I’d like to start off by saying I am excessively proud of the bad pun in the title of this post. I came up with it in the shower and was about to discard it when I realized, why do that when I could INFLICT IT ON THE WORLD instead? So, there it is.

I’ve talked in various places on this blog about how Japanese, Asians, and nonwhite people are not monolithic. Today, I’m thinking aloud (in writing?) about why it is especially important to know this when writing as an outsider.*

In course of drafting and revising my own works-in-progress, I’ve had a number of conversations with fellow Japanese re: representation. One of the most common topics in these conversations is specificity – specifically (see what I did there?), the importance of knowing what your readers can and can’t contribute to your work, versus what you (the writer) want or need readers to contribute. For example, my dad is Japanese, born and raised in the US. He has not lived in Japan for an extended time, nor does he speak Japanese. One of my MCs has a dad. He is Japanese, born and raised in Japan, speaks Japanese, etc. That being said, can my dad vet my representation of my MC’s dad?

Well, yes and no. Yes – they are both dads, they are both Japanese, they both have daughters. No – my dad’s life experiences are mostly contextualized by diaspora Japanese/dominant “American” cultures, while my MC’s dad’s life experiences are mostly contextualized by Japanese culture. In short, my dad has not experienced being a dad in Japan, just as my MC’s dad’s experience is not reflective of being a dad in diaspora Japanese/dominant “American” culture. This doesn’t mean my dad has nothing to contribute to this discussion – I can still ask him for his opinion of my MC’s dad – it just means, I will also need to solicit opinions from Japanese who have experienced being a dad in Japan. My end goal – for my MC’s dad to be a character reflective of Japanese fatherhood in Japan – thus requires vetting from a specific group of Japanese.

I bring this up because I’ve seen a lot of online discussions re: “sensitivity” readers lately. It seems more folks are catching on to the idea their sensitivity reader(s) cannot and should not be expected to be a foolproof method against critiques of representation. I’d like to pull back a level by asking, are writers considering “best fit” when approaching potential sensitivity readers? It’s great to acknowledge your sensitivity readers are human, to be sure, but it’s even better if you choose wisely in the first place and avoid wasting your own and your reader’s time when it turns out they aren’t the best fit for your project.

Confused? Let me rephrase: do you see your sensitivity reader(s) as human first, or as [insert culture/race/ethnicity] first? Just because someone self-identifies as [insert culture/race/ethnicity] does not mean they want to or need to vet your representation of that culture/race/ethnicity. Just because someone self-identifies as [insert culture/race/ethnicity] does not mean they are the best fit TO vet your representation of that culture/race/ethnicity, even if they agree to do so. Maybe they are being nice. Maybe they think they know more than they do. Maybe they fear being called out for lack of “authenticity” if they say no. There are many reasons why someone might feel pressured into being a sensitivity reader for you. As a writer, it’s YOUR job to be as clear as possible about what you need from a sensitivity read – and to be RESPECTFUL of where your potential sensitivity readers are coming from if they express discomfort with reading your work.

But wait, why am I writing about my experiences as an #ownvoices writer in a blog post ostensibly about people writing as outsiders? Well, precisely that – based on outsider representations of Japan I’ve seen, there are levels of nuance of Japanese culture and experience which seem to be simplified and/or overlooked by non-Japanese. I don’t think this is necessarily something outsiders can help – you can’t be expected to know everything about something you have never personally experienced – but at the same time, this fact does not justify misrepresentation.

Every person is unique.

The above statement doesn’t magically vanish because of someone’s racial/ethnic/cultural background. Writers who view their sensitivity readers as representatives of [insert culture/race/ethnicity] first and everything else second are missing the point of having these readers to begin with. From what I’ve seen, writers who are writing outside their lanes are more susceptible to this fallacy than #ownvoices writers.** Writers who play musical chairs with their sensitivity readers – as long as the checkbox for “sensitivity reader” is ticked off, who cares who filled it, right? – have already failed at respectful representation. They are utilizing their readers to validate their insecurities about their work, while completely ignoring and oversimplifying the varied experiences their readers have to offer. In short, they are seeking absolution for their perception of [insert culture/race/ethnicity] as Other, rather than recognizing and attempting to unlearn their privileged perspectives. This is the writer’s version of, “well, this person from [insert culture/race/ethnicity] said [insert racist thing] was OK, so I’m going to ignore everyone else from [insert same culture/race/ethnicity]!”

I chose to share a personal example above because it illuminates one instance of the wide spectrum of Japanese experiences. I am Japanese and I write Japanese stories. But I don’t use my “Japaneseness” or the “Japaneseness” of other Japanese I know as an automatic catch-all for any errors I may make. To ask a Japanese person to vet your representations of Japanese culture purely because they are Japanese is to unfairly and unrealistically expect them to represent your idea of Japanese culture. This is not the same as saying they will have nothing to contribute to your work. If a Japanese person agrees to vet your representations of Japanese culture, they will of course have some insights – but whether those insights match up with gaps/errors on your part is not their responsibility.

As the “diverse” writing scene shifts toward increased emphasis on respectful representations and how to achieve them, I hope writers – particularly outsiders – are thinking deeply about WHY they need sensitivity readers. Simply having a sensitivity reader to tick off a box is insufficient and disrespectful to the reader and the race/ethnicity/culture being represented, not to mention any insiders who may invest in the finished product. If writers are truly committed to respecting their sources, they will recognize the human experiences underpinning their work and actively seek out voices who can speak to these experiences, not merely those who are tangentially related by dint of a label imposed on them by systemic Othering.

Thanks for reading! Other people have discussed sensitivity readers in other places on the internet – please check out the Resources page for their perspectives.

If you already knew all of this because you’re a fellow #ownvoices writer – yay! I’m glad you’re here and I appreciate you taking the time to read my blog. I’ve probably read your blog, too, and/or followed you on Twitter – but if I haven’t, please let me know so I can!

On a final note, I’m not completely satisfied with this post – some of my thoughts on the topic are still developing, so I’ll probably revisit it in the future.

*If you’ve followed my scattered references to my own work, you already know I write #ownvoices stories. I’m writing this post as a member of a culture that gets frequently (and badly) depicted by outsiders. It’s not intended as a lesson – as I’ve said before, I’m not in the business of encouraging outsiders to write Japanese culture to begin with – instead, it’s the latest part of the ongoing conversation I’ve been having with myself and with other #ownvoices writers about representation. If you’re writing outside your lane and you’re reading this, well, I can’t stop you, but know it isn’t for you. There are plenty of places online where you can talk to people about writing outside your lane; this isn’t one of them.

