R4 Excerpts/Response- Rebecca Meekins

Anushka Zafar

In terms of touching upon the idea of Asian American masculinity, in David Richards’ article, he writes that “there is only one true god [of action films] and his name is Jackie Chan.” In relation to what we learnt from The Slanted Screen, Asian actors interviewed expressed that their domination in American action films is undermining because they are only chosen to play the villain or “the other”. Shu even refers to Frank Chin, who stated, “Good or bad, the stereotypical Asian is nothing as a man. At worst, the Asian-American is contemptible because he is womanly, effeminate, devoid of all the traditionally masculine qualities of originality, daring, physical courage, and creativity.”



Samantha McFadden

Similar to Lee, Chan’s body and what he does with it throughout the film represent Asian masculinity that is not usually depicted. Rather than displaying his body itself, the focus is put on the things that he is able to do with it – Chan leaps from tall buildings, uses common household objects as weapons, gets hit by cars, and still is able to get up and catch the bad guys. Yuan Shu argues that this allows audiences to view him as more manly. In doing all of his own stunts, he is showing that the Asian male is capable of great bodily feats. However, as with Lee, he must prove that he is masculine by being extremely adept at martial arts. Without this, he would appear to be the same bumbling, asexual character as any other Asian male in film.



Anna Malefatto

Furthermore, Chan “…humanizes the hero of the Kung Fu tragedy, whose rigidity might…be construed as stubborn, inhuman…confirming another aspect of Orientalist representation of Asians and Asian Americans” (5). This point fascinates me; I had never really thought of Jackie Chan as particularly masculine. However, he clearly is, as he does all his own stunt work and risks his life to make his films.
It seems that Bruce Lee certainly did what he intended, proving the masculinity and power of Chinese men and promoting national pride for his country. I think that Jackie Chan has taken this one step further and humanized the martial arts master in film, and I agree with Shu that Chan has done a good job of “…reconstructing masculinity” (6).


Alexa Ebert

As a whole, Chan tries to avoid confrontation and trouble, where as Lee likes to address and confront immediately. Chan merely gives in at time for example when he gives into the gangsters, and he also has the best fighting ability when he runs away from trouble. I interpret this as being less masculine and more cautious and cowardly. “Lee glorifies violence” where as Chan avoids it, shows two very different depictions of Asian American masculinity. Violence can be seen as a positive because you are fighting back, but avoiding it can be more peaceful. I think if there could be a happy medium of both, the Asian American masculine image would appeal to more people.


Jean Dao

Also of note is the fact that, although Kung Fu heroes have so-called universal appeal, this appeal really only applies to the men in minority groups. As shown in both Rumble in the Bronx and Enter the Dragon (and Rush Hour, as mentioned in Shu’s article), women – particularly Asian women – continue to be objectified: in Rumble in the Bronx, the women in the gang are viewed as playthings, and in Enter the Dragon, every woman on the island (excepting Han’s wife and daughters) serves only to provide pleasure for the men. In Shu’s words, there still exists a certain objectification of “young Asian women as passive, obedient, and eager to pamper any man, white or black, yellow or brown” (Shu, 8).


Both Rumble in the Bronx and Enter the Dragon are about changing the stereotype of Asian masculinity, or lack thereof. The differences in the two styles are clear, as pointed out by Alexa and Samantha. Where Jackie Chan takes more of a humanistic approach, “Lee glorifies violence”. Which method is more effective is debated. It seemed that the consensus with the class was that Jackie Chan’s character was much more relatable and more realistic. Also, the fact that Chan does all of his own stunts, and risks his life so often for the sake of his films says something about his character, as Anna and Sam point out. However, I think Jean has a good point about the effect and appeal of the Kung Fu films in society and that men and women will approach these films differently. Especially in regards to the objectification of many women in Kung Fu films as a means for men to feel more masculine. Kung Fu films speak much more to Asian men who struggle with issues of masculinity rather than women who do not have the same problem. However, in Jean’s response, she speaks of the role of women in the role, yet in Rush Hour and the excerpt from Hero that we watched, the women were shown as extremely powerful, and also had mastered the art of Kung Fu. It would be interesting to unpack those characters more as well.
In response to Anushka, I think it is very interesting the reference made to The Slanted Screen. Many men expressed anger due to the constant typecasting as villains. Not only this, but the assumption that all Asians can do Kung Fu is a result of the popularity of films like Enter the Dragon, which is ironic in itself because these films were made to counter another sort of stereotype/typecast; a lack of masculinity. Kung Fu films will remain popular due to the showcase of the magnificent art of martial arts, which Asian culture has seemed to master in order to overcome other “weaknesses”.

