels they have n soul, are content with their place on the shelf, and do not need or want further stimulation. This seems to be the view of Mel and others towards her and her family; that they should be grateful and comfortable with anything given to them.
On the contrary, the girl feels a strong connection to the butterfly that is “trapped” within the paperweight. I felt like this was a suggestion that the girl feels less like a beneficiary of charity, like Noah’s animals, than a trapped, contained butterfly who needs to escape or be freed. She often repeats that the butterfly is the only one with a soul, who seems to listen to her, and she can hear its struggle. Clearly the butterfly is actually dead, if it was ever a real butterfly at all, but the fact that she places these emotions upon it, and even hears it struggle to be free seems to indicate that she is placing her own feelings on the butterfly. She is the one who is struggling to leave Mel’s house, or fit in, or possibly return to Vietnam, and no one else seems to notice, care, or know how to help her, as her conversation with the uncles goes, “If there is no soul, how can the butterfly cry for help?” “But what does crying mean in this country? Your Ba cries in the garden every night and nothing comes of it”(27).
The analogy between the girl and the butterfly continues, when she attempts to free the butterfly from its trap. Because these parallels can be drawn between the girl’s situation and those she project onto the butterfly, I think we are safe in assuming that her desperation to free the butterfly comes from her desperation to escape her situation. As the novel continues, this seems to be proven true as she seems often to be running away later in the story.
Reading this scene over again, I had a feeling that the shattering of the case and glass animals was not exactly an accidental result of her attempt to free the butterfly. The calm, nonchalant way in which such a loud and frightening scene (think shattering glass, heavy objects hitting a wall, yelling adults) is described, she does not seem surprised when it breaks. Although it does not seem that the destruction of the animals was her primary intention, it was how she chose to “free the butterfly”. While the butterfly probably did not break out of the paperweight by being thrown against a glass cabinet, she herself was freed. As she describes it, “The result was Mel told Ba, the four uncles and me to pack our things and get out”(31). She and her family were freed from the people who were in her mind forcing them into strange American customs, treating her uncles poorly, and making her father cry each night. She knew that the animals were important to Mel and his mother, and therefore destroying them would be a form of getting back at them, in a child’s mind. While this is not described as a well thought out plan, it seems to be an unconscious, half imaginative situation, and yet the result is just what she had been hoping for and dreaming about.
-Megan

This is a little late in the making.

From our discussion in class last week about "The Upside-Downness of the World" and from some of the blog posts I've read about the text, I wish to discuss the idea of multiculturalism and how it plays out in our society. I feel that Shelly brought up a very interesting point about how appropriation of a culture, whether with or without genuinely good intentions, is not justified. To me, her sentiments echo the voice of Dictee and how it is incredibly difficult to disintguish and identify the boundaries and methods of identifying one's onwn culture. Just as it seems slightly ridiculous to see Meghan and Virginia parading around in Saris and attemtping to speak Hindi, when I see first generation Asian immigrants or FOBs (fresh off the boat) trying to assimilate into American culture, I can't help but be amused at their sometimes seemingly futile attempts. Now, please do not take that in an offense way. What I am trying to say is that there will always be an awkwardness when people of one culture try to learn about, assimilate, appropriate, etc. another culture.

An example would be myself. As a Korean, I have the Korean culture as my heritage but my attempts often display my Korean-AMERICAN identity; whether it is in the American accent in my Korean pronunciation, or how Koreans can almost instinctively and forever tell that I am American in my mannerisms, clothes, etc.

So how should we go about addressing this issue of crossing cultural boundaries where there might be people like me that are part of a culture (basically by default) who can not really speak the language, living with others, who do not originally belong to the culture yet stake a vested interest and can speak the language with ease. (I've seen some non-Koreans speak fluent and incredibly Korean-sounding Korean... if that makes any sense). Where do you draw the line? Where can you draw the line? Who is better representing and living the culture? Can that question be answered? Should it? And this could be applied to all aspects of a culture, not just the language.

Another way to direct my thoughts would be to see this from the other side. Just as immigrants with different cultural backgrounds are attempting, in their own ways, to assimilate to American culture while keeping intact their own, everyone here (ideally) is also assimilating and understanding the interactions and tensions between their own cultures with everyone else's cultures. (I'm going to use the term "white" just to make explaining this easier, but you can replace "white" with any other race/ethnicity/gender etc and I think it would still make sense. I think....)

For a white person, especially living in the Los Angeles area, their culture is defined by surrounding cultures, just as much as the Asian community to mainstream culture. In fact, would it be to idealist for me to say that mainstream culture is continually being defined by all the other cultures that attempt and succeed in voicing their issues? Culture then becomes this fluid motion of identifying, remembering, honoring the past and moving forward, progressing and changing with current events and people, in and around one's own culture.

** Culture is defined by the people that it encompasses. And in our current society, the people are not homogeneous and therefore, the culture cannot be this static, clear-cut idea that excludes and isolates dfferent groups of people. That is not to say that culture is one huge shade of grey, but that the space in between the distinctions of different cultures is a growing space where many find themselves in and we need to recognize that space as an equally legitimate space as the clearly defined spaces.

Please help me to clarify these ideas... I feel like this is an important discussion in terms of why we feel so unsettled with Meghan and Virgnia's attempts of cultural immersion as well as the protagonist's feelings of guilt for not "knowing" her culture.