I’d better preface this post by briefly outlining my educational background, since educational experiences are far from universal. All of my academic education has taken place in the US, from preschool through college. I currently hold a Bachelor of Arts from a west coast liberal arts college. I have no plans at this time to pursue additional degrees. That’s probably all you need to know for the purposes of this post.*

Today, I’m back to wrestle with a question – or a series of questions – which I started to consider during college and to which I continue to seek satisfactory answers as I navigate post-academia life. While I think anyone with an interest or stake in the US education system might find this post worth a read (inasmuch as any of my posts are worth a read, ha), my questions will be directed primarily at professionals in US academia.

Until I reached college, I hadn’t thought much about the origins of the education system I was being put through. It was simply there, a seemingly eternal and immovable framework, meant to guide me from a state of not knowing to a state of knowing something. I didn’t consider who defined “not knowing” or “knowing something,” or how, when, and why they did it. When people I knew talked about volunteering overseas with their church groups, or teaching English in other countries, I accepted both as unquestionably “good” deeds. If “we” had resources and knowledge that “they” didn’t, it was only fair and right for us to share, wasn’t it? “We” would feel good about ourselves; “they” would feel grateful for the opportunities.

Sophomore year of college, those of us in my major were strongly advised to choose an area of specialty. I chose American Indian cultures and histories.** In keeping with the tenets of our methodology course, I sought out books, articles, interviews, oral histories, visual media, websites – basically anything tangible that was not a cultural artifact that I could get my hands on – for my research. I paid close attention to the creators of these source materials and tried to locate Native voices wherever possible, but it wasn’t until I shifted from materials generated BY academia FOR academia to materials generated by NON-academics that I started to question myself.

It was easiest to see in historical, primary accounts – things spoken (and transcribed) and written by people who had lived in eras far different from the one I knew. Sometimes it was how the passage of time was described, or a geographic location. Sometimes it was a cultural practice. Sometimes it was doing a side-by-side comparison of two accounts of the same battle, one from a Native perspective, one from a white perspective. As someone who grew up bilingual and often encountered questions about translation, I started to wonder how much was being distorted or lost in these primary accounts, especially when it was an English transcription of an oral account originally given in a Native language and filtered through an interpreter. If you’ve ever attempted live translation or a multilingual conversation involving parties who only know some of the languages being spoken, you know what a hassle it can be trying to communicate certain points in a way that everyone understands. While I can’t presume to map my personal experiences with translation onto the experiences of Native people who have had their words transcribed and/or translated, I did wonder if any of them had experiences similar to mine. And if they had, then – was there a chance this “primary” source I was analyzing so heavily wasn’t so “primary” after all?

We had, of course, been warned to review every source with a grain of salt, because people distort, omit, forget, embroider, or otherwise record things in a variety of ways for a variety of reasons. But this felt different, somehow. Why?

I went back to my secondary sources and looked for material written by Native scholars. It didn’t take long to find answers.*** I quickly realized certain Native perspectives on colonization differed significantly from how the topic was covered in my classes. Discussions of land usage, reparations, historical trauma, artifact custodianship, tribal governments, reservation life, language preservation, and cultural appropriation (and more) drove home not only the extent to which colonization affected Native peoples, but the fact that it never ended.****

For the next two years, this notion of ongoing colonization floated around in my head. It wasn’t that I was unwilling to acknowledge I, too, was a colonist – for some reason, I never had the knee-jerk NO response to this that some people had when I tried to broach the subject with them – but rather the sense that my understanding of the concept was still missing giant chunks of vital information.

One of these giant chunks fell into place in my senior year, when I chose American Indian boarding schools as my thesis topic. These schools have been written about in-depth from both primary and secondary perspectives, so I won’t elaborate on them here, but suffice to say, it wasn’t a giant leap from looking at the assimilationist tactics used in these schools to looking at the US education system today and seeing some troubling parallels in the ideological frameworks governing both. Below is a partial list of examples:

• Lessons taught in English
• ESL lessons
• Western-centric research methodologies
• Western-centric academic evaluation standards
• Western-centric behavioral standards
• Western-centric “culture” of academia
• Topics pertaining to nonwhite peoples/cultures taught by (white) outsiders
• Non-English languages taught by (white) outsiders

If you aren’t sure why these things can be problematic, here are a few specifics. Recall my previous example of an oral account given in a Native language, translated by an interpreter, and transcribed in English. I’ll make a flowchart to illustrate.

Oral account (in Native language) –> oral account (in English) –> written account (in English)

At every transition in the flowchart, there are opportunities for distortion. The number and nature of opportunities also depends on the language level of everyone involved – for example, if the original speaker has some knowledge of English, they may correct the interpreter or the written account. Or, if the interpreter has a low understanding of English, the transcriber may end up omitting or improvising sections of the oral translation that are unclear. Or perhaps the speaker describes a cultural practice or belief system that has no parallel in the interpreter’s culture, so the interpreter makes an inaccurate cultural comparison to try to clarify things for the transcriber. And so on.

Here’s another example. A non-Japanese lecturer is teaching a lesson on Shinto in a US school. He draws a comparison between roadside Shinto shrines in Japan and Christian churches in the US. A student asks what kind of preparation he did for the lesson; he answers that he read Japanese textual sources on Shinto, interviewed Japanese Shinto practitioners, and visited several roadside Shinto shrines in Japan. Let’s do a flowchart.

Primary sources on Shinto – texts/interviews/shrines (in Japanese/Japan) –> lecturer’s translation/analysis of sources (in English) –> lecturer’s lesson (in English)

Again, there are opportunities for distortion at every transition in the flowchart. Did the lecturer correctly translate the Japanese texts? When interviewing Shinto practitioners, was he cognizant of his outsider status and how it might affect the answers he was given? When analyzing his findings, what kind of methodologies did he utilize? Did he account for the fact that western-centric ways of thought do not perfectly map onto all aspects of Japanese culture? How did he account for the resulting “gaps,” both in his analysis and in his accountability as a credible source for his students? What was his reasoning for comparing Shinto shrines to Christian churches?

I am not saying the lecturer in the above example is bad at his job. He could be outstandingly qualified to research and communicate academic information – from a western-centric perspective. The problem arises when he and his fellow academics attempt to fit the source materials to their methodology – and this is where I see fractures in the current US education system. For those of you who choose to work in (US) academia, I have a few questions.

• What methodologies do you utilize in your research and/or when preparing lessons?
• If someone challenges your methodology, how do you respond?
• How do you feel about the methodologies you utilize? Are you satisfied with them? Do you find they fit your needs, or do you constantly reevaluate them?
• If you are researching or teaching a subject from an outside perspective, how do you acknowledge your outsider status? How do you respond when insiders critique your approach and/or findings?
• How do you feel about the current US education system? What changes would you like to see? Do you contribute to effecting these changes?