**No, #ownvoices representations are not “perfect” – because even within a race/ethnicity/culture, there will always be differing opinions about how things are and should be. However, I trust #ownvoices writers to be more conscious of these differences and to find ways to acknowledge these differences in their work – much more so than I would trust outsiders to do the same. This goes for both “realistic” and SFF representations – I think outsiders too often fall into complacency by writing off their errors/lack of research/privileged perspectives as, “it’s just science fiction/fantasy/fiction.” Easy for them to say – because at most, they will only ever experience the consequences of their poor representation in the form of a one-star book review. They will never endure the lived experiences that result from such poor representation – slurs, whitewashing, fetishizing, assimilation, etc. When a white person alters a Japanese myth in the name of “fiction,” they perpetuate the westernizing, colonizing, white-supremacist framework that sanctions/creates/encourages/consumes such representations in the first place. When a white person alters a Japanese myth in the name of “fiction,” they are saying the importance of elevating their (white) voice to tell this story is worth the real-life repercussions it will have for Japanese people whose experiences within the western, colonial, white-supremacist culture are shaped by representations like these. This is why, “it’s just science fiction/fantasy/fiction” does not justify misrepresentation. “Fiction” does not exist in a vacuum, no matter how much the (white) writer might wish it. There is a different power dynamic at play when a white writer alters a Japanese myth versus when a Japanese writer alters that same myth. The white writer is much more likely to reveal cultural ignorance in the choices they make about what/how to alter the myth than the Japanese writer because the white writer lacks the cultural perspectives informing the original myth. And yet, white writers continue writing Japan, choosing to ignore or insufficiently interrogate their own privileges in the process. For this reason, I will always support #ownvoices writing Japan over white voices writing Japan.

Recently, there has been a surge in pitch/query events for “diverse” books. Some of these were specifically aimed at marginalized* writers; some were open to anyone writing “diverse” stories. I did not participate in any of these events, but I did observe some of them. Below are some thoughts I had in the aftermath. I’ve organized them around a few broad statements for the sake of clarity, but they’re pretty interrelated.

Nonwhite agents/editors continue to call for “diverse” stories over marginalized voices.

• I’m not in the publishing industry, so I can only speculate, but I imagine many factors go into how/why agents/editors select their clients. I imagine at least some of those factors don’t necessarily align with the agent/editor’s personal beliefs.
• I wonder if there are any nonwhite agents/editors out there who would prefer to receive material ONLY from marginalized voices, but are prevented from doing so by factors beyond their control.
• I wonder if there are any nonwhite agents/editors out there who KNOW it is bullshit to privilege white voices telling nonwhite stories OVER nonwhite voices telling their own stories, but go along with it anyway.
• I wonder how many nonwhite agents/editors out there are thinking of ways to destroy the abovementioned bullshit practices.
• I don’t expect nonwhite agents/editors to be paragons of anti-racism. Like nonwhite authors, bloggers, advocates, and artists, they are human – and susceptible to prejudices, white supremacy, ignorance, etc. If, like me, you follow a lot of nonwhite voices online, you’ll see we call each other out from time to time – because none of us are perfect. A nonwhite person doesn’t become the be-all, end-all arbiter of race representation simply because they have “agent” or “editor” attached to their name. At the same time, BECAUSE they have “agent” or “editor” attached to their name, they do become holders of privilege. Gatekeepers is, I think, the popular term these days. They have at least some power in determining who gets published – or even who makes it past the slushpile. And, as we all know, with power comes responsibility. In this case, the responsibility isn’t to be the All Knowing Super Creature regarding race representation, but rather to constantly expand the borders of racial/ethnic/cultural understanding and to encourage those around them to do the same. In other words, the industry cannot and should not stagnate at the level of understanding of the “most” racially aware among its nonwhite representatives. Nor should it stagnate at the (sometimes staggeringly low) level of understanding of the “most” racially aware among its top (mostly white) people. The industry needs to expand its boundaries – and to do so, it needs people to lead the way. We’ve already seen the consequences of letting white people be those leaders. Now it’s time to see if nonwhite people can do better.**

White agents/editors continue to call for “diverse” stories over marginalized voices.

This does not surprise me (nor should it surprise anyone familiar with the state of US publishing today). I have yet to see a white agent/editor say outright, “white writers should drastically cut back on/stop writing [insert nonwhite culture] and make room for #ownvoices instead.”

I have seen a few white agents/editors say they recognize #ownvoices should be privileged over white voices in the telling of nonwhite stories – but this is NOT the same as actually telling white folks to step aside and stop erasing nonwhite voices.

While no one can (legally) prevent someone else from writing whatever they want, simply saying, “write what you want” is both privileged and naïve. Here is why:

o   Consider the audience of this statement. If they are white (and privileged in other ways as well), they have probably already spent their entire lives in environments largely supportive of and governed by some iteration of this statement.

• Example: Be yourself and don’t let anyone stand in the way.
• Example: You can do whatever you want with your life.
• Example: No one can stop you from achieving your goals.

o   On the face of it, good advice for anyone of any background, right? But add to that a system already designed to privilege you and everyone who looks like you (institutionalized racism, cough, cough, white supremacy, cough, cough), and the result? Entitlement.

o   And not simply entitlement, but entitlement so deeply ingrained into every aspect of your life that you probably don’t realize it’s there. Entitlement so cleverly, unintentionally taught to you by your parents and the other white people who taught you how to be white, likely without saying the word “white” more than a few times, if at all. Entitlement fed to you through all five senses, thanks to the white blanket of dominant “American” culture. Entitlement that causes you to look nervously at your nonwhite friend whenever a race-related joke comes up, to see if they’ll teach you whether to laugh or not. Entitlement that teaches you TO look at your nonwhite friend, instead of figuring out for yourself where you stand on the joke and how you contribute to the sociocultural forces that spawned it. Entitlement that makes you ask your nonwhite friend, in a low voice, when no one else is around, “do you think I’m racist?” Entitlement that encourages you, if your nonwhite friend answers, “no,” or “not really,” or “maybe sometimes,” to take that answer and throw it in the faces of other nonwhite people who call you out for your racism. Entitlement that doesn’t require you to think beyond the validation of one or two or a handful of nonwhite people because you have now earned the Good White Person card. Entitlement that keeps you from seeing the ridiculousness of the Good White Person card – how much do you think the credit card of that nonwhite person standing over there affects THEIR understanding of race? Being an ally is not something you whip out to pay your toll when you reach the Race Bridge.

o   Entitlement is what causes white people to continue writing nonwhite stories with the expectation they will be heard. Entitlement is what causes white people to continue writing nonwhite stories with the expectation they can “get it right” – while never realizing or acknowledging their actions erase insider voices from the very place they are struggling so hard to “get right.” Entitlement is what causes white people to discuss this struggle at length – rather than questioning whether they need or should be engaged in it to begin with. You should not be asking, “am I getting this right?” Instead, try asking, “why am I writing ‘this’ in the first place?” FYI, the answer, “because I can write whatever I want” is circular logic – you are right back in the entitled place you started from.