R4 Excerpts/Response - Andrew Anderson

Anna Sophia Moran:

As an Asian who grew up in a majorly Oriental environment, I realized that I have never had to think about the topic of Asian American masculinity until recently. Comparing my experiences from back home and in college has really exposed me to the level of emasculation Asian American men experience and the racialization that accompanies it. Based on the readings this week, it seems that Asian American men are often in a complex bind of maintaining the role of the "model minority" while handling the rough issues that accompany being an ethnic minority.

Sarah Feldberg:

I thought it was interesting that Bruce Lee was abstinent in the film - this makes him seem slightly more honorable, and certainly more ascetic, than Williams and Roper, but it also made me think to a comment I read in the Kung Fu book we passed around class the other day criticizing Romeo Must Die because it failed to write in any kind of sexual relationship between Jet Li and Aaliyah. To whomever penned this commentary, Jet Li's character's lack of sexuality was regressive and invoked derogatory stereotypes about Asian American men's lack of virility. And so, even though Bruce Lee's footwork - and his bravery and integrity - are awe-inspiring in the earlier Enter the Dragon, it did seem interesting (and again politically fraught) that Lee's sexuality was "occluded."

Marian Stacey:

[In Enter the Dragon] there are a few clichés that I did find troubling. In particular, the idea that Asian men are sexless (i.e. Charlie Chan), but Lee's character has his choice of women, and the audience can see that he obviously makes a conscious choice to abstain from sex...It would have been truly amazing if Lee had been able to elevate Asian women as well, but I understand the feeling of great pride that Lee managed to challenge the stereotype of feminized Asian men, not because he changed himself, but because he was true to his culture.

Veronica Bruscini:

Lee's fight sequences portray all the mastery of his art combined with the magnetic grace and agility associated with Fred Astaire, and he centers Asian nationalism within the onscreen image of his powerful body. Like Lee, Chan employs the Kung Fu genre to solidify the film presence of the strong Asian male; however, Chan's more approachable characters add a further dimension through comedy, evoking Buster Keaton alongside Gene Kelly (Shu 7). Lee's invincible "super man" protagonists come off as remote and austere, and for some, this undermines his intent, reproducing rather than dispelling the "orientalist" stereotype.

Marlene McManus:

Where is the Asian American male role model for Asian Americans? Does one exist at all? How could we define him? Perhaps someone with an American birthplace and unaccented English, who lives a life as culturally 'American' as anyone else. Someone whom Danny Kim, the protagonist of Don Lee's short story "Yellow," could look up to...Where is the "unquestionably American" Asian American role model for Danny, a person who desires complete disassociation with the nation and culture of his ethnicity? Surely Danny would protest to Bruce Lee's focus on China's political woes with the Japanese and the British, as well as Jackie Chan's broken English.

Response:

It was interesting that both Sarah and Marian interpreted Lee's abstinence as reinforcing the stereotype of Asian men as sexless. Although I can certainly understand their reasoning, I read the situation differently. The way I saw it, Lee's abstinence was a display of his complete mastery over his urges. Western culture traditionally equates sex with power, but I saw Lee's abstinence as a display of the ultimate power and control that he had over his body and basic desires. Another angle to consider is the possibility that Lee refused sex out of pride and honor. He knew that the women on Han's island were drugged into submission, and it’s conceivable that his own conscience wouldn't allow him to take advantage of someone in such a position.

Marlene's examination of the lack of Asian American male role models was also intriguing. In reading Don Lee's Yellow, I got the sense that Danny Kim would never be able to look up to an Asian male, not because they don't exist, but because Danny doesn't think that there is anything about being an Asian male to be proud of.

Anna's response reminded me that the idea of the emasculated Asian male is an entirely Western perception. As she said, it was a topic that she never considered much growing up in a "majorly Oriental environment." This is a line of thinking that I hadn't even considered, and it was fascinating to see a non-American perspective on the issue.

Veronica makes some good observations about the differences between Lee and Chan and how some might find Lee's depiction to be problematic, due to the unrealistic "Super Man" persona that he takes on, while Chan's willingness to poke fun at himself makes his characters more approachable. Chan often plays the lovable, naive, goofy type of character. It seems that it's Chan's ability to play these types of characters while still showing off his martial arts expertise that makes him such an appealing performer.