From what I’ve seen, if people in US academia are asking questions like these, they are doing it quietly, in places I mostly can’t seem to find.***** Very few of my college professors ever explicitly asked any of the above questions, at least in my hearing. Instead, we were given the tools to do the very best we could – within a western-centric academic framework. Marginalized perspectives were important – but ought to be evaluated by the same standards used for the “mainstream” narrative. If a source was not documented in a way considered “reliable” by our methodology, we were to consider it suspect. So.

I am not saying that western-centric academic frameworks are fundamentally “bad.” I am, however, saying that western-centric academic frameworks have, in the context of US academia, created a colonial institution designed primarily to favor the dominant (white) culture. The result is a kind of tunnel-vision, but one so thoroughly worked into the foundations of the US education system that many people fail to recognize it as such. All that talk about my college days wasn’t just narcissism – it’s a real-life example of how long it took me to get to where I am now, in terms of understanding both the legacies and ongoing issues of colonization in US academia. And I don’t assume I know it all.

If you’re thinking I hate the US education system – no, I don’t. I’m a product of that system and its effects on me, for better or worse. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post (I know, that was a lot of words ago), I have questions I haven’t found answers to yet. I’d like to know how many professional academics recognize the colonization inherent to US academia. I’d like to know how many professional academics acknowledge their role in this colonization. I’d like to know how many professional academics are actively trying to decolonize their institutions.

A final quick clarifier – I’ve used the term “colonization” broadly in this post, not just in the context of what was done/is being done to American Indian peoples and cultures, but also in reference to the ideologies that underlie the unquestioning (or insufficiently questioned) application of western-centric methodologies to non-western-centric information.******

Thanks for reading! Is it just me, or are these posts getting longer? Next time, I’ll have Part 2 of this series, where I reflect on the connections between what I wrote here and the world of fiction writing.

*In other words, this post will be written in the context of US academia, because it’s the only academia with which I have personal experience. Other people in other places on the internet have discussed their experiences in non-US academia – I highly recommend checking them out if this topic is of interest to you.

**There will be a post explaining this choice, sometime in the future. It’s a bit too long for a footnote or an in-text tangent.

***Unfortunately, I no longer recall the exact individuals whose work I read, but check out the Resources page for links to Native voices I’m currently following. Also, if you ARE researching Native issues from a western-centric standpoint, consider that some of the Native-produced sources you label as “secondary” might also be “primary,” depending on the circumstances. But before you do that, you might want to take a second look at your western-centric perspective to see if it’s really the “best fit” for the material you’re trying to cover. Is it something that might be more accurately represented by an insider perspective? Will there be “gaps” if you try to map your methodologies onto this topic?

****I’m not qualified to discuss these topics from anything other than a colonist’s perspective, so please read what Natives are saying about them.

*****I HAVE found a few, mostly through Twitter. But where are the others? Are they speaking up? Do they choose to stay silent? What motivates their choices?

******The colonization of indigenous peoples on this continent is not the same as the colonial experiences of nonwhite, non-indigenous peoples on this continent. Nonwhite people – both indigenous and non-indigenous – have written about their experiences with colonization on this continent at length in other places on the internet. Please look them up for firsthand accounts. This post is not comparing the colonial experiences of various groups; instead, it is a brief exploration of the colonizing nature of the current US education system, filtered through the lens of my personal experiences.

I’ve noticed most writers, though not all, have at least one post on their website/blog about why they write. I enjoy reading these posts, so I decided to do one of my own, in case anyone asks me the same question.

I started my first story when I was in fifth grade. The book that inspired me was Tamora Pierce’s Alanna, The First Adventure.* I loved many things about Alanna – her stubbornness, her work ethic, her no-nonsense approach to life – but at the end of the day, when I tried to imagine myself in her shoes, the only thing we had in common, appearance-wise, was height. No matter how hard I tried, I could only ever imagine being Alanna’s friend, not Alanna herself – and even when I imagined being her friend, I knew on some level I wouldn’t fit in with her world, where no one else looked like me. So, I came up with a solution: I’d create my own story, with a heroine I could imagine being, in a world filled with people who looked like me.

Thus began a story called “Magic,” about a warrior princess who lived in a world curiously similar to that of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.** I was still many years from having my own computer, so the first draft was written in pencil, on binder paper – all 100+ pages of it. I didn’t really think I could ever be a Real Author like Pierce, but I liked my characters and the world I created for them, and I wanted to see what would happen to them, so I kept writing.

Fast forward to today. “Magic” and its sequels and spinoffs have long since been shelved, but my reasons for writing haven’t changed much. My writing patterns are largely defined by the same parameters I used as a fifth-grader: I create some characters and a world, and stick with them until we’re done with each other. Along the way, I’ve learned a lot about the “how” of writing, including research, cultural context and representations (both my own and that of others), publishing and querying processes, reviews, and writing communities. At the end of the day, though, my belief in a story is what keeps me writing. As long as I feel I have something to say, I will continue finding ways to say it. As long as my characters and worlds hold my interest, I will continue to invest time and effort in them. As selfish as it may sound, at the end of the day, I write my stories for me.

But, you say, what about all the social justice-esque, activist-esque posts on this blog? Don’t you care about #ownvoices and resolving inequities for marginalized writers and tackling issues of representation?

Yes, of course I do. And this blog (and sometimes Twitter) is where I express my opinions on these topics. You may notice I don’t post excerpts from my WIP on here. This is deliberate. My fiction writing should not be conflated with my activist-esque writing. Don’t get me wrong, I fully stand behind the views I express on this blog. You may have read the series I posted on writing about Japan from various perspectives – I hold myself to the same standards. But I also believe not all writing by marginalized writers needs to be written with the intention of advocacy – and telling marginalized writers otherwise is merely another form of marginalization. My fiction writing is not a mouthpiece for my activist-esque views. It is informed by my views, but it does not exist to disseminate them to the world. It exists because I enjoy doing it – because I like trying, over and over, from different angles, incorporating different types of information, to write my own story.

I realize my reasons for writing may set me outside mainstream publishing parameters. This is ok. Given the current state of the US publishing industry, I’m not confident it contains spaces for writers like me. I’ll still do what I can to effect change so that marginalized writers who do want to go the mainstream publishing route will have better chances of achieving their goals. I’ll also do what I can to effect change so that marginalized writers who opt out of the mainstream publishing route will have better chances of achieving their goals. These are voices worth hearing, and it doesn’t matter to me how they choose to get heard.

Well, ok, you say, but assuming you ever get an agent and/or publisher, someone will probably ask you about the intended audience for your book. What will you say?

