What is Asian American Music?

I found a very interesting article on JSTOR that grapples with the question of what is Asian American music. 

It's called "Between Notes: Finding Asian America in Popular Culture" by Oliver Wang, published in American Music, Vol 19. No. 4, (2001), pp 439-465. 

You can find the article on JSTOR (I've tried to copy and paste the link but failed)

The author talks about a musicologist named Joseph Lam, who says, "Asian American music is not dependent on the text (e.g., lyrics, images, even melody, timbre, rhythm) or even a tradition of musical practice. Instead, Asian American music is so designated based on the context of production (who makes the music and why? as well as reception (how is the music used, how is it understood)." 

So according to him, it is the combination of production and consumption that makes music Asian. 

The author comments that Lam's definition aims to "establish a point of common reference that future discussions can work from--even if it is to deconstruct Lam's own theories," as supposed to serving as the canonical definition of what Asian American music is.

This definition and the article pretty much refute the argument I made in my previous blog because I placed the emphasis on the musical text rather than the people who perform and listen to the music. So, is Yo-Yo Ma's music Asian American? I still want to say no. He is Asian American but his music does not really have any race categories because it doesn't really belong to any race. 

I still have the desire to stand by what I've said, but it is interesting to read a counter argument. 

The Issue of Race in Terminal USA

I found Terminal USA very bizarre yet fascinating, although I didn't necessarily understand many things. I wanted to point out the fact that the family does not talk about race unless there is an external force--for example, the father bringing home from work a note with racial slurs on them--that initiates the conversation about the ethnicity of the family. Although there are stereotypical Asian images throughout the movie, like the Asian female in porn and the computer nerd, the issue of race gets buried underneath other non-race specific problems such as drugs and sex , two issues that appear on typical nuclear family sitcoms. Terminal USA, however, takes the issue of drugs and sex to an extreme, releasing all the repressed feelings out of many characters. For example, the repressed homosexuality of Marvin, sex-addiction of Holly, frustration of the father over his ailing father-in-law all come to full manifestation by the end of the movie. The other two members of the family, Kazumi and Ma do not express their frustrations as much because they are constantly in and out of drugs. The issues of typical nuclear families are vastly exaggerated for the effect of emphasis in the movie, and I wonder if this falls under the category of the "exploitation film." 

The strangest part of the film is when Fagtoast, who is wearing priest-like garment, comes into kill Kazumi and Eightball and then starts praying (?). He says, "the pleasure must stop! the pleasure must stop!" Is he repressing his desire to kill? I didn't really understand that part at all (as well as the black liquid that Kazumi drinks then spits out).

Asian American Musicians, American Music, and JJ Chinois

I didn't post a blog last week because, well...I simply didn't know what to say. But after watching/listening to JJ Chinois, I've realized why I couldn't say much last week. Aside from Norah Jones, none of the artists mentioned last week were familiar to me, and when I did attempted to seek out Asian American musicians I found myself browsing through countless youtube videos that contained music that were, in my personal opinion, simply bad. The vast majority of these artists and their music belonged to niche markets, and perhaps that's why I didn't know any of them. And at the same time, I didn't really want to listen to them, not because they were not mainstream but because there was a good reason why they couldn't achieve "crossover" success.

The word "crossover" denotes a process in which music belonging to a niche market becomes part of mainstream culture. Music critics first used this term to describe what was happening with African American music--Rhythm and Blues, which had been dismissed as "race music" for a very long time, became popular with the national audience regardless of color in the late 50s. In fact, the Billboards integrated "R&B" into the "Pop" category in 1963, when a 13 year old Motown product named Stevie Wonder reached #1 in both charts. It was an astonishing milestone for  African American artists, and at the same time it was an important moment for African American music. The music dissolved the barrier between white and black audiences across the nation, and for the first time, black musicians could stand on a national TV stage performing their songs. Before then, black music only could become popular when it was covered or reinterpreted by white artists like Elvis Presley. But it is important to realize that black music like R&B became part of the mainstream in the late 50s and 60s, not because the performers were black but because their music was simply good.