R4 Editor Response : Depictions of Asian American Masculinity

Angie Woodmansee

“If Chan is considered solely as a Hollywood success story, the perpetuation of such stereotypes is not really a problem, as Hollywood films tend (though not exclusively) to avoid such social criticism in favor of more easily digested entertainment. This aspect is a part of Shu’s praise of Chan, but it seems incompatible with his simultaneous praise of Chan as a pioneer in the re-presentation of masculinity. My problem with this assessment as a whole is not based on a feeling that Chan is responsible for the deconstruction or destabilization of such cultural stereotypes and ideals; it is not to say that dealing with masculinity is not enough; it is not to ignore the complexity of a situation in which the assertion of one identity is done through the further marginalization of others. The issue is that Shu presents Chan as an individual who “embraces the multicultural rhetoric of the United States,” while his context provides an unclear explanation of what such a comment means in the overall assessment of Chan’s work (6).”

Chang Liu

“I could feel that those words from Danny and [Don] Lee were desperate, helpless and hopeless. Rachel said to Danny ‘But the thought of it’s taken over your life, it’s poisoned you, and that’s sadder than anything anyone could ever say or do to you. Don’t you see? Racism’s not the problem. It’s you. You’ve got no heart, Daniel. You’ve got no soul.’ (Lee 234). Danny had a heart and a soul that was once innocent and full of hope, but later on his heart and soul were deprived by the cruelty of the reality, people and the society. ‘He realized he was doomed. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he would never get past his ethnicity. It was untenable, and the knowledge broke him’ (Lee 234).”

Dan Parker

“to redeem the essence of the Identity that had been shattered by the emasculation and alienation of the Asian American male, Bruce Lee and Danny resort to perfecting their bodies as weapons to be used as both preemptive means of attaching those biased accusations before any more ethnic damage is wrought, and the keys that will release their fettered Identities into the realm of a culturally universal acceptance that is free of levels, assumptions, and societal seclusion. The paradoxical effect of this preventative act, however, is the further alienation of the Self that sparks the birth of new prejudices and ignorant remarks that shape a new – though equally restricted – Asian American reality.”

Keen Hahn

“For Lee, the Asian American male must be an unassailable, rock-hard monument of discipline, cutting down opponents with precision and grace. While this does not sound like such a bad position to be in, it raises a very simple problem: not everyone is capable of achieving Lee’s level of expertise in his chosen field. His expectation is so demanding that it becomes inaccessible to the everyday male. As such, Lee can only stand as an idealization, a perfected image of Asian American masculinity that can resonate with others, but is ultimately not relatable. Further, Lee’s portrayal reinforces the idea of the Asian American male as mystical and stoic, showing no emotion and speaking, at least in Enter the Dragon, in cryptic Shaolin parables.

Rachael Furman

“The unfortunate fact is that the terms in use to accomplish [Asian American emasculation], as well as to try to correct, are ones that are gendered in nature, calling into question a whole new battle against an equally pervasive binary. However, this fact and its unfortunate ramifications fail to be addressed because the shadow of racism and the battle of superstars such as Lee and Chan smother it with their successes. In seeing the reworking of Asian American males in the cinema to allow for more breadth and depth of character, more characteristically (and stereotypically) “strong,” “male” characters allows us to applaud Chan and Lee’s work at battling racism, but at least for me it beings up questions as to if binaries of power can ever end, if humans can ever be gauged as equal without calling into play race or gender to help one or the other group proverbially get ahead.”

Tin-Yan Chan

“There will always be images of emasculated Asian American men in media but Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan have created unforgettable characters. Not only have Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan sculpted their bodies and personas to match that of a superhero, they have also changed the stigma of an Asian American male identity. They are superheroes in the sense that they have combated the views Americans have of Asian American men. Their purpose is to fight for what they believe is right whether it be on screen, or what they try to show through the characters they play. Lee possesses the characteristics of a true fighter while Chan used kung-fu and comedy as a more humanistic approach to combat today’s stereotypes against Asian American men. Even though they differ in this sense, they have both created unforgettable personalities that have a lasting impressing of the Asian American male in society.”