The honest answer is, there is no intended audience, unless you count me, but I’ve always felt being the author of a work puts one in a different space from being a reader of a work, even if one is reading one’s own work. To me, the idea of an “intended audience” requires some expectation on the author’s part that their work will be of value to someone else. Coming from a writing-for-myself-perspective, it’s difficult, if not hypocritical, for me to presume my work will mean something to anyone other than myself. I’m not trying to create windows or mirrors for readers; I’m not trying to convert people to my activist-esque views. Sure, I want readers to have windows and mirrors, and I think it’s past time for change in the areas I advocate for, but this is not why I write.

I’m not saying that if people read my work, they won’t find windows or mirrors, or notice echoes of what I write on this blog – I’m saying, this is not why I write. I don’t mind if people find these things in my writing. I can’t control how people respond to my writing. I just want to be clear on where I, the writer, am coming from.

On a final note, none of the above is meant to undercut writers who write for reasons other than themselves. Although I’m always interested to learn why someone writes, the reason won’t necessarily affect my opinion of their writing.*** People write for all kinds of reasons beyond themselves. I’m not saying writing for yourself is inherently better than writing for other reasons. Just look at the spectrum of writers out there and you’ll see it’s impossible to make any such generalization.

Thanks for reading! Check out the Resources page (links in progress), for additional perspectives on why people write.

*Although in retrospect, I have noticed some problematic cultural representations in Pierce’s books, I still enjoy her work. Other people have written about how to be a fan of problematic things – go check them out if you’re confused by what I said. And yes, I am breaking my general habit of not naming specific authors or books on this blog.

**Full disclosure: she ended up looking nothing like me – instead, she looked the way I would want to look if I was a member of the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon cast trying out for the movie version of Alanna. (I didn’t know the term “fanfiction” at this point, but safe to say I was headed in that general direction with regard to both works.) The story itself was not meant to be Chinese – even at that age, I had a vague sense that writing about things I didn’t really know about was somehow not good – so I created a fantasy world called Khasmai and tried to use non-culturally-specific names for everything. The result still looked a lot like China and I ended up stopping work on the series when I realized I was unwilling to do the required research. (Hint: If you’re writing about a culture different from your own, it’s ok to quit if you realize you’re not up to the task. In my opinion, it’s preferable to proceeding with a half-assed manuscript and then dealing with the backlash when you hurt people with your misrepresentations.)

***Notable exceptions include writers who jump into “diversity for diversity’s sake,” without considering the #ownvoices they are erasing, silencing, or obstructing. This is NOT an ok reason for writing.

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.)

I probably should have posted this one sooner, but I had bigger thoughts about other things, so they went up instead. In any event, I hope this provides some retrospective context about my feelings on labels.

My first personal encounter with the concept of being “of color” occurred in college. Prior to then, I’d heard the term and vaguely had the idea some people associated it with people like me, but it had never been brought to bear in a conversation I was part of. People used words like, “Asian,” “Asian American,” “Japanese,” and “Japanese American.”

Then, early in my freshman year, a white person asked, “As a student of color, do you – ?” I don’t remember the rest of the question. Even now, the jarring impact of the words, “student of color” is what resonates with me most about that remark. I remember answering the question and also letting the person know I didn’t identify with the term, “student of color” and preferred not to be referred to as such. The person never used it again, but I kept thinking about it.

Fast forward almost eight years – yikes, it’s been almost four years since I left school! – and at last, I think I have the vocabulary to articulate why being called a “student of color” bothered me so much.

As a kid growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, there was never a time when I wasn’t exposed to a mix of Asian and non-Asian cultures. I grew up with books, songs, and movies in Japanese and English, and though my few friends (at the time) were mostly white, my relatives and our family friends were mostly Asian – and within that group, mostly Japanese. My parents took my sister and me to Japan every summer to visit our relatives there, where an odd reverse effect took place.

In the US, I didn’t look like most of the people in my class, but I knew how to (mostly) talk and act like them. In Japan, I blended in with the street crowds, but quickly realized my relatives didn’t expect me to know how to act Japanese. What I learned in those years – without knowing how to articulate it – was the complexity of being diaspora Japanese. I could and did identify with both places, but also felt rejected by each of them in different ways. Still, I never stopped seeing myself as Japanese – I just accepted I would be different from the people across the Pacific, and different too from others in the US who called themselves Japanese or Japanese American.*

Maybe this all meant I was a super self-centered kid with tunnel vision (FYI, that hasn’t changed), but in all that time, I never considered identifying as anything other than Japanese. My parents never spoke of our family using terms like “Asian,” “Asian American,” “people of color,” or “nonwhite.” We knew we were Japanese and nothing more had to be said.

During these same years, I was encountering my fair share of racism and microaggressions, from white and nonwhite people alike. I was hurt and thought, “they’re racist,” but I didn’t really understand what this meant or what the larger implications were. I was also participating in my share of racism and microaggressions with little to no effort to check myself, and I didn’t think much about the institution of whiteness until I got to college.**

Then came the day when “student of color” was thrown at me. I was completely unprepared and my gut response was denial. I wasn’t a “student of color,” I was Japanese (or maybe “Japanese American”). How dare this (white) person stick a label on me that I never claimed for myself? And, moreover, why did it have to be a label signifying difference – “of color” – but not ACCURATE difference – in my case, “Japanese.” I had always been a stickler for accuracy, especially when it came to identifying people, maybe because I knew how much it hurt when people misidentified me as some other type of Asian. I rejected the “of color” label and made clear to all my college friends I wasn’t to be called by this term. Thus passed the remainder of my four years.

A few months ago, when I started following online communities of marginalized writers, the term popped up again, this time as, “people of color,” or “POC.” At first I was annoyed – were people uncaring enough to be referred to by a term that really didn’t mean anything? “People of color” – that was the same as “nonwhite,” right? And didn’t “Japanese,” “Black,” or “Oglala Lakota” signify just as much nonwhiteness – while also retaining the respect of specificity? But then I realized – if marginalized writers want to effect change in the US publishing industry, we will have to work together, and probably with some privileged white folks, too. “People of color” means nothing and everything – because in a fight where the opponent is the institution of whiteness, our side needs a name, too, a name bigger than any one person or culture or ethnicity – and that name is POC. People of color is a term of solidarity – or perhaps it has been coopted as such, if white folks originally invented it to uphold white supremacy. In this sense, I absolutely support its usage.

But. It’s been clear from some of the responses to marginalized voices that certain folks see us as a monolith. That one POC can be switched out for another with impunity. That having one or two “Asian” authors on the list is enough – no more, because how can the third or fourth or fifth or hundredth Asian author possibly have a unique story unlike the stories of the first two?

I can’t resolve the gatekeeping issue by myself, but I can take steps on a personal level to force recognition from the privileged folks who interact with me. Below is a short checklist that may help:

• I self-identify as Japanese. You may refer to me as Japanese.
• You may also refer to me as Japanese American. I prefer Japanese, but JA is ok.
• You may refer to me as Asian or Asian American if you are discussing these communities. I refuse to stand as the sole representative for either one, but I self-identify as a member of both.
• I self-identify as a member of the POC communities advocating for marginalized voices in the US publishing industry. I do not self-identify as a Person of Color. If for some reason you can’t use Japanese or JA when referring to me, you may use “nonwhite.”