I bring up this topic of "crossover" success because I think it is relevant to the Asian American musicians that we have discussed for this class. The musicians belonging to niche markets have not reached the mainstream simply because their music isn't very good and therefore not appealing to many people. I do admit I'm being very harsh, but the niche market music, separate from its performers, simply does not have the strength to compete with some of the best music that's out there in the market. Of course there are many songs that are popular within niche markets (the so called "indie" music scene) that demonstrate great musical values, but I am a firm believer in the idea that if the music is truly great, eventually it will be picked up by a much wider audience, just as R&B music became mainstream in the 60s. I don't mean to offend those who are fans of K-Pop and J-Pop, but they don't exactly have the same musical power that R&B does. Norah Jones is probably the most successful musician among the Asian American artist discussed in this blog, and for a very good reason. Her music is simply better than the others'. 

But at the same time, I wonder how much emphasis should be placed on the fact that she is half Asian. She is Asian American, however, her music (in my personal opinion) has nothing to do with the fact that she is half Asian. She is a very good jazz pianist and is a wonderful blues/pop/jazz singer. Listening to her music, I can't really find elements that make her songs distinctively Asian American. What I want to say is that, music has a life of its own, separate from its performer, although it might take its origin from the artist's ethnic background. And the foremost reason why the national audience listens is that the music appeals to them, not necessarily how the performer appeals to them. Although we are at the age of youtube and visual emphasis at music concerts, I believe that music's foremost appeal is auditory. Music, by definition, is a combination of vocal and instrumental sounds that produce harmony, melody, and expressive content. If the music isn't good, I really don't care how great/interesting the performer is. (Think about how many times the so-called great musicians disappoint us with horrible new albums)

Now let's take a look at JJ Chinois. After reading Mimi Ngyen's essay, I do realize that he is a transgendered persona of a New York filmmaker and artist named Lynn Chan. But since we watched his music video I want to point out why his music doesn't appeal to me very much (and it seems like it doesn't really appeal to others either). First of all, I think JJ Chinois does a lot of things for the sake of becoming a star, not necessarily because he is so "talented," as he claims himself to be. Ngyen talks about how JJ Chinois, like Bruce Lee, attempts to create a new image of an Asian male body, but I think there is a huge difference between the two people. Bruce Lee's masculine image is a byproduct of his spectacular martial arts skills, as supposed to JJ Chinois's image that seeks to draw attention to itself so he can become a star. In other words, I don't think Bruce Lee created his image because he wanted to become a famous star, as much as he felt very passionate about martial arts, and during this pursuit of his passion he acquired the masculine image. It's the same case with true musicians: most of them simply pursue what they feel passionate about--making music--and then become nationally famous musicians. JJ Chinois, on the other hand, makes music and films because he simply wants to be famous. (If you take a look at his website, you can see how much attention he wants) In fact, his being Asian or transgender doesn't really make his music special at all. The song is only creepy and repetitive. I just don't think his music has enough appeal.

This is a very lengthy post, but I thought it was necessary to share what I think about Asian American music and address these questions:

How much emphasis should we place on the artist when we gauge the value of his/her music?

Does the fact that an Asian American performed the music render it Asian? Doesn't the reason why many Asian American musicians fail to achieve mainstream success point at the fact their music is simply not as good as what's out there in the mainstream? Should music be categorized with race? Doesn't that contradict with what Motown and R&B accomplished during the civil rights era?

As a serious musician, I can't really appreciate the Asian American music that's popular in the niche market. I'm sure there are some really good ones that I haven't been able to find yet, and maybe I should look harder to find something that appeals to me in that small market. But at the same time, do I really need to seek out specifically for Asian American musicians, when I just want to listen to some good music? I do realize that we are paying attention to race for the purpose of this class and we should do so. But at the same time paying our primary attention to the Asian American musicians, rather than the music itself, prevents us from appreciating the auditory art.

Sa-I-Gu

I find it interesting that this film limits its perspective to that of Korean women, isolating its story from the bigger story of the L.A. riot. I do understand that the film essays to "give voice to the voiceless," but at the same time I feel like it is isolating Koreans from the rest of the conflict and portraying them as innocent bystanders who got caught in the maelstrom of black-white racial conflict. I'm sure many of them are innocent victims, but I find it hard to believe that all of them are. 