While the aforementioned responses note that Lee and Chan deeply impact the culture of Asian American masculine imagery, such an impact is deeply qualified and questioned ultimately demanding observations of such depiction’s role off camera and, specifically, in the life of men like Danny. Tin-Yan’s classification of the two actors as “superheroes” lays a basis for questions provoked by the hyper-masculinity of the characters and the men who play them: how does one integrate the “unassailable, rock-hard monuments of discipline” (to borrow Keen’s words) into the real world? Rachel states that social ramifications of Chan and Lee’s virtually inhuman masculine constructions are overshadowed by their enormous successes and, therefore, a true incorporation of Chan and Lee’s depictions into the lives of real Asian American men is not easy. Danny embodies what Chang describes as the “desperate, helpless and hopeless” nature instilled in Asian American males as a result.

The incompatibility of the cinematic depictions and reality of Asian American men arise from opposing approaches of the East (as characterized in the films) and West to masculinity and contrasting daily lives and the necessities to lead such. While Chan and Lee admittedly redefine masculinity, it is naïve to say that desires to socially attain the Western ideals of masculinity fuel their art. If superior brute force (with a touch of infrequent stoic or goofy dialogue) were the sole standard of masculinity, a significant majority of men of any origin would be lucky to equate themselves with Chan or Lee. Unfortunately for Danny, neither physical combat nor apparent passiveness benefits the social or occupational ascension of an American man. Dan’s response recounts Danny’s boxing as a means to create his body as a weapon but, unsurprisingly, even his peak physical performance is significantly lower than either Lee or Chan.

The rigid image of masculine achievement, as discussed by both Angie and Rachel, marginalizes much of society who finds their identities belittled and given outsider status. The rigidity equally hinders a potentially broad and empowering metaphor that would allow real men to benefit from Lee and Chan’s powerful imagery. A deeper interpretation would equate “normal” men with Chan and Lee who, as Keen states, achieve a superior level of expertise in a given field and “cut down opponents with precision and grace.” Danny metaphorically combats (and arguably defeats) his own negative relationship with his race by taking a cue from Chan and Lee and strengthening his body. Perhaps more importantly, though, he broadens his combat and, while he does not eliminate opponents with physical expertise, his prestigious circle of friends and hard won work promotion prove superiority over the (Western, white male) competition. This application of mastery and expertise to boring, everyday life, however, does not seem to invoke the same air of glory.

Editor: Mary Martin

R3 Excerpts/Response - Chang Liu

Micah E.F. Martin

Both of Le thi diem thuy’s parents function as effective countermemory against the idea of the immigrant victim. Their ties to Vietnamese culture and their memories of a lost homeland and families not seen in decades form a part of their mosaic personalities, but neither parent is “simply” an immigrant. The layered, sometimes reserved and sometimes blatant portrayal of Anh and his wife serves to emphatically define the Vietnamese family not in their traditional victims’ roles but as three-dimensional and complex individuals. Le thi diem thuy says quite clearly through the understated recounting of her own experience with childhood and adolescence in America that the immigrant experience is not solely one of flight from oppression or fearful attempts at adaptation. Mundane concerns, as anywhere, remain a powerful factor in the lives of any family and in Gangster they are brought to the forefront and wielded skillfully to paint a picture of a family’s domestic life that incorporates immigrant roots but is not defined solely by them.

Rebecca Meekins

In Le Thi Diem Thuy’s “The Gangster We Are All Looking For”, I feel this concept of countermemory is best expressed in the narrator’s father’s character. His rage, anger, and description of “gangster”, paint the portrait of a man who feels victimized. His memories of being in Viet Nam and his life there haunts him, as he takes the role of a victim, just as Nguyen talks about in her description of countermemory. He is unaware of the harm that he inflicts on his family, and it is a fact that is forgotten in the memories of the war. “In this theatre of collective memory, the harm Asian Americans inflict upon each other, or upon others becomes secondary, even forgotten” (Nguyen, 15). Spending all his time playing the victim, her father is never able to face the consequences of his actions and see outside of the “imagined community” that he has created for himself about his history and his culture’s history. This anger and role is then passed on to his daughter, as she desires to be a gangster, more specifically “the gangster we are all looking for”, just as her father is.

Tin-Yan Chan

The narrator’s mother counters the image of war when she says, “war is a bird with a broken wing flying over the country side, trailing blood and burying crops in sorrow. If something grows in spite of this, it is both a curse and miracle…war has no beginning and no end. It crosses oceans like a splintered boat filled with people singing a sad song” (Le, 87). This is her interpretation of the war. She says it as a metaphor. She does not mention people killing each other or the political climate in Vietnam, rather she takes a poetic approach in telling her daughter about the war.