Unfortunately, when you have white agents/editors with the same entitled perspectives offering advice to entitled white writers, the status quo remains. White writers continue to “write what [they] want” – i.e., nonwhite stories, and white agents/editors continue to acquire them. Nonwhite voices continue to be erased.

White agents/editors, I think a little rephrasing is in order here. Instead of encouraging your white clients and prospective white clients to “write what you want,” might I suggest one of the following:

o   “Write a story only YOU can tell”

• Hint: If it’s a nonwhite story, there are LOTS of nonwhite folks to tell it. And FYI, that “retelling” of a Japanese myth has already been done several times over by #ownvoices, so no, that’s not a story only YOU can tell, either. If you feel the need to “bring” a Japanese myth into western readership, I recommend BOOSTING Japanese voices, not just jumping in and whitewashing***/westernizing the story to make it “accessible.”****

o   “Write YOUR world”

• As in, the world you inhabit on a day-to-day basis. If you do not interact with Asian folks on a daily basis, on more than a surface level, and if you have never been to Asia or have only gone as a tourist/student, I don’t recommend writing Asian cultures or characters.*****

o   “Write what YOU know”

• Yes, white people can write about race. But instead of trying (and failing) to inhabit nonwhite perspectives that seem to be beyond comprehension for most of you (or is there some other reason you fail so spectacularly?), why don’t you just write it from YOUR perspective? Uncomfortable? Good. Let’s talk about it. Better yet, why don’t you write about it?
• Remember when you talked to your nonwhite friend about whether you were racist? Maybe you felt kind of uncomfortable. Maybe the conversation ended, but you kept thinking about it. Maybe you talked to some other nonwhite folks, or did some reading about race. This is you. This is your experience. This is your race-related experience. So why not write about it? Too scary? Too close to things you’d rather not consider? Congratulations, you are confronting your white privilege. Don’t worry, it’s good for you.
• I would actually like to see MORE books by white folks written from the perspectives of white characters confronting their white privilege – but without the whitewashed/stereotyped nonwhite “friend” character whom the MC uses as a sounding board for their own development. I think interracial/intercultural collaborations could be a highly effective way to achieve this, with the book becoming a conversation between its creators. I’ve seen a few examples of this, but we need more! (And considering white folks tend to listen to other white folks first and nonwhite folks second, hopefully this might pave the way toward broadening reader perspectives.)

Some white agents are extremely vocal about supporting “diversity,” but their words indicate they aren’t or don’t know how to be allies of marginalized voices.

Even though I’m currently not considering querying, I still read agent interviews/blogs/FAQs here and there. Back when I was seriously considering querying, I read them all the time, with an eye to agents who openly supported “diversity.” Sadly, most of what I found contributed to my ultimate decision NOT to query at all. Below is a breakdown of some problematic trends I observed – again, specifically regarding white agents.

o   Their clients and the queries they identified as “diverse” were mostly white – some who identified with other forms of marginalization, like disability or sexual orientation, others who were not marginalized but were simply writing “diverse” stories.

• Why do you feel white folks writing nonwhite stories is an appropriate substitute for #ownvoices stories? (because it most certainly fucking well is not)
• Why, in your world, is it only white people who can be marginalized in ways not pertaining to race/ethnicity? Why are there no disabled Japanese people? Where are the LGBTQ+ Black people?
• Do you believe nonwhite folks feel comfortable submitting their work to you? If not, what might be stopping them?

o   Their lists of recommended reads were white, white, white – again, sometimes including marginalized white writers, and sometimes not.

• Why do you champion “diversity” and that white author writing (a much critiqued) China but no ACTUAL CHINESE authors writing their own stories?
• Who are the last three nonwhite authors you read, when did you read them, and how did you hear about them?
• If nonwhite folks submit their work to you, can they feel confident you are well-versed in the existing body of published nonwhite work? Can they feel confident they will not be treated as unicorns or universal narratives?

o   Their responses in the FAQ section of their website or on their blog strongly reflected a, “write what you want” attitude toward white writers.

• See my above remarks re: entitlement.
• If nonwhite folks accept representation from you, can they feel confident you will not then turn around and support a white writer who represents nonwhite cultures in disrespectful ways? If a Korean writer accepts representation from you, can they feel confident you will not also sign a white client who writes like a Koreaboo?

o   Their recommendations of resources on “diversity” – assuming they had them at all – consisted of only a few, big-name websites and organizations. More often than not, most of these websites/organizations were centered on marginalized white people.

• Did these agents actually make an effort to look beyond We Need Diverse Books?
• Do these agents know a number of Published Nonwhite Authors (seeing as “Published” seems to be an important standard in these situations) maintain social media platforms containing insightful critiques on race representation in writing?
• Even going by their (seemingly) limited standards of What Is A Good Resource, I think they could do better.
• If nonwhite folks accept representation from you, can they feel confident you will sign other nonwhite clients in the future? Can they feel confident they are not just filling the single “Asian” slot on your list?

o   Their comments on social media reflected white privilege, white supremacy, and lack of understanding about how to connect with nonwhite communities.

• Yes, you will get the side-eye if I see you promoting the shit out of nonwhite stories written by white people.
• Saying nothing and doing nothing is still political. It sends the tacit message you are OK with the status quo. It shows us nonwhite folks you are not willing to stand up and say something about all the wrongness in the industry. If you’re silent now, I have to wonder if you’d continue to be silent if you signed me or one of my peers as a client.
• Funny how you can promote “diversity” while hardly using the word “race.” Very funny indeed.
• If most of your RTs are of other white people championing “diversity” – no, you get no cookies.
• If you revert to the “quality” argument to “justify” why all your clients are white – nope.
• If you encourage nonwhite folks to attend predominantly white events organized by white people in order to promote their work – don’t. Instead, see if you can receive an invitation to a nonwhite event organized by nonwhite people. If you don’t know how it feels to be a minority, I don’t think I trust you to represent me. And yes, my work is inextricably linked to my identity. You don’t get one without the other.

