Answers please...

Similar to many of my classmates, the interview in “My America” with the two Philippina women in Louisiana and our discussion in class in Thursday got me thinking a lot about the concept of authenticity and exploitation. I am left with a lot of questions. Why is any non-Asian fascinated with Asian culture immediately seen as an exotification? On the flip side, why is any Asian disinterested in their own culture seen as a sell-out or a Twinkie? Where does this single dominant discourse come from that dictates who is authentic and who is a sell-out? At what point in time does a person become an individual free of the stereotypes and free of the academic jargon which tries to explain their behaviors and their decisions?

It becomes intensely personal when I turn to my parents, my mom is Asian and my dad is white. Was my dad a rice chaser? Was his interest in my mom spurred on the image of a submissive Geisha? I don’t want to think to think so. It’s easy to point the finger at society and talk about those faceless white males who exotify Asian girls, but when do we consider my dad as an individual whose motives and behaviors are so much more complex and can’t be explained by academia? I probably wouldn’t even be asking myself this question if my father had been Asian too, which brings up the issue of a double standard. Why is a fictitious Asian father’s interest in my mother granted some sort of immunity?

Honk if You Love Reneé Tajima-Peña

I saw Reneé Tajima-Peña when she came to Brown to speak at the opening event for Asian/Asian-American History Month. It was so inspirational to hear her story and see her work, a welcome contrast to the usual images of Asian-Americans who have "made it"-- actors, businessmen, scientists, the occasional Amy Tan. I started thinking that night about the difference between navigating the preexisting notions about one's ethnicity and defining it on one's own terms. Attempting to do the latter takes more courage, I think, but is also pretty problematic. Isn't a conscious rebellion against a stereotype in itself a recognition of that stereotype?

More than anything, watching "My America" made me itch to take a huge road trip across the U.S. The title's spot-on; this is my America as much as it is anyone else's. And, as limited exposure as Asian have gotten in mass media, there *is* a definite Asian-American presence in this country (how awesome is Yuri Kochiyami??). Reminds me of something an Asian spoken word poet (was it Beau Sia?) said once: "This, too, is what American English sounds like."

Watching the film made me realize how narrow my definition of Asian-American is (second-generation, middle class, East Asian). I hope this class will help me broaden that perspective.

--franny

My America: Response

Like many of my classmates, I too was surprised by the two Filipino women who so unabashedly declared that they were white and had always been considered as such. It was such an interesting moment in the film, because I had just finished reading Galang's discussion of the history of racism Filipino people have encountered in this country and here were two women of Filipino descent claiming to never have been seen or considered themselves as anything but white. For me, it really reinforced the idea that there is no single or unified Asian American experience--an idea that seems to have been highlighted throughout the film as a whole, structured as it is as a series of interviews with Asian Americans from many different backgrounds with a diverse array of experiences.

That being said, I think that there were moments in the film where commonality could be seen in the experiences of Asian Americans from even the most dissimilar backgrounds. One thing I noticed, for instance, was the way several different people (including the Seoul Brothers and the recent Hmong immigrant) mentioned being called Chinese by ignorant white Americans not culturally sensitive enough to realize that China is just one nation in Asia. Not being of Asian descent myself, I had not realized how universal this experience seems to be for Asian Americans, even in this day and age. Moments like this in the film suggested that there are in fact some factors that unite Asian Americans, although many of these factors seemed to have more to do with the way Asian Americans have historically been treated as a group by white Americans than with cultural similarities.

Finally, and on an unrelated note, something that I got out of this film that I had not really been exposed to was a sense of the reality of what it meant to have put Japanese Americans in internment camps during WWII. Of course, I had heard about it growing up in history classes, and I had always found the idea of imprisoning American people in camps reprehensible, but something about hearing the Kochiyamas talk about how they met while he was a GI and she was living in an internment camp brought the reality of the internment camps home for me in a way it had never been before. I was horrified and I still can't help but wonder why this injustice has never received the attention in classrooms and in the mainstream media (at least in my experience) as slavery and the Holocaust and other atrocities have.

The Role of the Documentarian

Unlike many documentaries, "My America" features the documentarian as a central figure, as opposed to a non-existant entity behind the camera. Throughout the film, you see Renee, you hear Renee, and you get to know Renee (to the point where I am now in a first name basis with her). Her life is portrayed unabashedly in "My America." Baby photos, old home movies, and even footage of her wedding are featured prominently, creating a unique relationship between the viewer and the documentarian. Michael Moore often plays a large role in his films, getting a good deal of screen time (probably because he's such a character). Renee goes one step further: she's not only in the documentary, she also uses her life as content. It's HER America. Renee's story functions in "My America" in much the same way as Victor Wong's or Yuri Kochiyama's. Indeed, Renee often draws parallels between her life and the lives of those she meets--she compares the death of her younger brother to Victor Wong's son's murder, Alyssa Kang reminds her of herself, etc...
What are the implications of this? Does it lend the film an authenticity? How would this film have been different had the documentarian been an invisible force behind the camera? Perhaps a more interesting question, how would this film have been different had the documentarian been non-Asian? Could it still be titled, "My America"?