Mary Martin

The memories of these three refugees are countered as they integrate themselves into their American life. Gangster’s cases of countermemory exemplify both the positive and negative results. The nation of Ma’s identity becomes only “over there” (151) and the “hard life” (151) is simplified in both her mind and her daughter’s. The narrator arguably benefits from countermemory of which the ocean imagery still serves also as the crux. However, it is now driven by her brother’s death, the acceptance of which brings her closer to him (148). Countermemory proves its range of purpose and serves as a detriment or tool of reconciliation of those affected.

Alexa Ebert

I think that the gangster we are looking for is a reference to somebody who is strong, sticks to their morals, doesn’t let other people push them around, and speaks out against society no mater what the consequences are. When the narrator looks at her father’s photograph at age sixteen, she notes “what reveals him most is the will to give nothing away.” Despite his friends dying, he “managed to crawl here, on his hands and knees to this life.”(103) No matter what happened or what he went through, he kept persisting through life, but he also “crumbled into his own shadow” because he felt like he couldn’t change his life, which is what the narrator describes she won’t do. “He made himself so small, so that in the world there was very little of him left.” (122) The narrator exclaims she isn’t going to do that, and says she will be “the gangster we are all looking for.”

My Response

After carefully reading other people’s reflection papers, I have grasped a better understanding of the concept of “countermemory” in relation to Le’s narrative story of her immigrant life. Countermemory is a way of choosing specific memories of nations or groups and taking those memories and piecing together an “imagined community”. After suffering and struggling, Le’s family finally made it through the pacific ocean arriving the land of “freedom” and immigrants from all over the world. In Le’s tone of narration, her family seems to live a stereotypical immigrant life, moving homes around and adapting to new American life. Things always seem more colorful, richer, and different in young Le’s eyes since she simply reports what she observes, not making nay comments on her thinking. Even so, in the description of her mom and dad, words are charged with urgent and unsettling emotion. It is Viet Nam that haunts or tangles with Le’s parents (maybe Le too because of her brother). The memories of Viet Nam and the memories in Viet Nam always bring Le’s parents back to sorrow, which they cannot cope with. Instead, especially Le’s dad Anh chose to avoid the encounter and left what happened in Vietnam in Vietnam.
Besides the interesting concept “countermemory”, there are some pieces of memory that invoke discussions about Americans’ ambivalent attitudes towards new immigrants, especially the minority immigrants. The story Le told about the “glass butterfly” reveals this relationship. I also agree with Rebecca’s point that the concept of countermemory is best expressed in Le’s father’s character. “He is unaware of the harm that he inflicts on his family, and it is a fact that is forgotten in the memories of the war” (Meekins).

R3 Excerpts/Response - Anushka Zafar

Anna Malefatto:

“[Viet Nguyen] claims that Asian Americans today must have a collective memory of the long history of all the pat treatment of Asians immigrants and their children in America. However, he also rebukes Asian Americans today for creating a counter-memory that does not accurately recall the real history of their treatment… claiming that minorities should not solely remember the damage that has been done to them, but the damage they have done… Like the larger group of Asian Americans, as accused by Nguyen, the family in Gangster is smoothing over their past lives and living in the present with a counter-memory of a simpler past. Like many immigrant stories, Gangster shows how immigrants attempt to Americanize their lives and start fresh here, but can never really escape the events of their past.”

Veronica Bruscini:

“Griswold says scariness is indispensable to Children’s Literature; it speaks honestly to life situations and provides examples of problem solving in the most frightening conditions. The child’s position is vulnerable, yet when monsters and fears are faced through literature, they lose the power to intimidate. lê’s narrator relates concrete, real-world terrors both met and assimilated: refugee life, separation from her mother, the eviction from and demolition of her family’s home, the death of her brother. Initially expressed only through the child’s viewpoint, these events shape her character and early perspectives of everyday life even as their suppressed realities surface when girls mature.”


