Recently, I had the privilege of chatting via Twitter with a nonwhite, non-US-based writer whom I greatly admire. Among other things, we considered whether marginalized, US-based writers currently benefiting from the “diversity” hype in the US publishing industry should and/or do look beyond US borders to signal boost non-US-based marginalized writers. Our discussion* – specifically, the “Americentric” component – reminded me of the post I’d said I’d write about my thoughts on the term “Japanese American,” so here we are again.
If you self-identify as Japanese, Japanese American, or diaspora Japanese, and you are reading this, please know I’m fully aware what I’m about to say may offend and/or hurt some of you. My intention is not to harm any of you; nevertheless, if I do, I apologize in advance.** I am indebted to the Japanese people whose histories, achievements, cultures, and communities laid the foundation for the privileges their descendants (myself included) enjoy today.*** I have no desire to attack or diminish something to which I owe so much. Thank you for what you have done, what you are doing, and what you will do. ありがとうございました。
That said, I’m here today because I want to ask questions – questions about assimilation, privilege, colorism, colonialism, and marginalization – but also, questions about solidarity, diaspora experiences, preservation, language, cultural practices, and ownership. I ask these questions not to make you angry, fellow Japanese, but to find out whether you see room for growth in the identities and spaces we create for ourselves. Below are my questions:
- If you self-identify as Japanese American, what does the term “Japanese American” mean to you?
o Does it mean more than place of birth/place where you grew up? If so, in what sense?
- If you self-identify as Japanese American, what does the term “American” mean to you?
o Does it mean more than place of birth/place where you grew up? If so, in what sense?
- Consider the term “Japanese American.” Do you link it to any of the words below?
o Assimilation
o Colonialism
o Colorism
o Marginalization
o Privilege
- How about these words?
o Cultural practices
o Diaspora experiences
o Language
o Ownership of identity
o Preservation
o Solidarity
- Consider the term “American.” Do you link it to any of the words below?
o Assimilation
o Colonialism
o Colorism
o Marginalization
o Privilege
- How about these words?
o Cultural practices
o Diaspora experiences
o Language
o Ownership of identity
o Preservation
o Solidarity
Neither of my word lists is exhaustive, but I hope you’ve got an idea of where I’m headed. How did you feel about seeing these parallels between “Japanese American” and “American?” Were you surprised? Unsurprised?
Now for a brief history intermission:
- You’ve heard of the internment camps, yes? How about Indian reservations? Did you know internment camps and reservations have been compared as similar examples of dominant US culture discrimination against nonwhite people?****
Ok, you say, so the US government and dominant US culture have a history of shitting on nonwhite peoples’ rights – tell me something I don’t know.
Well, that’s my point – you do know. You know that as a result of the (white) US exerting force through the words in list one, nonwhite people respond by embracing the words in list two.
Now let’s try something. Say JAs are the ones exerting force through the words in list one. Say non-JA, nonwhite people – for example, American Indians – respond by embracing the words in list two.
Surprised? If, like me, you follow current online discussions of “diversity” among nonwhite writing communities, you may have noticed a certain trend: white people often get blamed for stuff. Don’t get me wrong – whiteness is undoubtedly the core of what shuts nonwhite writers out of the US publishing industry – but I’m also seeing an imbalance. Nonwhite and other marginalized writers are heavily lauded for “making it” when they land an agent or a book deal – but rarely is their work critically evaluated in a high-profile venue. In other words, I see people dishing it out, but not taking it, and no one seems particularly interested in making them take it.
Some people who self-identify as “[something] American” seem to fall into a similar rut. After decades and/or centuries of being at the receiving end of the words on list one, we know it is past time for change and we do what needs to be done to effect it. This is entirely justified – no one should be expected to endure this type of inequity without complaint. In labeling ourselves “Japanese American,” we might say things like claiming our piece of the pie, or owning our identity. We, too, can be “American” – and our Japanese-ness in no way precludes us from it. We take pride in our history, culture, achievements, and communities – the things we built in the face of white supremacy, discrimination, assimilation, etc – and we have adopted a label which encompasses both our Japanese-ness and our “American-ness.” In short, we are holding up a banner with the words on list two for the rest of the US to see – and we are elbowing our way through the crowd to force recognition of our existence.