In my own eyes, I am first and foremost Japanese. All other race/ethnic labels listed above are ones I identify with in relation to those communities, but not ones I identify with as an individual. I will not stand as the sole representative for ANY of the labels listed above. Japanese, Japanese Americans, Asians, Asian Americans, POC, and nonwhite people are not a monolith – not together, not separately.

Regarding my preference for the term “nonwhite” over “POC,” the reason is simple: some white folks get uncomfortable when whiteness gets mentioned. “People of color” is essentially saying nonwhite – without using the word “white.” I respect and support the argument that omitting the word “white” helps decenter whiteness from the discussion by removing it as an option, but in my experience, the number of white people who get uncomfortable about open discussions of whiteness is greater than the number of white people who will understand the politicized absence of the word “white” from “people of color.” Since white people are the ones with the worst track record of depicting Japan/Japanese culture, one of my personal goals as an advocate for marginalized voices is to push as many of those white people as possible beyond their comfort zones and, in doing so, confront them with their own culpability in continuing to privilege their voices over nonwhite voices.

I realize my experiences with white people reacting to whiteness may not reflect other people’s experiences, which is why I will continue to use both “POC” and “nonwhite” in discussions of the collective, but “nonwhite” in relation to myself.

Phew, that was a lot of words about words, wasn’t it? Thanks for reading and, as always, check out the Resources page for additional/differing opinions (and less wordy opinions).

*The next post will discuss my thoughts on “Japanese American” identity.

**I’ll have a different post about how my experiences in education shaped my understanding of racism and its partners-in-crime, colonialism and imperialism.

Hello reader of internets, it’s time for your bi-weekly-ish dose of JA attitude, courtesy yours truly. Today’s post is directed at non-Japanese folks writing about Japan/Japanese culture, but may also be useful if you’re a Japanese person who has been or is considering being a cultural beta reader.*

Generally speaking, if you’re a non-Japanese person writing about Japan/Japanese culture and you ask me to be your cultural beta reader, I will say no without a second thought.** Below are the top ten reasons why:

• I am not your token cultural insider

o   I will not be the person you point to and say, “SHE approved it and SHE’S Japanese!” when your work is criticized for its cultural representations

o   Nor will I consider being the ONLY cultural beta reader on any project

• I am not an expert in the area(s) you want feedback on

o   My knowledge of Japan/Japanese culture is a combination of my lived experience and research I have conducted for my own purposes – your work is unlikely to map onto these areas point for point – and even if it did, apart from being creeped out, I’d still tell you to get more than one cultural beta

o   I do not possess an advanced degree from the hallowed halls of colonial academia – if you care about these things

• I am not a researcher-for-hire

o   This blog and the occasional tweet are about as much investment as I’m currently willing to make in your work

o   Do not use me to verify things you did not first try to verify on your own – I will ask for evidence of research. If I feel you tried insufficiently hard, I’ll tell you so – and I won’t offer any feedback until you do your part.

• I am not your scapegoat

o   I will not be the person you blame to avoid your own accountability

o   If you are truly committed to writing about Japan/Japanese culture, you are also truly committed to accepting criticisms about your representations of Japan/Japanese culture. If you disagree with the second thing, might I suggest finding something else to write about?

• I am not your faceless POC robot

o   I will not be the person you enlisted so you or your publisher could tick a box

o   If I agree to be a cultural beta reader for you, it is a two-way road. I will expect to be able to get to know you and I will expect you to do the same for me. And I will reserve the right to terminate the agreement at any point if I feel you are not honestly representing yourself or your intentions with regard to my culture.

• We have differing ideas about the parameters of the writer/beta relationship

o   In other words, you won’t be getting any extra labor out of me for free. Chances are, you won’t be getting any extra labor out of me for any price. See the bullet point about not being a researcher-for-hire.

• Your reasons for writing about Japan/Japanese culture don’t hold up

o   Anime/manga fan with little to no idea of what Japan is like outside of these mediums? Tend to use “-senpai” and “kawaii” in your otherwise all-English daily vocabulary? Yeah no.

o   You “feel” you are Japanese – when you aren’t. Yeah no.

o   You “admire” Japanese culture. Do you admire white culture? Yeah no.

o   You want to write “diversely” – take a look at the “diversity” you are representing in your work. For example, if you are writing from a JA perspective – are you JA? How much time have you spent in JA communities? What can you tell me about JA cultures and communities without looking at any external sources? Now tell me about the external sources you did consult. In detail.

o   And the all-important question: what exactly is this story that only you can tell?

• You fucked it up too badly for me to even want to read your work

o   I will not commit to being your cultural beta until AFTER reading sample pages. And by sample pages, I mean you will send me your entire manuscript and I will randomly read selections – so don’t think you can get away with polishing chapter one and keeping the racist garbage in chapters two through whatever.

• Your social media accounts/other public persona indicate you are a racist asshole

o   No, following me on Twitter will not endear you to me, especially if I go to your feed and it is full of white people whitesplaining life.

• You are not worth my time/emotional investment/mental health

o   This reason is probably at the core of the other reasons listed in this post – to be a beta reader is ultimately to be in a position of greater knowledge but lesser power.

o   In other words, even if I’m right and you’re wrong, you’re the one who decides what goes on the page. At the end of the day, YOU are still the one with the power to hurt ME.

o   Other people have said in other places on the internet that it takes WORK to be a beta, especially when you are beta-ing because you have an inside perspective on something. This is entirely true.

o   So then, to see subjects that form the core of your being and the foundation of your identity, carelessly thrown at the page like a drunken dart game is – well, how do you think it feels?

o   Here’s where history sucker-punches you. In my personal reading experience, non-Japanese authors have an atrocious track record when it comes to depicting Japan/Japanese culture. The racism I have encountered is partly perpetuated by depictions like these. So, sorry-not-sorry, but I’m not going to be your Japanese beta reader today.

You may have noticed I used “you” a lot in the above list, rather than “your work.” This is because I believe writers need to be held thoroughly accountable for their representations of marginalized peoples and topics, especially when writing from outside those experiences. That book did not just wink into being. A human wrote those words, another human repped them, another human edited them. I don’t believe in pulling punches or sugarcoating. If you did wrong, you did wrong, and I am going to tell you so. You, not your book. And I will expect you to do better next time, if you choose to write again.

This post is just one JA’s opinion. It by no means applies to all Japanese people or even all JAs. WE ARE NOT A MONOLITH. But do remember, no matter what your stance on cultural betas, YOU as the writer will ultimately be held accountable for any and all cultural (mis)representations in your work. (In other words, regardless of whether I or other Japanese people were your cultural betas, I’ll still call you out if you screw up.)