As a final point of clarification, the purpose of this post is to outline some of my doubts regarding the US publishing industry. I don’t expect this post to encourage or discourage anyone’s decision to query (seriously, if you can be swayed by a single blog post, you might want to rethink your commitment to writing). I personally feel that, in its current state, the US publishing industry is too uncertain for me to try to break into it. I don’t know who is an ally. I don’t know who can be trusted. I don’t know how to go about determining who is what.

I have always supported and will continue to support #ownvoices in writing, whether they choose to get published or not. These are stories worth having in the world. These are voices worth hearing. Good luck to my fellow #ownvoices writers. I hope you find what you are looking for.

*If you’ve read my previous posts, you know I use the term “marginalized” in various contexts. For the purposes of this blog, my use of “marginalized” will predominantly be associated in some way with race/ethnicity. It may also be associated with other forms of marginalization, including, but not limited to, sexual orientation, gender identity, disability, and religion. As previously stated, this blog focuses on issues of race/ethnicity because these are areas with which I have personal experience. I am not qualified to discuss most other forms of marginalization from a firsthand perspective. If you’re interested in blogs which center forms of marginalization other than race/ethnicity, please see the Resources page!

**And hey, white folks in publishing, taking a backseat should NOT equal sitting back and waiting for change to happen. SUPPORT your nonwhite colleagues. We already know you-all have power and resources. We would like to know if you can leverage them without centering yourselves in the process.

***In this situation, I use “whitewashing” to mean, retelling a nonwhite story through a white lens – this does not necessarily mean changing the race/ethnicity of the characters. A white writer writing nonwhite characters is still doing so through a white lens. If you’re white, this is unavoidable. You can’t stop being white. That’s not your fault. But don’t use the “I-can’t-help-it-so-what-the-hell-I’ll-do-it-anyway” excuse to erase nonwhite voices or to market your work as “diverse.”

****I have more thoughts about outsider “retellings” of cultural stories and the power dynamics at play in these situations – not sure if there’ll be a post.

*****Full disclosure: I’ve seen shitty (as in, horrendously horribly horrible in the cultural rep department) books with Asian settings/characters written by white folks who DID live in the country/culture they depicted for multiple years, so…I’m not your market if you’re a white writer writing Asian cultures/characters. Don’t worry, I’m sure the weeaboo crowd thinks you’re hot stuff.

Last time, I mentioned I have thoughts about why non-Japanese Asians comment on books about Japan written by outsiders. Today I’m here to explain those thoughts, hopefully with some degree of coherency.*

Something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, especially as I observe various “diversity”-themed query or pitch events, is whether I’d make it in mainstream publishing, even if I got in. I don’t mean in terms of sales – as previously mentioned on this blog, I don’t write to make money – but in terms of personality and character. When I look around at nonwhite, traditionally published authors whom I admire, I see them achieve some really fantastic shit – but I also see them doing things I’m not sure I could do. Some of these things elicit only a momentary cringe, but others make me sit back and wonder, what the fuck is going on here?

Maybe their agent or editor told them to do it. Maybe a friend or family member encouraged them. Maybe their kid begged them. Maybe it’s on that piece of paper they signed. Maybe they did it of their own volition, again for any number of reasons – money, personal belief, etc. Or maybe it was some other reason altogether.

Dear fellow nonwhite authors, I don’t know you. I don’t know why you do the things you do. I do know they aren’t things I’m willing to do. What I’d like to know is – do you all truly believe in these things, or do some of you silently question yourselves even as you do them?

Many of you blog or write articles about the inequities of the (US) publishing industry. I enjoy reading most of your pieces, I really do. But why are the majority of your pieces written in “us vs. them” terms or “us and them” terms? I don’t see many pieces written in “I/we” terms; in other words, I don’t see much self-interrogation. For folks with an amazing knack for articulating marginalized experiences at macro and micro levels, you-all seem remarkably silent when it comes to yourselves and each other. I can’t confirm whether your silence is unintentional or deliberate, but I can infer from the intelligence and perception you’ve demonstrated elsewhere that it’s very, very unlikely to be unintentional. So, then, why so quiet?

I can think of a few possible answers. Fear of declining sales. Fear of criticism from readers, fellow authors, and industry professionals. Fear of not getting another contract. Fear of losing your current contract. Fear of losing your agent. Fear of being cut off from the things that enable you to fulfill your passion for writing (and being published). As many of you have already pointed out, the (US) publishing industry is a tough place to make it if you aren’t white. As some of you have pointed out, to be nonwhite in a space of institutionalized whiteness is to be constantly engaged in negotiations, with yourself, and with others. If I go along with X, will I be able to do Y? Is the cost to me of going along with X worth the fulfillment of then being able to do Y? If I yield to whiteness on point A, will whiteness yield to me on point B? Is the loss of point A worth the gain of point B? These negotiations aren’t limited to publishing, as any nonwhite person who has had to operate in a white framework can probably attest. Most of us have experienced the fear of consequences if we speak or act up against the (white) majority. Some of us have experienced the actual consequences of speaking or acting up against the (white) majority. It’s ok to be afraid and to admit it. But it’s not ok to let your fear harm others.

Here is one reason why:

For a long time, there was a nonwhite agent whom I seriously considered querying. The tidbits they posted on social media suggested they might at least better understand my manuscript than a white agent, even if they were still unlikely to know the full cultural context. I started paying attention to the agent’s clients. Then the agent took on two clients whose books felt like a punch to the gut. Both clients were white. Both were writing Asian protagonists. Both were lauded for their work. Both were prominently featured in online venues dedicated to “diversity.” I remember looking at the agent’s page and thinking, how could you?

Eventually, I got over it (sort of). I stopped being hurt and angry and recognized I couldn’t judge the agent when I didn’t know them as a person or why they took on those clients and pushed those books through. I also started to question the (US) publishing industry more critically than ever before. Agents across the board sign clients with manuscripts they think they can sell. In that case, what does it say about the industry if these are the clients and manuscripts that are being signed and sold?

Next, I looked up some big-name nonwhite authors to see who stood behind them – and discovered most of them had white agents. WTF exactly was going on?** I cut back on following agents and publishing blogs after that. It’s not to say I’ll never decide to query an agent, but I’d been left with the proverbial bad taste in my mouth and I wasn’t really eager to go chasing after it again. Instead, I sought out information about the authors themselves – who were the people behind the names on the spines and would any of them share my concerns about the industry? I found great things – articles, websites, conferences, scholarships – many created or organized by nonwhite authors.*** But I also found disturbing instances of erasure, (conscious or unconscious?) white supremacy, and (unintentional?) hypocrisy.