An interesting way to look at the L.A. riot is to say that this was the first time that Korean Americans as a whole community got in touch with the bigger society. As one woman says in the movie, at first the Rodney King incident seemed like it did not matter to Koreans, and only when protesters began attacking Korean-owned shops they realized that it was their problem too. It is not too harsh to say that most Koreans (unlike the man in the movie playing Santa Claus with local black children) were uninvolved with the larger American society for the most part. Most lived in enclaves speaking Korean, reading Koran newspapers and interacting with mostly with other Koreans. The majority of interactions between Koreans and blacks took place at the stores, where animosity began growing. I feel like the stores in predominantly black neighborhoods were especially heavily targeted because their residents resented the fact that Koreans made money in black neighborhoods and lived in a Korean neighborhood. 

I have mixed feelings about the movie: while I do sympathize with those women who lost their business and family (for they worked so hard to realize the American dream), the fact that most Koreans in the movie do not try to understand why the rioters attacked their stores bothers me a bit. 

Mississippi Masala

Mira Nair's film grapples with the idea of "home" in Diaspora culture. Twice displaced (as Mehta mentions on p. 218)--Indians by culture and tradition and Ugandan by birth--Mina's family constantly attempts to negotiate the conflicting notions of "home." Jay thinks he's Ugandan, for he was born and raised there among Africans, his wife thinks her family is Indian (and therefore Mina should marry an Indian), and Mina believes that she is American. The three members of this family seems to struggle with where they belong, and by the end of the movie, the differences are reconciled but only because they come to understand that being "home" doesn't mean being at a certain place as much as being with certain people. Jay writes to his wife from Uganda a somewhat cliché phrase "Home is where the heart is, and my heart is with you," implying that he belongs in the United States because of his wife. Jay seems to reach an epiphany that Uganda is not his "home" when finds out that Okelo, his best friend, no longer inhabits there. Okelo is Jay's link to "home," and without Okelo Uganda is nothing but a place foreign. In other words, a place becomes "home" only with someone familiar. This idea becomes more evident when Mina and Dexter share their ideas about places of their cultural origin; neither Mina nor Dexter have visited India or Africa and they do not believe they should identify themselves with those places. There, they do not have anyone who they belong with, and the place origin simply becomes nothing more than where it started, distant from where it is now. Mina thinks she's American because she belongs with Demitrius. In this sense, the definition of "home" constantly evolves in the Diaspora culture as the immigrants discover the family of kinship with whom they belong. 

Response to Better Luck Tomorrow

I find Better Luck Tomorrow brilliant. It does an excellent job of portraying characters--whose mischievous/criminal actions are masked underneath their model minority facade--by knowingly using stereotypical images to surprise the audience. Who would have thought after watching the first scene that Ben and Virgil, two Asian students talking about college admissions, are the murderers the person underneath the backyard lawn? Only after watching the rest of the movie do we come to believe that Ben and his model student friends did commit this crime. The framework of the movie is effective--just as other characters in the movie are fooled by Ben's model student facade, the audience does not suspect him to be the murderer (until almost the end) because he appears to be a stereotypical model student.

The movie unearths the true life of Ben underneath his facade: his drug use, his use of prostitutes, and his constant supply of cheat sheets. As Ben says himself, "Straight As were our alibis...as long as the grades were there, we were trusted." Ben and his friends exploit the fact that other people identify them with the stereotypical image, an image that comes with an expectation. Most people expect them to be academic overachievers and nothing else. When Ben is on the basketball team, people don't expect him to be a great player. But this stereotypical expectation allows Ben and his friends to get away with so many things, as long as they prolong that public image.

In one of the most memorable scenes, Ben and his friends hire a prostitute and enjoy themselves until Virgil pulls the gun out. Virgil then points the gun at Han, his cousin and a fellow model student, leading to an ugly fracas. The morning after, they win the Academic Decathlon championship, so their vices are buried underneath this achievement. It seems like the stereotypical image is something to fall back on. 

On a final note, I want to briefly talk about why the audience tend to like Ben. Despite his crimes, the audience cares about Ben because we recognize that he, along with Virgil and Han, carries a sense of morality. He knows that what he is doing is wrong, although the pleasure derived from his vices often makes him forget about the immorality of certain acts until afterwards. The fact that he contemplates confessing of his killing of Steve gives the audience the hope that Ben is still a good man at heart.

