05 July 2012

"Where are you REALLY from?"

The Perpetual Question

Most of the time, I take that question with a humorous slant.  Whenever I respond to the inquirer with the name of my home state, he/she never seems satisfied with the answer.  Unfortunately for the inquisitor, I'm being completely truthful: I was born and raised in the United States, but I did spend a few years of my childhood living abroad.  Normally, there is no questioning of citizenship when such a history is applied to say, a military brat, but for me, apparently that adds a level of intrigue to the inquisitor with regards to my true origin.

The United States is unique because even though most of the world's cultures are shaped by some form of immigration, the U.S. is one of the few examples (perhaps the only example) where we have an almost simultaneous migrations of widely divergent cultures within a relatively short period of time.  As a nation that is over 300 years old, it is also one of the youngest nations.  The cultural identity of the U.S. is complicated: Though we are a nation with heavy European influences (most of our founding fathers' ancestors were from Europe, after all), what culturally defines this country is really a fusion of all the immigrants and their offsprings who straddles between their own background and everything outside of it.  People flock to the United States for many reasons, but the cultural benefits for the immigrants include the ability to shed some if not all of the social stigmas of their background, and to embrace a mostly merit-based society where family background does not have to dictate one's path in life.  The immigrants are also given a chance to actively participate in the positive aspects of their culture, and pass them down to their American born offsprings, who can choose to embrace or reject some or most of their parents' heritage.

I try not to take these inquiries seriously.  In fact I've learn to toy with the inquisitor to the point where the person will squirm in discomfort upon the realization that he/she really is just a little bit racist (thank you Avenue Q for that marvelous song).  However, there are times when I reflect upon the issue where the seed of discrimination (conscious or otherwise) can fester into something much more serious, resulting in manifestations other than a misguided inquiry.

The death of Vincent Chin

Shortly after I was born, a Chinese American man was found beaten to death near a park in Detroit, Michigan.  Vincent Chin's death had caused a national uproar, in particular with the Asian Americans, where a large number of them protested against the leniency of the sentences passed to the perpetrators.  Before the crime was committed, there was a heated exchange between the perpetrators (a Chrysler employee and his stepson) and Chin's group of friends (Vincent was having his bachelor party) at a strip club.  Both groups were eventually thrown out of the club.  The Chrysler employee was not to happy regarding the loss of automotive jobs to Japanese companies, and subsequently blamed Chin (who was American) for the terrible state of employment.  The words "It's because of you motherfuckers we're out of work" was overheard by one of the witnesses at the club.  That night after both groups parted ways, the Chrysler employee and his stepson followed Vincent Chin, even paid a person to help look for him, before finding him at a McDonald's, where one person held him while the other bludgeon him four times in the head with a baseball bat.  The victim fell into a coma, and died a few days later.

During that year, my mom was going through a difficult divorce, but the news was so sensational that she remembers the case.  It caused such a consternation amongst the Asian American communities that eventually a civil suit was filed against both men, which ultimately resulted in heavier sentences but alas, they were overturned during the appeal process.  The death of Vincent Chin brought to light a problem that plagues pretty much any ethnic group other than blacks and whites living in this country: We are seen as perpetual foreigners.  It doesn't matter if we were born in this country, if our genetic makeups do not belong in the ethnic majority and the largest ethnic minority of the United States, we will never be considered as a "true" American.  My partner and I are both first generation American born citizens. Though his mother is a U.S. citizen by birth, his father is naturalized, just like my parents.  Even so, his father considers me a foreigner from time to time, using phrases like "you people like to eat raw stuff" much to the chagrin of my partner and to the embarrassment of his mother.

When I first moved to Melbourne, I encountered a drive by racial slur.  Luckily for me, that particular manifestation of racial anger did not result in my death, but it did make me realize that such an action is entirely too possible, unfortunately.  Vincent Chin did not know his attackers before the altercation.  He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

I love scrapple. I swear.

Even though the Chinese workers were largely responsible for building the railroads that provided a lifeline connecting the country from coast to coast, after almost two hundred years it is still difficult for some people today to realize the fact that Asians born in the U.S. are in fact, Americans.  It took the descendants of African slaves over several hundred years before they are recognized as full fledged Americans in the psyche of the population.  Perhaps it will take Asian Americans and other ethnic minority groups a much longer time before no one bats an eye with regards to their citizenship.  Meanwhile, I'll just make the most of the inquiry and talk about my Amish ancestry at great length.