Initially, I was confused. How could an author be so strident in that article about the need for #ownvoices, then turn around and promote a white author writing POC? How could an author give such a deeply personal interview about why they write #ownvoices stories, then turn around and include a bunch of white authors writing POC on their recommended “diverse” reading list? I started looking more closely at the white authors who were apparently so worthy of acclaim – and noticed something odd. None of these white authors were writing the culture of the nonwhite author who praised them. But if that was the case, how did the nonwhite author know these books were worthy of recommendation? And then I thought, maybe they don’t know.

POC are not a monolith. We don’t know everything ever about each other’s cultures. We don’t know everything ever about our own cultures. We are individuals. We are human. This means: we are allowed to not know. Moreover, we are expected to not know. I don’t expect a white person to be able to recite all of European history to me. Nor should you expect me to recite all of Japanese or US history to you.

The problem isn’t with us not knowing. It’s when we don’t know but we conveniently ignore the fact. This is what happens when a nonwhite author from X culture recommends an outsider-written book about Y culture. Nonwhite author from X culture isn’t responsible for knowing anything about Y culture and no one should expect this of them. BUT, nonwhite author from X culture IS responsible for owning up to it by saying, “please ask someone**** from Y culture if THEY would recommend this book” instead of jumping in with their own opinions.

But why, protests nonwhite author from X culture. It’s not my responsibility if this outsider wrote some book about Y culture. Actually, it is – if said nonwhite author is actually committed to #ownvoices and equity in (US) publishing. Why? Well, dear nonwhite author, suppose it is YOUR culture in question. Suppose the book is about X culture – your culture. Do you feel comfortable seeing it go out into the world with a gold star stuck on it by fellow nonwhite author from Y culture? Are you ok with it not being vetted by yourself or anyone else from X culture? Didn’t you write an article/give a speech about the importance of respectful cultural representation and thorough vetting by insiders? Yes, you did, because I read/listened to it. Now ask yourself – who was your audience? Why did you do it? Were you doing it because you had yourself and your culture in mind? Were you doing it because you had ONLY yourself and your culture in mind?

If you answered yes to the second one – because you were thinking only of yourself/your culture – sorry to say, you aren’t actually committed to #ownvoices and equity in (US) publishing. If you don’t care about respectful representations of any culture but your own, you are actually only committed to #ownvoice and equity for yourself in (US) publishing. I’m not saying it’s on you to ensure the representations of Y culture are respectful – that is something which members of Y culture should decide – but it IS on you to speak up if you see the members of Y culture being silenced/erased. It IS on you to make space for them at the table when it’s their turn to talk, just as they should make space for you when it’s your turn.

Accountability doesn’t just disappear because it’s not your pan in the fire; it only changes forms. When it’s your culture in question, yes, your voice should come first. But do you want the audience to turn their backs and plug their ears while you speak? If not, then treat them as you want to be treated. Listen when it’s their turn and they’ll extend you the same respect when it’s yours.

There have been many, MANY outsider-written books about Japan promoted by non-Japanese, nonwhite authors – so many that I have to believe at least part of what I’ve written above is true. On some level, in some form, there is complacency. It’s not my culture, no one will be expecting a close cultural analysis from me, so I can recommend my heart out with no consequences to me! But this is neither respectful nor inclusive. “It’s not my culture” is NOT a valid reason to throw your opinion around in an effort to appear supportive of “diverse” books. Ask yourself who you really want to support – white authors writing POC, or #ownvoices stories? Then ask yourself if you are actually supporting your group of choice. If your reading list tends toward #ownvoices for stories concerning your culture, but outsider works for stories concerning other cultures, you might want to give it a second look. What, really, does it say about your attitudes toward cultural representation?

I’m a firm supporter of #ownvoices. I’m also a firm supporter of mutual respect within and among nonwhite communities. Fellow nonwhite authors, we know how it feels when our cultures are misrepresented, appropriated, and erased by outsiders. We know how hard we’ve fought, are fighting, and will fight for our #ownvoices to be heard. We will make space for all of us at the table. We don’t need to trample over each other on the way there.

Thanks for reading! Check out the Resources page for other #ownvoices and, as always, if you self-identify as an #ownvoices writer and you want your website/blog included on my list, please let me know!

*I don’t know about the rest of you social justice-esque bloggers, but I find it harder to write stuff that hits closer to home. Lots of emotions to juggle. Hard to keep a clear head sometimes. In Avatar-speak, I’d be a firebender for sure – in case that wasn’t clear from the other posts on this blog.

**Rhetorical, in case you needed the clarification. Statistically, it makes sense why most US-based nonwhite authors have white agents. See the Lee & Low diversity baseline survey if you need context. Also, I hope there are more up-and-coming nonwhite agents waiting in the wings. If readers need stories from writers like them, writers need representation from agents like them.

***See the Resources page for my findings!

****Several people, ideally. None of us speak for our entire race/ethnicity/culture.

Today, I noticed an AsianAm author* whom I admire gushing on Twitter about a non-Japanese, non-Asian author** writing Japanese-inspired fantasy novels. I went to the author’s blog/website to see what she had to say about writing Japan – and noticed some disturbing trends.

First and foremost, this author has an academic background (graduate level) in Japanese history. While this in and of itself doesn’t particularly matter to me, as I read through her blog posts on writing about Japan, I noticed she continually referenced her academic background as both the basis of and source of research for her Japanese-inspired novels. From the photographs included, it looks as if she has visited Japan at least once and has some level of Japanese literacy. However.

Nowhere in the posts I skimmed (I did not read the entirety of her blog) did I see any mention of her ethnic/cultural relationship(s) to Japan. In other words, nowhere does she state whether or not she is Japanese and (as I believe from contextual clues) if she is not, nowhere does she acknowledge how her outsider perspective influences her representations of Japanese culture. Nowhere does she discuss any research she conducted outside of an academic context. Nowhere does she acknowledge the limitations of approaching Japanese culture purely through a western, academic lens.