Chinese Restaurants

After watching the documentaries, I've been trying to figure out the roles Chinese restaurants play around the world:

 

In Madagascar, the owner of the Chinese restaurant claims that she opened her business because she loved to cook. But I wonder if there is something more to it than that. The interesting fact is that her restaurant caters to Chinese customers, not the African Madagascans. I wonder if her cooking and taking orders from fellow Chinese Madagascans are her way of establishing a national family, a big Chinese family in Madagascar in which she plays the role of the mother who offers food that reminds them of the "home country." Although she does offer hybrid dishes like "Chicken with pineapples," most of her food seems to be there because her Chinese customers want them. As one old man exemplifies, he "can't go home [China]" for he is  "stuck here," and offering these people Chinese food may be a way to make them feel at "home." In this role, the Chinese restaurant seems to far exceed the expectation of a simple, money-making business.

 

On the other hand, the restaurant in Norway seems to be in business for money making--after all, the owner explicitly says that the quality of the food doesn't really matter as much as the pleasant aura of consumption that caters to the white Norwegian population. No Chinese customers. The couple who owns the restaurant also emphasizes how they cannot take a day off because of money. I understand that they work so hard so that their children will enjoy a better standard of living, however, it is indubitable that this restaurant serves for the sake of business. If there is one role it plays for the greater community, it's providing jobs for other Asian immigrants. The Korean girl, for example, has earned herself a job although she cannot speak the language (the owner himself got made living working in Chinese restaurants around in Germany and other places although he did not speak the appropriate languages). Are Chinese restaurants employment centers for recent immigrants? Who works at Chinese restaurants anyway? And does it matter that a Chinese, a Korean, or a Madagascan works there?

Response to The Wedding Banquet

The Wedding Banquet raises several interesting questions regarding transnationalism, assimilation, diaspora, family, and of course masculinity/homosexuality. 
 
Wai-Tung, the queer and disaporic protagonist, is reconnected to his native Taiwan through a family reunion. His parents serve as the string that ties his American life style to his Taiwanese roots, thereby making him a transnational figure. In this process of becoming transnational, cultural differences regarding family and sexuality are negotiated. However, Wai-Tung attempts to forgo this negotiation process by putting up a fake marriage, so he would lead his parents to believe that he has retained the Taiwanese concept of family: a heterosexual relationship that reproduces to prolong the family name. To Wai-Tung's father, marriage and reproduction of children is a duty to the family, as he explains on the first day of his brief trip.
 
In one of the most interesting parts of the movie, Wai-Tung confesses to his mother that he is gay and that the marriage is a fraud. His stunned mother asks him, "Did Simon lead you astray?...Nonsense! You had girlfriends in college." That question seems to imply that such concept or existence of homosexuality does not exist within the Taiwanese culture, and Wai-Tung has adopted homosexuality as his when he arrived in the United States. As Wai-Tung argues, he was born gay yet it seems like the act of coming out did not take place until later in his life. Does this mean that the act of acknowledging one's homosexuality is part of assimilating to the American culture? What happens to Asian masculinity when men settle down in this country?
 
I think Wai-Tung's parents are uncomfortable with the homosexual relationship because they are afraid that the Gao line will end, as his son will be unable to biologically reproduce with Simon. Also, it seems like they believe that Wai-Tung loses his sense of masculinity because he cannot be a patriarch like his father. How can he be a patriarch if he cannot have children? But the presence of Wei-Wei in this situation facilitates the cultural negotiation--her pregnancy solves the problem of prolonging the family name, and her status as a tenant (in comparison to Wai-Tung's status as the landowner) confirms Wai-Tung's ability to be somewhat domineering like a patriarch. With Wei-Wei, Wai-Tung is very assertive, especially in the first scenes of the movie when he goes to collect the rent money. 
 
Although Wei-Wei uses Wai-Tung to obtain the green card, it also appears that she is being used a lot more to the advantage of the Gao family. At first she is used to mask Wai-Tung's homosexuality and then used as a surrogate mother and a mother. For whom is she having the baby? For Wai-Tung's parents? For Simon and Wai-Tung? For herself? Despite she is supposed to be a tough, female artist, Wei-Wei ultimately becomes a nobody but someone who produces a baby. 

Bruce Lee: An Asian American Icon?