Thanks for reading! Check out the Resources page for thoughts in a similar vein!

*If you’re a Japanese person writing about Japan/Japanese culture and you want a beta reader, talk to me! (Yes, it’s totally a thing to have beta readers from your own culture because none of us know EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME EVER ABOUT JAPAN. I have trusty Japanese betas inside and outside Japan. That said, depending on the scope of your work, I think it’s probably possible to be a Japanese person writing about Japan and not consult cultural betas, though I imagine you’ll still have to do some degree of research. For example, Murakami Haruki’s novels strike me as the type of work he wouldn’t necessarily need cultural betas for, but I would be surprised if he also did zero research. I did hear – but haven’t confirmed – he was criticized for stereotyping the residents of a certain Japanese village, so, if true, just goes to show you don’t – and shouldn’t – get a free pass regardless of your background/status.)

**Possible exceptions: if I know you personally AND I don’t think you’ll make a total hash of it; if you’re a nonwhite writer WITH a social media history/other public persona indicating you are not a racist asshole; if you’re a white writer…sorry, find someone else.

My first memory of tea is not of tea, but of “ocha.” That was what my mom called the clear green liquid she brewed in a funny-looking brown pot, with a handle closely resembling a second spout. I didn’t encounter the white-people version of tea until elementary school, when I visited a friend’s house for a tea party.* These days, I drink all kinds of tea, but my first association with the word “tea” remains the ocha we drank at home. Tea is my go-to comfort drink, and one I especially need now, as I’m writing this post.

Early this morning, I read two essays, each by an Asian American author.** I admired the points made in both essays and did what I could to RT and like them on Twitter, so more people would read them. A few hours later, I checked Twitter again and found an explosion. White and nonwhite writers alike leaped online to voice disagreement, sometimes reasonably worded, sometimes heated, with the first essay. The prevailing assumption seemed to be that the author of the first essay was saying, white people should not write nonwhite cultures.

I’ve voiced my opinions on white people writing nonwhite cultures elsewhere on this blog, at length, so I’ll just say here, I don’t believe white people should *never* write nonwhite cultures, but I believe they have an extremely poor track record of doing so and could stand to educate themselves at length before continuing to do so. But to return to the essay and people’s responses to it, I can see why white writers reacted defensively (albeit, in most of what I saw, with their usual ignorance of their privilege). I am more confused and troubled by the negative responses I saw from nonwhite writers.

I am a nonwhite writer. I read that essay. At no point did I think the author stated or implied white people should never write nonwhite cultures. Seeing nonwhite writers – most with published work and much more experience than I have under their belts – explode over this essay on Twitter, I have to wonder – why? What did you see in the essay that set you off so explosively? And especially – why slam this author when I see you yourselves constantly advocating the need for #ownvoices and for the US publishing industry to put its money where its mouth is as far as opening doors for nonwhite writers? This is what I don’t understand.

Some of the responses I saw from nonwhite writers accused the author of hypocrisy because this author has been a leading figure in the push for diversifying literature. I saw several comments along the lines of, you can’t champion diverse literature for all writers and then slam white writers trying to participate. To be honest, I think you can – I think you can slam any writer who poorly and disrespectfully represents your culture. Why? Because the movement this author works with is not about propagating poorly researched, disrespectful “diverse” books. In fact, I doubt any movement sincerely supporting “diverse” books would do such a thing. And I don’t believe any writer who sincerely believes in the mission to diversify literature would do such a thing – any writer, not just the one who wrote the essay. I don’t believe agents, publishers, editors, readers – anyone, really, with a stake in books – want to bring books lacking in execution into the world.

When I returned to Twitter for the third time today, I saw some nonwhite writers had come forward to clarify and/or defend the essay. I appreciate their comments – and I am sad they had to make them in the first place. I also saw a response posted by the author of the essay on her blog. It was articulate, thoughtful, and didn’t give an inch. I am glad she wrote her response – and again, I am sad she had to do it.

I don’t expect nonwhite people to be a monolith, whether they are writers, editors, agents, etc. A lifetime of being nonwhite has shown otherwise. We argue, fight, insult, defend, laugh, and cry – as all humans do. But today, I was saddened and shocked to see so many nonwhite voices piling onto one person who, as far as I could see, only took the time to articulate more fully the thoughts that her now-critics espouse everyday on their own social media accounts. I am not saying the author of this essay is perfect or that her views are – no one is perfect or has perfect views. But I see no reason for the outburst and melee generated in the wake of what, to me, was a timely, perceptive, and straightforward account of one of the biggest hurdles facing nonwhite writers in the US publishing industry today.

As always, check out the Resources page for other perspectives! Thanks for reading!

*But let us not forget the colonization of nonwhite people that accompanied the origins of “European” tea. British Empire, anyone? Also, ironically, I had seen Mrs. Potts in Beauty and the Beast before ever drinking “European” tea, so I knew my mom’s teapot didn’t look like white people’s teapots.

**I’m writing this on February 17, 2016, so if you weren’t on Twitter today but you run in these circles, check your feed from today to see which author/essay I’m talking about. If you’re outside the community, check my feed from today. I RTed both essays. For the record, I’m not in the habit of naming specific people or book titles on this blog, to avoid making them targets.

If you’ve ever been to Japan, chances are you saw a “konbini,” a Japanese convenience store. Some of them will be recognizable to US residents – 7-11, for example – others, less so. The konbini is a staple of contemporary Japanese life and for good reason – they are waaaay superior to their US counterparts in terms of product selection and quality, and they are freaking EVERYWHERE.* Today, though, I’m going to talk about a different type of konbini, one that occupies a more unpleasant space in my life.

The story opens with a familiar scene: a group of white students hanging out at school, and me, the only nonwhite person there. They’re talking anime and manga because they’re big fans – I stay silent, because I’m not. Later, as I’m leaving, someone, maybe currently a JPN 101 student, or maybe just an ardent anime watcher – enthusiastically trills, “Kawaii!” in praise of whatever character, show, or story currently being discussed. I keep walking, but something bothers me.

After a few more half-heard, half-cut-off conversations, I notice a pattern. These non-Japanese anime and manga fans won’t use Japanese words in front of me. Some of them refer to each other with terms like -senpai, -san, and -chan. I only overhear them in passing because it stops when I join the group. If something “cultural” is being discussed – an outfit, a historical narrative, a belief system – sidelong glances are shot at me and sometimes my opinion is solicited. Often, I am asked about how “authentic” something is. As the only Japanese person present, I become at once The Other and The Authority On All Things Japan. I don’t like being typecast, but I don’t feel up to a round of Racism 101 either, so I just answer what I can.**

The conversation ends and the group breaks up, but I know this will happen again. And here’s where I get annoyed. If a non-Japanese person is arbitrarily flinging Japanese words around because they are oh-so-in-tune with x anime and/or convinced they are “Japanese” in spirit – there’s a word I want to share: weeaboo. Look it up. FYI, it is not a compliment. I could rant about weeaboos at length,*** but in my personal experience, something more hurtful and insidious is at work here: selective “anti-racism.”