This worries me. While her academic background perhaps qualifies her to conduct (western) academic research on Japan, I see no indication she has attempted to step outside the academic box in writing her Japanese-inspired novels. I don’t even see any indication she is aware of the box. As I’ve discussed at length in previous posts, I don’t believe the western academic lens is the only – much less the most appropriate – approach to Japanese culture. Nor do I believe anyone approaching Japanese culture solely through a western academic lens can hope to end up with anything other than a western academic product. Yet, I don’t see this author or any other non-Japanese, western authors writing about Japan marketing their novels as “western academic products.” What I do see is these novels being marketed as “diverse reads” by big names in writing/publishing – both white and nonwhite. I see more novels produced by outsiders writing about Japan ON “diverse” reading lists and blogs than novels by Japanese people writing about Japan. I see more works produced by outsiders writing on Japan IN anthologies and venues dedicated to “Asian” literature than works by Japanese people writing on Japan – even in cases where most of the other contributors are #ownvoices. Some of these (English-language) spaces are created by Asians and/or non-Asian, nonwhite folks – but I’ve yet to see any created by Japanese people. The message is clear: those in power put more market value on Japanese stories told by non-Japanese (especially white) people than on #ownvoices telling Japanese stories.

At this time, I have no plans to read the work of the author mentioned above. I do not believe someone truly conscious (and conscientious) of the complexities and nuances inherent to writing outside their culture would fail to acknowledge their outsider perspective when describing their work. By the same token, I have no plans to endorse or participate in spaces where I feel non-Japanese voices are privileged over #ownvoices in the telling of Japanese stories. I’ve had enough. My time and resources are limited and I will utilize them to experience and boost #ownvoices.***

But I’m not done yet.

There is also a second issue at stake here, one which I feel in some ways is more concerning than what I described above, namely because it seems to perpetuate the trend of outsiders writing Japan (and believing they are doing so competently). In this author’s case and that of many other non-Japanese (and usually white) authors writing about Japan, I have seen, time and again, endorsements from non-Japanese Asians, including some very prominent voices in online writing communities. Here is the problem: you can’t have it both ways. Many of these same prominent, non-Japanese Asian authors/agents/editors, etc. have eloquently and vehemently advocated for equity in (mostly US) publishing. They have slammed publishers and agents alike for paying lip service to “diversity” while continuing to represent/commend mostly white authors. They have created and participated in organizations, blogs, conferences, and other vehicles of activism to promote and support marginalized voices. This is great work, and not to be dismissed or taken lightly. But.

When these same advocates endorse outside writers for writing cultures that neither the writer nor the endorser belongs to – this is a problem.

For example, do I, as a Japanese person, tell non-Chinese writers I think their representations of Chinese culture(s) are “well-researched” or “respectful?” Yeah no. Because why in the world should my non-Chinese voice take precedence over Chinese voices in vetting representations of Chinese culture(s)?**** Why would I, a non-Chinese person, presume to know MORE about what constitutes a “well-researched” or “respectful” representation of Chinese culture(s) than a Chinese person? I’m not saying every self-identified Chinese person is responsible for knowing everything ever about their culture. No one person of ANY culture is responsible for knowing everything ever about their culture. I’m saying, it’s not my job, or any other non-Chinese person’s job, to jump in with our non-Chinese opinions to silence, deny, or erase Chinese voices vetting representations of their OWN culture(s).

Just because someone self-identifies as Asian does not qualify them to vet representations of all Asian cultures. It does not even necessarily qualify them to vet all representations of their own culture. I do not evaluate the “accuracy” or “authenticity” of representations of cultures outside my own because I believe it is disrespectful to the members of the culture in question. By the same token, I cannot and do not state someone did “thorough research” on a culture when, as an outsider, I don’t know what “thorough research” means in the context of that culture. To position myself as any kind of “authoritative” voice on the representations of someone else’s culture makes me no better than the people who write outside their cultures without ever interrogating their own identities in relation to their subject.

I don’t believe I’m making a complicated point here. I don’t believe it’s a point that is beyond the grasp of the prominent, non-Japanese Asians in writing/publishing. I’ve read their work – it’s insightful, nuanced, eloquent, and smart as hell. So, then, why does this happen? Why do they continue to give the green light to outsiders writing about Japan without apparently realizing they are erasing Japanese perspectives on that same work? Why do they slam people for stereotyping Asians as “all the same” yet perpetuate some of that “sameness” by offering their not-Japanese-but-still-Asian opinions on representations of Japanese culture rather than finding actual Japanese people and asking for their opinions?*****

I believe in solidarity. I believe there is value in Japanese, Asian, and other nonwhite writers creating spaces for themselves and with each other to overcome institutionalized white supremacy in publishing. But I believe we can achieve this WITHOUT speaking over each other. I believe we can do this in ways that don’t leave me feeling as if my opinion and other Japanese opinions aren’t heard simply because those who create harmful, uninformed representations of us fail to look beyond the non-Japanese Asian folks endorsing their work. I believe all of us Asians can do better when it comes to representations of each other’s cultures. We KNOW we’re not all the same. Most of us probably know how painful it is to see outsiders misrepresent our cultures in one way or another. So, let’s not silence, deny, or erase each other in the same way. If it’s not our culture in question, let’s not offer an opinion on how “well” it was represented. Instead, let’s find a fellow member of our community who DOES belong to that culture and ask them for their opinion.

Thanks for reading! Next time, I’ll discuss why I think Asians endorse outsider representations of other Asian cultures. (And I’ll be speaking for myself only, not Every Asian Ever or Every Japanese Person Ever.)

*She is not Japanese.

**There is no mention on this author’s blog/website or in interviews with this author of her ethnic/cultural background. On her blog and in interviews, she describes herself as a student of Japanese history. I will assume she is white until/unless otherwise shown. I have yet to come across a nonwhite author whose ethnic/cultural background is never referenced on either their personal website or in interviews.

***Don’t worry, you privileged outsiders you. The stats already show there is a market for your work. Your sales won’t vanish just because you aren’t worth my time. If you don’t believe me, can you name more than three Japanese people writing on Japan – who are not based in Japan? Now name more than three non-Japanese people writing on Japan – who were published in the last year. Was one of those easier to do than the other?

****Apologies for the semantics here. I realize there are many cultures and ethnic groups in what westerners refer to as “China.” If any self-identified Chinese people can point me to alternative terminology that is more preferable from a #ownvoices perspective, please let me know!

*****So, I have what is probably going to be a fairly unpopular opinion on why this happens, but since this post is getting long, I’ll write about it next time.

In Part 1 of this series, I talked broadly about my experiences with the colonizing forces of western (US) academia and some questions I have for the folks who choose to work in it professionally. Today, I’m back to discuss my concerns about what happens when the worlds of colonial academia and fiction writing collide.