Keen Hahn:

“This structure represents well the issues of identity and identification that spring out of a combination of past trauma and a present struggle toward a hybrid space somewhere between the realms of Vietnam and America… [The narrator of Gangster] reveals the amorphous nature of memory, and shows how seemingly arbitrary connections can become significant through this retrospective lens. For instance, the narrator’s deep connection with the glass butterfly in the beginning reveals her yearning for companionship from someone who inhabits the same state of betweenness as she. She imagines the butterfly is alive within its glass casing, imagining that it too is stuck in a hybrid state between the binaries of life and death. She wishes to free it, setting it apart from the tug-of-war of the opposing influences so that it may fly free and establish its own identity, comfortable in its individuality…This to me, was one of the most intriguing notions that the text exposed: the disconnect between the theory of hybridity and the practice.”


Rachael Furman:

“The purpose of these memories, rather than conveying hard facts and stark data, is to bring to mind the emotions and turmoil that function as the lynchpins of recollection. The retelling of history and reshaping memory is not possible through the mere uncovering or expression of new and exciting memories but by unpacking existing memories to reveal the layers of complicated and commingled happiness and pain, mistreatment and hope that lie within the narratives of Asian immigrants… For me, the ‘memory” that Nguyen refers and alludes to in his piece is a compilation of the various ways in which memory can function, sometimes with more than purpose at hand. They dynamic nature that memory holds in lê’s text cannot be described in one sitting, let alone one paper. Rather, it must suffice to say that the concept of separation, of picking and choosing for display specific narrative moments for use to see… allows us to clearly see that memory, while fluid and dynamic, can to some small extent be ordered and arranged so that we can not only examine the memories themselves by the way in which we choose to artificially arrange them.”

Marian Stacey:

“lê’s choice to leave her protagonist without a name is a tactic with she knowingly enforces. Every now and then le’s writing emphasizes the lack of a name… Whenever there are obvious similarities between the author and protagonist using the pronoun of ‘I’ it can be difficult to separate the ‘I’ from the author. I wouldn’t doubt that the overspill of personal memories made it difficult and/or emotional for le to write Gangster, but because ‘I’ is never confirmed to be lê there is enough distance to suggest that ‘I’ is someone else… lê’s use of counter-memory shapes the novel as she tries to figure out what to reveal and what to hide, but her strength is the ability to provide enough small, realistic childhood memories.”




R3 RESPONSE:

All the response papers I was responsible for editing this week featured thoughts on the trauma associated with immigration and the effect it can have on a person’s identity and mentality. I have arranged the quotations in the most coherent order starting with Anna Malefatto who clarifies Nguyen’s argument. She points out that Nguyen seems to be claiming that the trauma imposed on Asian Americans is not only through their history with immigration, but also through the counter-memory they create, potentially ignoring their pasts, causing further damage on to themselves. Veronica Bruscini’s point is very interesting because she make a connection between Griswold’s five major themes in Children’s Literature; the concept of scariness combines will with lê’s novel about the immigrant experience. The fear and hardship associated with the immigrant experience, not only highlights the vulnerability of an immigrant but of an immigrant child, who is especially prone to being shaped by traumatic experience. In case of lê’s protagonist, her story clearly outlines this concept. This leads to Keen Hahn’s response where he approaches the concept of a hybrid state – the immigrant identity. Rachael Furman also points out the shifting quality of memories and just as Nguyen states, the way one chooses to arrange their memories can form one’s identity. Lastly, like Marian Stacey, felt this novel was more a memoir rather than a fictional piece. It made more sense after reading the author’s note and I feel that lê is exercising her responsibility as an Asian American who must embrace their memories and be more aware of the counter-memory.

R3 Excerpts/Response - Marlene McManus

Angie Woodmansee
"Le's characters depict the suffering of individuals whose experiences do not fit into the ideal American narrative because they are tied to a history that "a nation tried to forget," yet with her narrative structure she simultaneously combats the notion that the American narrative is necessarily linear (Barroga, as cited in Lowe 1)...While the girl is bringing light to some of the least acceptable or intelligible histories of immigrants in the United States, Le structures the narrative in such a way that the American narrative ideal is questioned as the only means of representation in the nation's historical consciousness."

Samantha McFadden
"For many people, the Vietnam War had a beginning and an end. The Gangster We Are All Looking For shows us that for others, it is a place in time whose repercussion will resonate for the remainder of their lives. The idea of 'countermemory' is prominent in both works. While Le's narrator and her family struggle to fit into American society and move forward after the war, Nguyen argues that this is nearly impossible to do so. He points out that Asian Americans "belong in America neither in memory or in the past," which shows that they will constantly have conflicting feelings about both of their cultures."