Selective “anti-racism” is racism by another name. In my experience, it consists of outsiders tailoring their behavior in the presence of an insider, based on their outsider perceptions of how that insider “should” be treated. Now take the previous sentence and replace “outsider” with “white” and “insider” with “POC.” Ah…

Here is a truth from a nonwhite person: if you are white, do not assume you know how a nonwhite friend/acquaintance/that stranger over there wants to be treated with respect to their culture. Here is another truth from a nonwhite person: I can tell when you are “turning off” your racism on my “behalf.” Here is a third truth from a nonwhite person: you are not being a “better” person or an “ally” if you practice selective anti-racism.****

If I’m being confusing, let me use a non-race example: murder. Say you kill someone in front of someone else. Now say you kill someone not in front of someone else. Is the second murder somehow more “ok” than the first?

Racism is still racism, regardless of whether it happens to someone’s face or behind their back. You don’t get a free pass just because you don’t wear a pointy white hood or because you don’t call me “little Chinese girl” (actually happened to me). If you find yourself consciously adjusting your speech and behavior with regard to race when you are around me, newsflash: you are racist. You should ALWAYS be conscious of how you speak and act about race, around EVERY person. To quote Mad-Eye Moody, “constant vigilance!”*****

Anti-racism is not like your favorite snack from the konbini. It is not something you acquire when you feel like it and discard when you don’t. It is not something you whip out to ingratiate yourself with nonwhite folks. It is not something you exploit to feel better about yourself, or to further the bullshit statement, “but not ALL white people – !”

I am tired of the konbini approach to anti-racism that I see among so many of the white folks I know. Stop insulting my intelligence. Stop being a hypocrite. Stop thinking you’re in the clear just because I haven’t confronted you (yet).

If you read this far and plan to disregard everything I said, let me leave you with a final point: your choice to disregard what I said is an exercise of your (white) privilege. So, congratulations, you’re still a racist after all.

Thanks for reading! As always, check out the Resources page for similar opinions, different opinions, and unrelated but totally awesome stuff.

*Visit a konbini if you’re in Japan! They are seriously awesome.

**Future post on racism, school, and friendships in retrospect.

***I don’t currently have a post planned about weeaboos, but check out ThisIsNotJapan for a zero-fucks-given breakdown of a Japanese perspective on weeaboo culture.

****This is not to say nonwhite people are never racist – we are. But the lion’s share of racism I have personally encountered comes from white people.

*****Don’t get me started on JKR’s new wizarding schools.

For some time now, “diversity” and its various iterations have been buzzwords in the US publishing industry, especially in the online writing communities I follow. On the face of it, I don’t *not* support diversity, if we define diversity simply as, “a variety of interesting things.” Interesting things are good and there is always room for more of them. Organizations like We Need Diverse Books are working hard to bring more of these interesting things to the table. Publishers like Lee & Low Books are putting their money where their mouths are, by disclosing internal diversity stats and soliciting submissions from marginalized creators through contests like New Voices and New Visions. BUT.*

It is not enough. Recently, I watched a nonwhite agent champion two books featuring nonwhite characters and cultures, written by white clients.** I watched Twitter and the blogosphere explode as white and nonwhite readers gushed over these books. I got curious, so I dug a bit deeper and looked at the authors’ backgrounds and at reviews of the cultural representations in these books. Personally, I always find it an iffy process to gather information about someone online, as you never really know if they just posted what their agent/publisher told them to post, or what they chose to leave out for reasons of their own, so bear this in mind as you read the next part.***

One of the authors gave no information whatsoever on her website (though to be fair, it looks relatively new) about the cultural research she did. The reviews seemed overwhelmingly positive, though I haven’t yet found a review by a reader from the nonwhite culture represented. Nor did I find any assessment of the book’s cultural representations, beyond a quick mention that yes, it features a nonwhite MC who does not align with stereotypes. Side note: You do not get cookies simply for writing a nonwhite, non-stereotypical character. NO character of ANY color should be written as a stereotype. This is Writing 101. Next.

The second author had spent some time in the nonwhite country she wrote about and offered a few blog posts on her website detailing her experiences. The reviews seemed fairly positive, though I did see a few reviewers (unclear whether they were from the nonwhite culture represented) note discrepancies in the book’s cultural representations. Again, I’d be interested to hear from this author how exactly she did her cultural research.

Both of these books are being heavily touted as “diverse” reads. Hmm.

As a nonwhite reader, if a book about a nonwhite culture is being recommended to me, especially if it is being recommended as a “diverse” read, it sure as hell better be written by a nonwhite person, preferably (strongly preferably) by a person from the culture being represented. Why? Because true “diversity” ≠ white people writing outside their experience. No. What you have there is nonwhite cultures depicted through a white lens. The white-as-norm framework is still in place. You have not gone outside the box. You have simply added glitter to your box, or maybe hung some mirrors on the inside, to make it seem bigger than it is. This is why, whenever a white writer says they write nonwhite characters to be “inclusive” or “realistic,” I cringe. Yes, the world comes in all colors. But you, white writer, will always be white. Your do-gooder “inclusivity” is glitter. Your book’s “reality” is a fantasy. You don’t know how not to be white.

It’s not your fault for being white, just like it’s not my fault for being nonwhite. It is, however, your fault when you thoughtlessly assume the privilege of writing “realistic” stories that, to you, will never be more than a fantasy. It doesn’t matter if you lived x number of years in y country. It doesn’t matter if you “feel” you belong to m culture in mind, body, and soul. Your voice is a white voice. And white ≠ nonwhite.

If you still disagree, let me remind you that the nonwhite people in this country have heard and experienced this message our entire lives. White ≠ nonwhite. Your failure to understand that you are exerting privilege by writing nonwhite characters is a symptom of the White Supremacist Box you call home. You may know it better as, “The Way Things Are,” “Status Quo,” “Normal,” “Colorblind,” “Post-Racism,” or some other equally uninformed term.

Inside the Box, you feel safe. You feel comfortable. And it is from this position of safety and comfort that you find yourself writing nonwhite characters without questioning your privilege. It is from this position that you tout your nonwhite-character-book as a “diverse” read, without questioning whether your voice is really the one that most deserves to be heard in this conversation (hint: it’s not). It is from this position that you erase and dislocate nonwhite voices writing their own stories, and allow your agents, editors, publicists, and fellow white authors to do the same.

Some of us don’t have the safety and comfort of a Box. Some of us live the “realities” that you imagine from inside the Box. Hmm. Lived experience v. imagined experience. What sounds more convincing? What sounds more informed?