The dominant US culture, with its pervasive, white supremacist framework, its agenda of denial, erasure, silencing, and destruction of things different from itself – it is a thing to be reckoned with. Any subgroup who successfully resisted and/or resists it is worthy of mention, including those who self-identify as Japanese American. But.
When we – JAs and other nonwhite people – advocate for ourselves in the US, what are we really asking for? Are we asking for equal access to the “American Dream?” But what exactly is the American Dream? And if we do attain it, while we might be happy, does our happiness come at the expense of others?
For example: say one of our dreams is to be a homeowner. So we work hard, we save, we scour neighborhoods, and, at long last, we find the perfect house. Yay! We’re happy. We accomplished our goal and we know we deserve it because we worked so hard – how could we not deserve it? Furthermore, we have shown (white) society we are just as capable and just as worthy. We don’t need anyone to tell us how good we are; we’ll tell them through our actions. That’s right – we nonwhite people are just as “American” as you white people.
Now for a second brief history intermission:
- Remember when you studied pioneer history in elementary/middle/high school? Maybe you read Little House on the Prairie or reenacted “Oregon Trail” life in class. There was a lot of emphasis on how hard the pioneers worked to survive the trail and to eke out a living afterwards. Maybe, in the course of your studies, you noticed Black slaves, Chinese miners, or Indian traders, lurking at the edges. Perhaps you asked yourself why they never seemed to be the main characters; perhaps you didn’t notice.
- In one of the Little House books, there is a scene where Laura sees the Indians departing. Did you ever wonder why they were on the move, or where they were going?
Let’s try a little role play. You are a pioneer, headed to the Oregon territory in the 1800s. The trail is long and tough, and you experience many setbacks, but eventually you reach your destination. You choose a likely-looking spot and begin to build your home. After much hard work, you have the house of your dreams!
Sound familiar? Ok, here’s my next question: what do you notice missing from both of those homeowner scenarios? Here’s a hint: in both scenarios, the focus is on you, yes? It’s about YOUR dream, YOUR hard work, and YOUR achievement. You, you, you. But half the picture is missing. Because, in fact, you weren’t the first one to find that Perfect Spot and make your home on it. Long before you got there, and before your ancestors got to their Perfect Spots, OTHER PEOPLE lived there. These OTHER PEOPLE had cultures, languages, communities, belief systems, and land usage concepts of their own – and they were there BEFORE you.
But I know that, you say. I know about colonization and how it resulted in genocide for many indigenous peoples of what we call the North American continent.
But do you really know? When you were dreaming and scheming to acquire your Perfect Spot, did you think about the history that made it possible for you to even have a Perfect Spot? And if you thought, oh, that’s just history, it’s in the past, colonization is over – did you think about what that says about you? Let me translate. “It’s in the past/colonization is over” = I prefer not to acknowledge the (sometimes) veiled white supremacist framework of the present because I am in a position to benefit from it even if I am not white.
Listen up. Colonization NEVER ended. If you believe it did, if you believe the US is a place of equal opportunity for people of all backgrounds – you are supporting white supremacy. If, further, you are acting on the belief that colonialism is a then-thing and not a now-thing, you are not merely a colonist – you are a colonist supporting the ongoing colonization of this country. (FYI, if, like me, you understand and oppose the ongoing colonization of this country AND you are not Native – well, unfortunately, we are still colonists, too, and Native people have every right to call us such. Why? Because we, too, benefit from the white supremacist framework and colonial legacy/ongoing colonization – and we participate in it, even if we are cognizant of our actions.)
Nonwhite, non-Native people – saying colonization is over does NOT mean it is over. Try substituting “colonization” with “racism” if you’re having trouble understanding my point. Get it now? When you label yourself “American” or “[something] American,” are you accepting ALL components of that identity? Are you acknowledging not only the history/culture/achievements/communities you have created in this country, but ALSO your ongoing participation in colonialism? Do you understand that, by only acknowledging the first thing, you are contributing to erasure of the people who were here first? Do you take responsibility for your status as colonist? Are you content with the status quo or will you try to do something about it?*****
So. This is why I make a point of not self-identifying as “Japanese American.” I am not discounting my place of birth, where I grew up, or the influences of both Japanese American and dominant US culture on my mindset and experiences. Instead, I seek to open a conversational space by providing an opportunity for people to, predictably, ask, why?