When I first encountered online discussions of “diversity” in literature, I read a LOT of book reviews, amateur and professional alike. I especially enjoyed reviews by insiders – in other words, readers belonging to the marginalized group(s) represented in the book – maybe because, after years of seeing so many [insert unfavorable adjective here] outside representations of Japanese culture, I no longer trusted outside perspectives when it came to vetting cultural representation. Give me #ownvoices any day.

At the same time, I noticed a troubling trend in these reviews. Often, whether the review was favorable or unfavorable, the reviewer would discuss the author’s “research.” For favorable reviews, there was often praise for the number of sources the author seemingly utilized, sometimes accompanied by a quote from the author, to the effect of, “I read X number of books and employed Y number of beta readers!” For unfavorable reviews, there were often comments about the author’s “lack of research,” or “Wikipedia-esque” (read: lazy) level of investigation, sometimes accompanied by an incriminating quote from the author, along the lines of, “oh, this is just [insert culture]-INSPIRED fantasy – so I made stuff up to fill in my knowledge gaps!”

Obviously, one of the above scenarios is less desirable than the other, but beyond that, notice any similarities between the two? It’s probably easier to spot if you, too, read insider reviews. What I want to emphasize is this: in most reviews, favorable or unfavorable, the reviewers didn’t appear to question the word “research.” A number of them suggested research sources – books, articles, blogs, interviews, multimedia, etc – but the ideological framework governing the use of these sources was never discussed. In other words, no one came out and said, “but if you utilize these sources in a purely US-based, western-based context, you will still be missing a lot.”*

If you aren’t sure what I’m getting at, here’s an analogy to help. Have you heard of Haruki Murakami?** Maybe you’ve read his work? If you haven’t, he is a Japanese author who has been widely translated in English and other languages. Have you read his work in Japanese? If not, do you ever get the feeling you are “missing out” by reading a translation? Do you wonder if there are puns, references, or other cultural nuances in the original Japanese text that have been omitted from the translation for whatever reason?***

Now consider this: translators are folks who have trained SPECIFICALLY to navigate and reinterpret cultural differences through language. The average fiction writer? Statistically, they probably aren’t professionally trained in any kind of cross-cultural communication. And yet, every year, there are tons of books churned out by folks writing cultures not their own. What DO most of these writers have? In the US, probably some kind of exposure to the US education system – probably at least ten years of it, most likely more. Ten-plus years of increasingly rigorous and nuanced ways to view the world – through a (white) western, US lens. On top of that, however many additional years of navigating a (white) western, US professional world, if they have finished school. And yes, the above applies to both white and nonwhite US-based writers.**** By the time these folks get around to writing (and publishing), they’ve been immersed in western-centric, US-centric ideologies and practices for a long time – and from what I’ve seen, most of them don’t even realize it.

Think about it. If you are a US-based writer and you are reading this, do you self-identify as “American?” Have you ever questioned what that means? Have you ever wondered if it is problematic?

If your answers to the above questions were “no,” consider this: if you can’t/haven’t/won’t interrogate the nuances and problematic aspects of your own national/cultural identity, what makes you think you are adequately prepared to represent someone else’s?

If you are a US-based writer who self-identifies as “American” without seeing anything problematic in your choice AND you are preparing to write about a culture not your own – check your privilege. If you think you have “American” all figured out to the point where it is not as “interesting,” or “diverse,” or “underrepresented” as the culture you are planning to write about – think again, because you are missing something. I’m not saying you can’t write about that other culture – I can’t stop you from writing anything. But recognize that if you ARE looking beyond national/racial/cultural borders because you don’t think there is anything “interesting,” “diverse,” or “underrepresented” left to explore in what you call, “American” – stop and look back.

Unfortunately, as a quick look at recent YA releases in the US reveals, many US-based writers are unaware of or ignore the problematic implications of their western-centric perspectives. The standard remains “thorough” and “respectful” research, but no one questions whether the base definition of “research” as it is defined in US academia might not be the most appropriate way to approach another culture. This is especially important to keep in mind for writers utilizing the POV of a character from a culture other than their own. Assuming you make it as far as actually talking to people from the culture you are representing – and judging by insider reviews, this happens far less often than it needs to – if you are really LISTENING to their words, ideally your takeaway is along the lines of, “wow, there is a lot I don’t know and can’t know because I’m not an insider – and I need to figure out how to acknowledge this in my writing” – as opposed to, “wow, I know so much now and I am totally qualified to write from this character’s POV!”

The bottom line is, there are things you can’t learn – not because you didn’t read enough books, or visit enough locations, or interview enough people, but because you are not them. There is no methodology to get around this. There is no high-tech button or magic spell. Your research will get you farther than people who didn’t do any – but it is not and never will be a substitute for insiders telling their own stories. If you can’t acknowledge this, write about something else. Writing as an outsider without acknowledging how your perspective dissociates your voice from those of insiders is privileged, disrespectful, and harmful. Be aware of yourself. Be aware of the frameworks that shaped your perspective. You are part of something larger than yourself. You do not operate in a vacuum. Individual accountability is also cultural accountability. If you are writing as a self-identified “American” with no reservations, I can guarantee your work will reflect the same ignorant privilege and colonial mentality. You can’t vet something if you don’t even realize it’s there.

Fellow writers, we can do better. Creativity is a formidable weapon – and we all have arsenals packed full of it. If we can bring characters, worlds, and stories to life merely by typing words onto a page, we can apply those same imaginative skills to our roles as writers. We can create POVs that acknowledge how our perspective differs from that of the character/culture in question, or plots and themes which address the outsider/insider dilemma. We can develop character attributes and settings which don’t stereotype, exotify, or otherwise harm the people we write about. We have vast imaginations – we just need to utilize them as learners, not colonists. Let’s open our minds to what others have to say, not take their words and try to fit them into premade boxes.

People smarter than me have already challenged the institutionalized prejudices inherent to terms like “literature” and “craft” – now, we can also push the boundaries of “research.” We can find the courage to reject the safety net of our US education***** and seek guidance from #ownvoices. Ask them, what does “research” mean to you? What should I do in order to gain what you would consider a thorough understanding of x topic? Is it appropriate for me, as an outsider, to write about x topic? If the answer is, throw your Ivy League book learning and PhD out the window and do y thing instead, do it. If the answer is, come to our community and live among us and practice our customs for z amount of time, do it. If you aren’t prepared to do what is asked of you, reevaluate your commitment to your topic. If you cut and run when things get uncomfortable and/or unfamiliar, you aren’t the best person to tell this story.

Thanks for reading! Check out the Resources page – links are getting ever closer to being fully live – for assorted opinions on similar topics. There may be a Part 3 of this series, but no promises. Until next time!