“Diversity” is not and should not be, White People Writing Nonwhite People. Those of us working to “diversify” the US publishing industry are not doing it so that white people can have glitter and mirrors. We are not doing it because we like being fetishized, stereotyped, Orientalized, and otherwise fantasized about by outsiders. It is not about you and your do-gooder ideals. Your “diversity” is our reality. So sit down, close your mouth, and let the rest of us talk for a change.****

*This is probably a good point at which to say, this post will be written in the context of race representation in the US publishing industry. Check out the Resources page for discussions of other marginalized representations!

**I’m not going to name the agent, the authors, or the books. I’m not here to make specific people feel bad unless they personally attack me first. Ha.

***It appears I’ll have a post about author accountability in the future. Since I have opinions.

****If you don’t like the way I say things, a ton of other people have said similar things. Check out the Resources page!

Hi. Hey! If you’re a Japanese person writing about Japan and you found this blog, welcome!* I’m so glad you’re here and I really hope we can connect if you’re comfortable doing so. We need MORE Japanese voices publishing in English!**

Ok, happy dance over. Basically, if you’re a Japanese person writing about Japan, I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing. In other words, I’m fully confident you can own your Japanese identity and decide how you want to represent it without any help from me. That’s not to say you’re omniscient – no one is – but I don’t think you need the step-by-step guide + rant at the core of my two previous posts, addressed to white people and nonwhite, non-Japanese people writing about Japan.

Instead, today I’ll share a couple things I’ve done and/or learned in the course of my own writing about Japan.*** This post is going to be more self-reflective than instructive, so if you’re looking for advice, please check out the Resources page to hear from writers more knowledgeable/experienced than I am.

The following information relates to my current WIP, a YA fantasy series set in contemporary Japan, with an all-Japanese cast.

Some questions I asked/am asking myself while writing:

• Why am I telling this story? Who am I writing for?****
• What aspects of Japanese culture/history/etc will I need to research?
• How will I conduct my research? What types of sources will I utilize?*****
• How does my personal background (Japanese, born and raised in US) color my perceptions of Japan?
• How much of my personal background/experiences do I want to incorporate into my writing? In what ways?
• How will I demonstrate awareness of my background (did not grow up in Japan) in my writing (about characters born/raised in Japan)?
• Who will evaluate my representations of Japan in the CP/BR process?
• How much, if any, explanation should I offer to outsiders (i.e. readers unfamiliar with Japan/Japanese) in terms of vocabulary, mentality, cultural practices, etc?
• Who in the US publishing industry is likely to be my best bet for pitching/querying, once I reach that stage? What kind of pushback should I expect as far as “whitening” my book and other concerns?
• What kinds of responses do I expect if/when my book goes out into the world?

Some things I’ve done for research thus far:

• Spoken with family and friends in Japan
• Spoken with Japanese family and friends outside of Japan
• Utilized Japanese family/friend connections to reach out to other Japanese people, inside and outside Japan
• Expanded my grasp of Japanese reading and writing –> see previous note about how a lot of Japanese books don’t get translated into English; this also applies to research materials, so I highly recommend developing some kind of Japanese reading ability
• Resurrected certain childhood memories with my mom’s help (I grew up on a steady diet of Japanese shows, songs, food, books, practices, etc, but unfortunately a lot of this dropped off when I stopped living with my parents)
• Searched for and acquired research materials, with an eye to WHO is producing WHAT and HOW they are doing it (books, articles, blogs, interviews, art, music, videos, objects, etc)
• Tried out some of the cultural practices described in my WIP –> my goal is to try each practice in person or to talk with people who have firsthand experience with it, with an exception for historical practices no longer extant
• Tentatively planned a research trip to Japan (not sure if this will be financially possible, wouldn’t be the end of the world if I don’t make it since I’ve already been many times, but it sure would be helpful)

I’ve left some stuff off both lists, but I hope it’s enough to give a general idea of how one Japanese writer goes about writing her culture. Keep in mind this is just my take on the matter. Japanese people are not a monolith. Every Japanese person who decides to write about Japan will go about the process differently. Heck, my process will change when I start researching in earnest for my next book!

If you think I’m full of it because I’m not agented or published yet, let me direct you to Lisa See, a Big Deal Author who writes about her own culture (Chinese). She conducts massive amounts of research for her books. I’m no expert on Chinese history, but nor have I ever seen any Chinese readers critique Ms. See’s representations of China, so I’m going to guess she’s doing a solid job.

Again, if you’re a Japanese person writing about Japan and you have thoughts to share, please reach out! Thanks for reading!

*I would LOVE to check out your work! DM me on Twitter! See Contact page for details.

** There are plenty of Japanese voices publishing in Japanese – sadly, a lot of them don’t get translated into English. I’m advocating specifically for English because I’m a US-based writer and my blog mainly focuses on the US publishing industry, but feel free to chime in if you’re a Japanese person writing about Japan in a language other than Japanese or English!

***If you have comments/suggestions/questions regarding what I’ve done or what you’ve done, please reach out!

****I’ll be answering this question in a separate post because I have complicated thoughts about it.

*****Will have a separate post (or several of them) on my thoughts about what research means and how I feel it should be done.

In my previous post, I discussed some ways of thinking I’d like to see white people adopt if they are going to write about Japan. Today I’m back with part two of what is really a very long, complicated conversation that I wish more people would have in more visible places than this blog. But enough wishful thinking.

Nonwhite* people internalize racism. Nonwhite people perpetuate stereotypes. Nonwhite people hurt other nonwhite people and people of other marginalized groups. I do not exempt myself from any of the above – I do all of these things. I’m working on doing less of them.

This post addresses nonwhite, non-Japanese people writing about Japan.**

In my personal reading experience (mostly books published in the US, written in English), I’ve encountered far more works about Japan by white people than by nonwhite people (both Japanese and non-Japanese). Yet, the few works I have read by nonwhite, non-Japanese people have been largely less offensive to me than the Vast Majority Of Works By White People. Below is a partial list of what I mean when I say “offensive.”