Although Bruce Lee is considered such an iconic Asian American figure, he does not strike me as someone august. His jaw dropping physical performances during the fight scenes simply don't do enough to inspire a sense of reverence and admiration, as his reserved nature and unassertive mode of speech contradict his ultra-masculine body and incredible athleticism. Throughout Enter the Dragon, Bruce Lee speaks very little and when he does have a line to deliver, he talks so monotonously and unassertively that he fails to hold onto the masculine charisma that Roper and Williams so easily carry. While Williams suavely articulates his attitude, "I don't waste my time. When it [his defeat] comes, I won't even notice. I'll be too busy lookin' good," Bruce Lee only mutters, often devoid of emotion. As many people have already mentioned, the only distinctive auditory impression Bruce Lee gives is the high pitched "Whoaaah!"--a sound not only comic and but also ridiculous. It almost sounds like a monkey's shriek. To me, the sounds he makes with his mouth devalue his heroic visual image. Why can't Bruce Lee be as suave and easily accessible as Williams or Roper? Is it because he comes from the Saolin Temple? Or is it because he has yet to break away from the alien status of an Asian male?

 

Also, in comparison to Williams, who seems to fight for a common cause against racism (at least in that brief clip of him fighting the cops), Lee seems to fight for his personal cause: to defend the honor of his temple and to avenge his sister's death. But then the antagonist is Asian, an Asian who fits the evil image of opium-den owner and perpetuates the image of an asian prostitute/comfort women. If Han stands for the image of this evil image of asian, which was embraced in the West for a while, does that mean Lee is ultimately defeating the image of the horrible Asian? Maybe he does with his martial arts, but his inability to vocalize and sustain that heroic image prevents Bruce Lee from becoming the awe-inspiring, iconic figure like James Bond. 

 

*On a random note: did anyone else notice the change in music whenever Williams is on the screen? The music always turns into some sort of funk, a fast-paced guitar sound transformed with the wah-wah pedal.

Response to Flower Drum Song

The female characters in Flower Drum Song fit the two categories of Asian women that Renee Tajima talks about: Mei Li as the "Lotus Blossom baby" and Linda as the "Dragon Lady." In this sense, the film does perpetuate the stereotypical portrayal of Asian women, but at the same time it pushes those images outside the boundary of the typical objectification of women by providing females characters with their own voice. Helen's "Love, Look Away," Mei-Li's "I Am Going to Like It Here," and Linda's "I Enjoy Being a Girl" all narrate the story of Asian American females from the perspective of the female characters. The film could have narrated the story from a strictly male point of view, thereby possessing females within their language, keeping them silent and powerless like an object. Although male characters like Dr. Li and Master Wang do treat women like objects from time to time, the movie itself leaves some room for the female characters to speak. I am very surprised by how Dr. Li, although he is supposed to have just arrived from China, does not attempt to dominate every decision and action of his daughter, perhaps as a result of assimilation during his brief time in the United States. I notice that Mei Li's seemingly endless smiling face (which is unnatural and doll-like) finally relaxes its cheek muscles towards the end of the movie as she begins to believe that Wang Ta does not love her, breaking away from the "Lotus Blossom Baby" image. When she does confirms that Wang Ta loves her, however, Mei Li does not hesitate to kiss him, something that also disentangles her from the typical image of the modest Asian woman.

Another point I should mention from the movie is the process of assimilation represented by the Wang family. At one point Wang Ta says, "My father is Chinese, my brother is American, and I am both." Both his brother and Wang Ta are second generation immigrants, yet somehow one is Chinese American and the other is only American. Does this mean that Wang Ta is in the transition bridge between his father and his brother? If Wang Ta should be rebelling against the Asian ways of his father, why isn't he just like his brother? What prevents him from losing that Asian side of him, his age?

Fortune Cookies

In Amy Tan's novel, The Joy Luck Club, two Chinese immigrant women find their first job in America at a fortune cookie factory, making desserts non-existent in their place of origin yet sold as Chinese in the United States. Fortune cookie, along with chop suey and chow mein sandwiches, was invented in the U.S. sometime in the first two decades of the twentieth century. There are many stories as to who was the first one to popularize the crisp cookie baked around a piece of paper--some say Makoto Hagiwara of Japanese Tea Garden, some point at David Jung of the Hong Kong Noodle Company, and the most recent scholarship argues that the cookie is neither Chinese nor America but Japanese (see: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/16/dining/16fort.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th)