*Some of these reviewers also self-identify as “American” or “[insert culture] American.” While I don’t begrudge them the ability to call themselves whatever they want, I do wonder if they’ve considered ALL the aspects of claiming an “American” identity. See my post on “Japanese American” identity for an explanation of what I mean by this.

**I mostly use first name-last name on this blog for consistency, but occasionally you’ll see me use last name-first name if I feel like it. In Japan, it is last name-first name.

***I have yet to read Murakami in Japanese, but I can confirm these losses occur when manga is translated from Japanese to English. I highly recommend reading the original Japanese whenever possible…because TWITCH. (Don’t get me started on dubbed anime.) I chose Murakami for the analogy because I often see readers of the English translations of his work praising his use of language – which erases both the original Japanese text and the translator’s role. More on translation and language in a future post, I think.

****Nonwhite writers, with the knowledge gained through their lived experiences, probably have at least some idea of what they are getting into when they choose to write about a culture not their own; however, nonwhite people are not immune to white supremacy. As I’ve said before, we don’t get a free pass on cultural rep just because we’re not white.

*****Something that greatly interests me but that I haven’t been able to speak to many people about is the globalization of western-based practices, from education to economics to aesthetics and beyond. As a US-based, nonwhite writer looking outward, I feel that what I refer to as “(white/western) colonization” has had certain similar effects around the world as it has had in the US – and not all FROM the US, either. (Insert your semi-regular reminder that white/western colonization was happening long before the US came into the picture. As much as we – fellow US-based writers – acknowledge the past/present/future effects of colonization in the US and our roles in it, let’s not forget the rest of the planet. Acknowledge your role, but don’t center yourself in a discussion that actually has global scope.) But, I don’t have the lived experiences of being non-US-based to back this up. I’d like to hear more from non-US voices who DO have these lived experiences – what do you-all think about the effects (if any) of westernization on your nation/ethnicity/culture?

If you’ve seen Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, you might remember the scene where Alice is trying to find her way and encounters the brush-headed dog erasing the path. Lately, I’ve experienced similar issues at work which have made navigating my professional life somewhat tricky, so I decided to spew some thoughts about labels, affirmation, erasure, and honesty.

I previously noted on Twitter that my workplace is predominantly white. I can count the number of nonwhite colleagues I’ve met thus far on one hand. Granted, I’ve been there just over a month, but since there are probably only a few hundred of us, if that, I’ve at least said hi to most everyone. I’m the only nonwhite person in my department – there are only three of us, so statistically, this is not unexpected for Portland, Oregon – and here’s what I’ve noticed: my white colleagues do NOT use racial or ethnic markers when identifying people.

Since I’m a newbie, I hear unfamiliar names and see unfamiliar faces every day. Later, when I ask one of my colleagues to help me match names and faces, the answer is generally along the lines of, “[person’s name]…uh…older, silvery hair…”

Ok. This is not helpful. There are multiple people who fit that description. I still have no idea whether we are talking about the same person.

I think I know what is up. Someone somewhere told my (white) colleagues that mentioning race is taboo. What that person – or people, or training pamphlet, or whatever – apparently failed to do is give this statement any sort of nuance.

Yes, if you are using a nonwhite person’s race as the ONLY thing differentiating them from the (white) norm, it is problematic.* But, not mentioning race at all? Just as problematic – and dangerously close to the erasure perpetuated by those who advocate for “colorblind” practices. Race doesn’t just stop being part of someone’s identity because you choose not to mention it. I am Japanese regardless of whether you and/or others acknowledge it.

I’m not sure if my colleagues know the meaning of “colorblind” in terms of race. Nor do I believe they are inherently “bad” people. I really like most of them (so far). What I do believe is that no one has sat them down and said, “hey, IT’S OK to mention someone’s race – just acknowledge that race is not the be-all, end-all of their identity.” Look at the world around you. People are different races! Wow! This is reality. It is OK to call it such.**

I’d like to know where my colleagues picked up this way of thinking. Did they get it from a white person making assumptions about how nonwhite people like to be treated? Or did they get it from a nonwhite person who believes in “colorblind” practices? Regarding the latter possibility, yes, I suspect some nonwhite people may disagree with me. We are not a monolith. (I wish I didn’t feel the need to say this in almost every blog post, but there you are.)

Personally, I feel skirting the semantics of race is both privileged and lazy. If you believe “equality” in principle = equality in practice, I highly doubt you have been on the receiving end of the equation. You cannot treat people of different backgrounds the “same” and expect everyone to feel respected – because no one definition of sameness will fit every culture. You can’t magically bring about racial equity by saying you “don’t see” race. Plus, guess what? You’re taking an easy out. By adhering to “colorblind” or “diverse” practices, you absolve yourself of the need to further interrogate the issue. You have done your due diligence and now everybody should be happy because it says on paper that they’re all being treated the same. Wrong.

Erasure is not respect. Denial is not respect. Erasure is not equitable or inclusive. Denial is not equitable or inclusive. Really, what it boils down to is this: we don’t need you to tell us how we want to be treated. Let US tell YOU. Stop erasing. Stop denying. Stop. Listen. Reflect. THEN – respond. And remember – we are not a monolith. The more you listen, the more variety you will hear.

On a final note, some of you may have seen the recent social media posts about identifying the race/ethnicity of ALL book characters, including white ones. If you find my post or blog not to your liking, I recommend reading these posts instead. Same ideas, different voices.

I haven’t yet decided how I want to address the erasure happening in my workplace. I suspect the conversation may be an uncomfortable one for some of my colleagues. Diplomacy is hardly one of my strong suits, so this should be interesting. I wonder how other nonwhite people in other predominantly white workplaces have handled these situations. Is there a handbook for this stuff?

Thanks for reading! Apologies for a rather surface-level handling of a complicated topic. I wanted to spit out my first impressions before I forgot how they felt, but I imagine I’ll have follow-up thoughts (and maybe posts).

*In the same way that conflating nonwhite peoples/cultures with the concept of “diversity” is problematic. We do not exist “in contrast” to the (white) norm. There is one planet Earth and everybody lives on it. The problem lies in assuming and accepting whiteness as the default.

**If you aren’t sure how someone wants to be referred to, ASK. Seriously. It is more honest and respectful than superimposing your outsider notions of how we “want” to be identified. Stereotypes, fetishization, exotification, discrimination, and many other harmful behaviors directed at nonwhite people on the basis of our race/ethnicity are created and perpetuated in large part by ignorant outsiders. So, ask.

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.