• Building a world with Japanese character names, settings, practices, and cultural objects – and then claiming it isn’t Japan
• Appropriating Japanese names, practices, and cultural objects by using them incorrectly and out of cultural context –> if you are really just trying for a world that doesn’t look like ours, start by reading N.K. Jemisin, who tackles this beautifully
• Using Japan/Japanese culture as a convenient backdrop for white saviors/ideologies to carry the day (white imperialism in YA! – for all those who think we are “past” racism)
• Constructing Japanese characters based solely off of stereotypes
• Representing Japan/Japanese culture as a monolith
• Incorrect Japanese –> if you are going to include Japanese terminology in your book, LEARN the language and CHECK your usage with a Japanese speaker

Both white and nonwhite writers are guilty of the above, but white writers do it much more frequently. (WHY DO YOU DO THIS WHITE WRITERS PLEASE STOP NOW)

I don’t know why the numbers pan out this way. If I absolutely had to guess, at least insofar as works by nonwhite, non-Japanese people based in the US, I might think a lifetime of combating institutionalized white racism has instilled these writers with some kind of cultural-awareness radar, a seventh sense for being sensitive to cultural differences. I know that, as a nonwhite, US-based writer, my radar goes on high alert whenever I come across an outsider piece written about a nonwhite culture. But I can’t speak for every nonwhite writer out there and I certainly can’t speak for any nonwhite, non-Japanese writers, not being one myself.***

I do want every nonwhite, non-Japanese person writing about Japan to consider the following questions:

• Why are you writing about Japan?
  • Ask yourself why you are writing about JAPAN specifically, not some other place and some other culture.
  • If your answer is something along the lines of, “I admire/am fascinated by/obsessed with Japanese/anime/manga/etc,” –> read the next question
  • If your answer is something along the lines of, “I lived/taught/worked in Japan for a week/month/year and I am now an EXPERT on all things Japan!” –> read the next question (and no, you’re not now an expert)
• Why are YOU writing about Japan?
  • What can YOU as an individual contribute to the existing body of writing about Japan? Do you have something to say that absolutely no one else can say? Are you sure?
    • Example: If your life experiences or your family’s experiences were impacted by Japanese imperialism – I absolutely understand wanting to address in it in your writing and I hope you’ll let me know so I can read it!
  • If your answer is something along the lines of, “I don’t see enough JAPAN in the books I read! I want more JAPAN! Diversity for diversity’s sake!” –> read the next question
    • FYI, diversity for diversity’s sake is often a dangerous argument. More on that in a future post.
• Why should your voice be privileged?
  • Once your writing is out there, it will automatically be privileged above the voices that ARE NOT yet out there. This includes JAPANESE voices, both inside and outside Japan. Please consider whose voices you may be erasing/silencing.
  • Once your writing is out there, if it is problematic, it will damage opportunities for insider voices to be heard by setting a problematic standard
  • If your answer is something along the lines of, “I have to tell this story because there is nobody else to tell it!” –> Reread bullet in bold. There are plenty of other voices to tell it and, depending on your answers to the above questions, they may be voices that should be privileged above yours.
  • FYI, certain nonwhite, non-Japanese voices SHOULD be privileged in telling certain stories about Japan –> you know who you are
• How will you do your research?
  • FYI, books, whether it be 30 or 300, are not enough.
  • FYI, manga, whether it be 30 or 300, are not enough.
  • FYI, anime, whether it be…we clear now?
• How will you acknowledge your privilege in your writing?
  • What I really mean here is, will your writing demonstrate cognizance of your outsider status? Are you conscious of the life experiences, biases, etc that color your perceptions of Japan and Japanese culture?
• What POV will you use? Why?
  • If you are going to write from a Japanese POV à RESEARCH
• How will you evaluate your writing for problematic aspects?
  • Yes, there will be problematic aspects in your writing. If you can’t see them, get some betas you can trust.
• How will you evaluate the qualifications of your critique partners/beta readers?
  • Hint: If your CP/BR doesn’t know more about Japan than you do and you are asking them to evaluate your representations of Japan, find someone else.
  • Hint: If your CP/BR does know more about Japan than you do, check carefully to determine how MUCH they know and WHAT they know.
    • Studying Japanese in school doesn’t automatically qualify someone to evaluate your representations of Japanese mythology in your novel.
    • Just because your CP/BR is Japanese doesn’t automatically qualify them to evaluate your representations of Japanese mythology in your novel. NO ONE PERSON can wholly represent a race or ethnicity.
  • Do you have multiple readers who are Japanese?
    • Because Japan and Japanese people are not a monolith.
• How will you handle critiques of the problematic aspects in your writing?
  • Hint: If your CP/BR indicates your perspective is skewing your representation of Japan/Japanese culture, LISTEN and LEARN and FIX
• How will you handle unexpected research questions?
  • DO NOT take shortcuts. You don’t get a free pass for not being white.
• How are you responding if publishing folks try to make your work more white-friendly?
  • Examples: Making a character white, changing the setting to a western country, switching a name to an Anglo name, whitewashing your cover, etc
  • FYI, they probably won’t call it “white-friendly,” so be on the lookout for code speak
• How are you responding to critical reviews of the problematic aspects in your writing?
  • Your book is now out in the world. People will be reading it. People will be criticizing it. Are you ready?
  • More than your feelings are at stake here. If a Japanese voice critiques your representations of Japanese culture and/or people, listen, apologize, offer solution, and follow through.
  • Apologies are not just for white people. If you’ve made it this far as a nonwhite writer, chances are you KNOW how it feels to see your own culture misrepresented and appropriated by outsiders. So please, don’t do the same thing to us.
• How are you evaluating industry responses to your writing?
  • Maybe your book made a bestseller list, or a list of recommended “diverse” reads.
  • Consider who is NOT being put on the lists. Are there Japanese voices being shoved aside in favor of yours? What can you do to hype Japanese voices so they DO make the lists?
• What is your next step?
  • Will you continue to write about Japan? Will you continue to privilege your voice above Japanese voices? Why?
  • If you do continue to write about Japan, how will you improve on your representations next time? How will you evaluate whether you improved?

Thanks for reading this far. If you are a nonwhite, non-Japanese writer, please know I didn’t write this post to make you feel bad. I wrote it because lately I see a lot of nonwhite writers writing outside their own cultures, including some who write about Japan, and my concern is these works aren’t being vetted as closely as they ought to be. A nonwhite author “making it” in the US publishing industry is still much rarer than it should be – and if you did, kudos to you!**** But I believe, as a nonwhite writer myself, that neither we as nonwhite writers nor the rest of the folks in the US publishing industry – agents, editors, white writers, etc – should settle for something just because it is “diverse.” Meaningful representation is respectful representation. It is representation created by someone who took time and effort to do research, and who thought about the high stakes involved in writing outside their culture because they know how it feels when an outsider gets it “wrong.” If you have ever, ever felt this way after reading an outsider’s representation of your culture, then please, don’t do the same thing to mine.

*POC (person/people of color) seems to be used more frequently online, but I prefer the term nonwhite, for reasons I’ll explain in a different post.

**There will be a separate post on Japanese people writing about Japan. Did you really think I would skip it?

***I would actually really like to know what goes through the minds of nonwhite, non-Japanese people when they choose to write about Japan, but I haven’t found any interviews, blogs, or other firsthand accounts on this topic. If you are a nonwhite, non-Japanese person writing about Japan and you’re willing to talk about why, please contact me via email or Twitter!

****Tweet me with the title of your work so I can read it. Seriously.