But regardless of its origins, fortune cookie has established itself as an integral part of Chinese cuisine experience and perhaps even has become a symbol of exoticness that Asia American has to offer. After all, mass production of the cookie began in 1930s in San Francisco Chinatown to attract tourists and find a way to boost the local economy that was at all time low. At first containing Confucian aphorisms, the fortune papers began adopting biblical passages and other Western philosophical passages in order to appeal to the white American tourists and clienteles. During the cold war scare, five thousand Chinese fortune cookies were tossed to the crowd from a cable car, each cookie containing "Happy New Year" greeting for Chinese New Year perhaps as an attempt to diffuse the cultural difference between Chinese Americans and the rest of the Americans so that Chinese Americans wouldn't be perceived as Communists. Although most fortune cookies are now cranked out from factory machines, there are some places today where Asian Americans hand-make them to attract tourists (see the NYT article from Dec. 26th 2004). Examining the development of this cultural product should reveal one way the Asian American communities have transformed themselves to survive in this country, and it should also raise some important questions about how Asia continues to be perceived as exotic (its food contains oracular passages) and how Asian American community contends with assimilation and link to Asia.

Some websites and articles to check out:

http://www.sanfranciscochinatown.com/culture/fortunecookie.html

NYT Article on SF Chinatown and a Fortune Cookie Factory

Who Invented the Fortune Cookie?

More on Fortune Cookies

"In the Traditions of China and in the Freedom of America": The Making of San Francisco's Chinese New Year Festivals"

Response to Broken Blossoms

Despite the expected stereotypical portrayal of the Asian character, I was very impressed by Broken Blossoms. Of course I can recognize the racist portrayal of the emasculated Asian male, the typical "Oriental" themes like the Opium Den, but the relationship between "the Yellow Man" and Lucy Burrows is worth a close examination. The fact that "the first [Lucy] has ever known" comes from a "Yellow Man," the fact that the protagonist saves her from a dangerous man in the Limehouse district, and the fact that he is the most human and sympathetic character in the movie are enough to convince me that this movie has portrayed Asians in a somewhat positive manner.

But it is important that acknowledge that the "Yellow Man" is still emasculated, portrayed as a complete antithesis of the Battling Burrows character. Although "Yellow Man" is a man, neither his physical appearance nor his characteristics carry a sense of a strong dominant male. In fact, when he takes care of Lucy in the room above his store, he serves her in a manner she would serve her father. In other words, "Yellow Man" is closer to a child who serves, who child who serves another child. The moment he attempts to kiss her, somewhat comical, reveals his childishness, unable to carry out the action that typical white males on screen should be able to carry out. Perhaps the scene serves to relieve the white audience from fear of miscegenation, but at the same time it is important to remember that "Yellow Man," despite the emasculation, is still a man. He is a grown up man, and Lucy is a child. The "Yellow Man" is not Humbert Humbert from Lolita (meaning he's not a pedophile), and I think the film tries to say that the "Yellow Man" has the morality to discern right from wrong. Instead of portraying him as a monster like Dr. Fu Manchu and others that Haenni mentions in her essay, the movie chooses to portray him as a morally conscious man. After all, he left for the West to spread the word of Buddha, take the "glorious message of piece to the barbarous Anglo-Saxons, sons of turmoil and strife."

Another scene from the movie that I want to draw attention to is the moment the "Yellow Man" briefly meets a British man who "leaves for China to convert the heathens." Here, I think D.W. Griffith comments on both worlds' (the East and the West) attempts to convert each other, believing in their superiority of their cultures, unable to reconcile or tolerate the differences. The "Yellow Man" comes to the West trying to spread his religion while the Brits go to China to spread their religion. Maybe the film is critiquing the parochial tendencies of missionary acts, and maybe it is also suggesting that the two worlds are very different and their powers should be balanced.

Haenni suggests that the use of white actor to portray Asian male reinforces the idea that the Asia on screen is unreal, purposely made unreal so that audience does not identify themselves with the people on screen, perpetuating the idea that Asia is a world imagined. Maybe her idea can be applied to Broken Blossoms since the actor obviously does not really look Asian, and Asian districts are characterized with Opium dens, where one could travel to the East on an imaginary magic carpet. But at least I like to believe that the film does its due diligence to emphasize the goodness of Asians with its portrayal the "Yellow Man." Honestly, I was very surprised that an Asian character in a 1919 film was portrayed with sympathy.