Jean Dao

“Le allows this traumatic family history to seep in and out of the story, dropping a line here and there and then quickly countering it with the mention of a current issue that faces the family. In doing so, she mocks up the behavior and attitudes of those wishing to oppress the histories of Asian Americans. This memory and countermemory, I believe, are the strongest in the story; they blanket the vignettes in a certain obscurity and darkness that draw from other historical and national memories. Le slightly glosses over the fact that the narrator and her family flee from the Viet Cong, bringing in only key pieces of information that remind readers of the circumstances in which the girl, her father and the ‘uncles’ arrived in the United States.”

Andrew Anderson

“America likes to pride itself on being accepting and open to all. When parts of its history don’t jive with this ideal, there is a tendency to navigate around them and exclude them from the national narrative. It then falls upon people like Le to stand up and tell the real stories. This can often be a difficult task due to pressures from within the Asian community itself…Kingston and Le both choose to “speak of things others would rather not speak of, or hear about, or pass on into memory (Nguyen, 9).” Through their writing, they are bringing the countermemory closer to the light and making it just a little more visible to the rest of the world.”

Dan Parker

“This very concept, portrayed in Viet Nguyen’s Speak of the Dead, Speak of Viet Nam as the countermemory, states that to transcend the equally confining national and minority memories to achieve a unified history of the national imagination, the minorities must envision the totality of their realities by invoking the dualistic notion of themselves as both victims and victimizers…The national memory, exploiting the horrifying pasts of a particular people in various mediums such as film, serves only as a catalyst in the nation’s metamorphosis into a single moment of historical cruelty, while the minority memory, conversely attempting to escape these restraints by forgetting these tragic images, paradoxically succeeds only in limiting its own reality by disregarding a necessary portion of its cultural identity.”

R3 Response

Each of the responses I edited this week meditate upon Nguyen’s description of ‘countermemory’ and its significance as a necessary alternative history, juxtaposed with both the propagated national and minority memories. Providing specific examples from the novel, including the narrator’s smashing of the glass animals with the butterfly, the father’s violent episodes, and the mother’s repeated refusal to acknowledge her drowned son, and even the narrative style of the novel itself, the response authors pose the minority-generated countermemory as a powerful rejection and reformation of the national consciousness. They also speak of how the generation of a countermemory can help immigrants and nations alike cope with traumatic periods of history, such as the Vietnam War. Both the Vietnamese refugees and the nation of America actively engage in the production of a countermemory concerning the war, though these ultimately prove to be ‘countermemories’ of each other, with riddled contradictions and targeted deletions between them. Each of the authors recognizes the circular route and seeming irreconcilability of such opposed histories (particularly outlined in a quote from Angie Woodmansee’s response), yet stresses that the presence and dynamics of such memories cannot be ignored, for it plays a vital and vivid role within the lives of those whom it concerns, including the family in Le’s novel.

I personally found Le’s novel to be incredibly dense in its symbolism, and had difficulty navigating through it until our class discussion. Becoming enlightened to the Foucauldian concept of countermemory through Nguyen’s critical piece, Speak of the Dead, Speak of Viet Nam, I was able to perceive the delicately entwined dual layers of the novel: the surface layer, colorful images and blurry recollections of a refugee childhood related through the eyes of an innocent, and then beneath, the weight of the historical circumstances the child relates and how they contribute to the formation of self and the reformation of family and memory. The minority construction of a countermemory proves itself necessary, not only to reconcile the past, but also to negotiate the minority’s future in a new homeland. This, Nguyen states, is the challenge and fate facing every Asian American.

I believe, however, that Nguyen is somewhat hypocritical in his essay, for he begins by saying that Asian Americans need to stop playing the victim in the national discourse, but then in his second section, writes in a self-pitying tone of the distressing treatment of Asian Americans in this country:

“Our forgettability defines us as an American minority, a trait we share at present only with Native Americans. But whereas Native Americans are seen as belonging to the land, when they are recalled at all, Asian Americans are seen as foreigners or aliens who have not been here for long, and who do not speak the language well. Asian Americans belong to America neither in memory nor in the past (Nguyen, 13).”

Regardless of the hypocrisy in the second half of his essay, Nguyen makes clear the importance and process of the creation of a countermemory not only for minorities, but for entire nations. Both his essay and our discussion in class has caused me, personally, to reevaluate my perceptions of, and participation in the American national memory.