I am not condemning the cultural diversity that is a reality of the US today. Great things emerge when diverse communities come together. At the same time, taking pride in ourselves should not occur without ALSO acknowledging the harm we have caused/cause/will cause to others along the way.
Lately, I have seen some really fantastic Asian American solidarity on Twitter and other social media venues. I have seen many Asian American voices thoughtfully critique the (white) US’s historical and ongoing discrimination toward our communities. These critiques are needed; if they weren’t, we wouldn’t be complaining. That said, I have NOT seen nearly as many public acknowledgments of our own role as colonists. There are a number of insightful discussions on internalized racism, but even these don’t always discuss our participation in US colonization.
Fellow Japanese Americans, Asian Americans, and nonwhite, non-Native Americans, if we have the capacity to be this vocal, this forceful, and this kickass in combatting discrimination against us, I think we also have the capacity to pull back and acknowledge we have not just been hurt – we have also hurt others. Isn’t one-way advocacy among the things we often criticize white people for? (White feminism, white disability, white LGBTQ+, etc.) So, let’s not be hypocrites. We can do better, and we will. For every action we take to fight for ourselves, let’s listen to and act on a critique from someone being hurt by us. Let’s broaden our conversations about identities and cultural spaces and ask tough questions amongst ourselves about assimilation, colonization, and erasure. Let’s take tough questions from people we have hurt by our actions in these areas. Let’s have the guts to not just demand apologies, but to make them.
I know we can do this. We just have to try.
Thanks for reading, any of you who made it this far. Check out the Resources page for additional perspectives on Japanese American identity. Also, I follow some awesome folks on Twitter who actively participate in discussions of race, representation, and colonization, in venues much more far-reaching than this blog. Go check them out!
*See my tweets dated 2/29/16 for the actual text of the discussion. I may write a post about it eventually, but right now I’m still sifting through my afterthoughts.
**As many of us probably know from personal experiences with racism, intent doesn’t matter when you’re the one who gets hurt. In other words, think about how many well-meaning white people you know – and the accommodations and/or resistances you’ve offered in the face of their racism. I know I’ve done both.
***Some examples include – English fluency, deeply established JA communities and events, socioeconomic status, and dominant US culture know-how (in other words, the kids of my generation didn’t have to write the assimilation handbook from scratch, though it certainly never stops being edited). Obviously, these examples do not apply to all Japanese Americans and certainly not to all diaspora Japanese. Nor are these examples necessarily “good” or “bad” – they are privileges which advantage their holders over people who don’t have them, if the end goal is to “succeed” in the dominant US culture. Also, present-day JAs owe their privileges to more than past JAs – racial equity movements in US history did not occur in racial/ethnic/cultural vacuums. For example, try arguing that Martin Luther King, Jr.’s work did nothing for non-Black, nonwhite people in the US. See what I mean?
****I’m not here to examine the validity of such comparisons. People with Degrees have written about this topic – do some research if it interests you – and be cognizant of the lens through which the material is being presented. Remember, academia as it exists in the US today is also a colonial institution – and this, combined with internalized racism, may have affected any racial/ethnic/cultural experiences brought to bear by the creator of the material. In other words, don’t assume nonwhite academics are immune to white supremacy. We have a long way to go before decolonizing academia.
*****I can’t speak for Native people on issues of colonization in the US because I am not Native, but I encourage you to seek out Native voices to hear their perspectives. I am fully cognizant my viewpoints on US colonization can only be from a colonist’s perspective. (I consider US colonization to be different from, say, discussions of how globalized white supremacy has colonized nonwhite cultures – see, for example, the spread of western education and economic systems. I have various opinions on the impacts of westernization on Japanese culture.)
NICOLE NOGI 