Chan Is Missing: The Asian American Journey

I read Chan Is Missing as a critique on Asian Americans' perception of their community above anything else. To set up the framework for this critique, the movie starts out with a faceless outsider not sure of what this Asian America, Chinatown, is. Jo appears to be annoyed by the outsider's typical questions and fantasized vision of this territory, but as the movie progresses, he comes to realize that Asian Americans themselves do not seem to have a full grasp on what Asian America is and more importantly, who Asian Americans are. After interviewing certain people, Jo tells the audience that they [ie. Mr. Lee and his wife] do not know who Chan is. Using Chan as a symbol for the hard-to-define-term, "Asian American," the movie shows us a wide range of images that Asian Americans carry in their minds, the images of projected desires and insecurities. In fact, Chan himself becomes less important than people's images of Chan along with passage of time, and I think the movie is trying to convey that the journey to find him is more important the end product. Peter X. Feng's notion of the term "Asian American" parallels this idea, as he emphasizes the process of becoming, rather than being, as the verb to describe "Asian American"; he believes in the fluid identity, paying attention to the progress (but not shifts) from one definition to another. But one thing that I am still struggling with Feng's essay is his diction, "becoming." I understand the difference between "becoming" and "being," one is dynamic while the other is static, but as much as he pays careful attention to language, I think the word "becoming" is problematic, if not inadequate, to describe what he and the movie seems to say about the definition of "Asian American."

I think what Feng is really trying to say is that one should study the term "Asian American" with a diachronic, rather than synchronic, approach. Diachronic approach studies language with attention to its development (dynamic) while synchronic studies language frozen in time (static) like the broken-clock analogy Feng uses. I find the word "becoming" not exactly the best word to describe something diachronic because to "become" means to "come to be." I think when we use the word "to become," we use it in anticipation of an end to this process, which in this case is "to be." We say something "becomes" something, knowing that there will be an end. But neither the essay nor the film have an end to process. Feng is opposed to the stable status of "to be," and nothing at the end of Chan Is Missing's is; the term "Asian American" keeps on moving and never stops, never seeming to have an end (like the wave movement of the sea towards the end of the movie?) Chan will never be, and nor will Asian Americans, if I understood both the film and the essay accurately. So, my limited understanding of the essay and the movie is that the term "Asian American" always will and should be in some sort of movement, a concept that puzzles me a little. Why would anyone want a journey that will never have an end?

Response to My America

Throughout her movie, Renee Tajima-Pena emphasizes the importance of family in shaping one's self-portrait as an Asian American. For many characters interviewed in the movie, their sense of identity has developed from child-parent or child-grandparent relationships at home, whether these relationships were good or bad. For Victor Wong, his rocky relationship with his father, a former mayor of Chinatown, has lead him to reject the idea that he is Chinese, the idea that he should "return" to his "homeland." On the other hand, the Filipina Americans in New Orleans have long accepted the idea that they are American, not Filipino, inherited it from their grandmother. It seems like the question of "Am I Asian or Am I American?" gets contested within the family, the smallest unit of community, before the younger generation begins to form their sense of identity in larger communities outside home.

Keeping this concept in mind, I think Tajima-Pena does something very interesting towards the end of the movie. Using her family as an example, she seems to portray the ideal way to grapple with the question of Asian American identity. In her family, the younger generation immigrants are not the only ones who are on the journey for their identity; their parents and grandparents never stop searching for their identity. Not only that, they continue to change their self-perception, as Tajima describes her parents, "They learn from their children. Not a very Asian thing to do, or is it?" Here, she does two very important things: 1) she comments that child-parent relationships are symbiotic, that both parties progress through conversations, not lectures and 2) she raises an important question of "What is Asian American?" And it seems like the definition of Asian American transforms along with the Asian American people's change in perception of themselves.

Someone has raised a good question about why Tajima-Pena has chosen Victor Wong's story to weave the narrative together, and I think it's because Victor has experienced the parent-child relationship from both perspectives--one as a Chinatown mayor's son, and the other as a father of third generation Asian Americans. Through him, Tajima-Pena shows us the transformations
of an Asian American, his struggle to balance his inherited values with his self acquired values. Although Victor Wong is far from an amiable character, I think he serves as a model for a progressive Asian American who has conformed with the American society's values without losing much of the Asian values. His giving of the red envelop to a baby whose parents seem to be very Americanized is an important symbol of the undying "old" Asian influence in Asian American communities.