Like Elliot’s essay, the responses I edited this week engage and grapple with the concept of historical silencing, in terms of both the individual and larger groups. These readings indirectly provide a strong counterargument to Lee’s political critique of Yamamoto, as they deal with the subversive undertones of her fiction within the context of an oppressed history. Many of the responses reflect on the authors’ personal reactions to the readings and Rabbit in the Moon, and there was a pervasive sense of guilt and shock at our general naïveté regarding such a significant part of American history. Yet this reaction only led to further investigation, which is itself a triumph for such works of fiction. Though in class we discussed the consequences of Yamamoto’s indirect and subtle tones in her stories, the fact that we are driven to investigate and uncover this silenced history and the marginalized voices attempting to give it representation is in itself a political feat. Initially unaware of our own “sins of omission,” it would follow that in recovering and interacting with such texts, we may be beginning a path not toward atonement (which is, for many reasons, impossible) but rather toward empowerment; in this small community we are recognizing and responding to voices long silenced, and by giving them such a space we can only hope that they will continue to be heard by larger groups.
In my opinion, these kinds of reactions are direct proof of Yamamoto’s political power. She does not need to throw it in our faces in order to make a point, and from the responses it seems clear that such subtle statements have in fact more deeply affected this group than any blatantly expressed political agenda ever could. They require reflection and the discovery of new information; they force the reader to consider literature and the voices within in terms of a greater historical context; they cause each individual to develop the ways in which they interact with a text, resulting in a more nuanced and complex analysis. We are, on an individual level, combating the dominant discourses in American history, which have for too long extended to us their destructive and limiting methods of oppression through omission.
Monday, September 28, 2009
R2 Excerpts - Angie Woodmansee
Veronica Bruscini:
“Historical accounts and literary representations share the weight and burden inherent in combating the specter of ‘historical erasure.’ Dominant society masks events embarrassing or damaging to its reputation, while the passage of time silences ‘dissenting’ narratives by solidifying popular familiarity with an ‘official’ version of history. Yet the power of one voice – one willing to counter and contradict constructions of discourse by revealing the untold reports of eyewitnesses to history – creates indelible impressions and cracks open a door, inviting others to join in telling the story…Recreating historical evidence through a fictional lens adds further nuance to the storytelling power of the dissenting voice. Fiction provides a snapshot of the protagonist’s innermost thoughts, an unconscious level of confession which captures both the audience’s attention and imagination… [in ‘Wilshire Bus’] Esther’s sudden recognition of her indifferent ‘us vs. them’ dismissal is coupled with the abrupt remembrance of her own repressed experience in reversed circumstances. The implications are great for the individual (Esther, Yamamoto, the reader) and politically at a national/international level as well.”
Anna Sophia Moran:
“However, can one say the same about Asian-American fiction? Have there been many famous literary pieces blatantly depicting the horrors and injustices that Japanese-American Nisei underwent in World War II, or the challenges Chinese immigrants faced when constructing the railroads during the Gold Rush? In my opinion, there are significantly fewer Asian-American politically charged works of fiction compared to those of other ethnic minorities…In Rabbit in the Moon, those interviewed talked about how the Japanese confinement faded in the background as it was not as extreme as the other atrocities that were going on during the war. Some also believed that Asian cultures by practice dislike attracting attention and creating disorder, hence the submissiveness of Asian-American voices throughout history (we see a prime example of this in Yamamoto’s “Wilshire Bus”)…after reading all these pieces, I found myself appreciating pieces like Kingston’s and Yamamoto’s even more because, though many may criticize their lack of political will, their style of writing had an ability to take me to these places – from Gold Mountain to the heart of an internment camp – and let me understand on my own what these characters suffered for the equality of future generations of Asian-Americans.”
Anushka Zafar:
“But why is it that I had no knowledge of Japanese internment camps in the United States during WWII? Is it simply because of my educational background in a school in Bangladesh? It was an American school! Or is it actually the lack of focus on such an important part of American history in any textbook anywhere in the world? It is truly a ‘sin of omission’…I assumed [Miss Sasagawara] was distrusting of those around her maybe because she thought people were spying on her due to her heritage and so her loyalties could have lied elsewhere. But eventually it occurred to me that she was simply traumatized from her past experiences and from being subjugated to stay in an internment camp. In fact, just like the narrator, I too was committing the sin of omission; as Elliot point out about this particular story, ‘Kiku…too is rather naïve and self-absorbed youth who, though without any malicious intent, commits sins of omission by contriburing to the camp-wide practice of evading and misreading signs of the trauma of internment evident in the character of Miss Sasagawara.’ (63)”
Keen Hahn:
“Instead of the response of sympathy and compassion that she wishes to exhibit, Esther feels ‘detached’ and finds herself ‘wondering whether the [racist] man meant her in his exclusion order or whether she was identifiably Japanese’ (Yamamoto 36). The trauma of the camps and the ‘exclusion’ exhibited on the bus taken to an extreme level towards her people has left Esther unable to react to the situation on the bus properly. She is incapable of action because the prescriptions of the white culture have placed her in a position of subalternity, thus rendering her voiceless. As Elliot states, the story ‘explores the submerged personal and historical trauma that precipitates [Esther’s] silence and cultivates [her] consent’ toward the interpellative and Orientalist white gaze (55, 56). This gives the reader a physicalized/emotionalized image of the impact of internment on the psyche of the Japanese people and the conditioning that resulted from it. Thus, through an emotionally charged narrative, Yamamoto drives home the terribleness of internment without any statistics or objective figures.”
Tin-Yan Chan:
“Although in ‘Wilshire Bus,’ Esther does not take a stance in defending the couple on the bus, it does not go against Yamamoto’s opinion on political will. She acknowledges Ester’s cowardliness in her writing. There is more to the story than merely silence…The racism Esther experiences on the bus reminds her of her time spent at the internment camp, and she therefore detaches herself from it…[Yamamoto] includes the oppression subtly in the story, therefore including her own political will without blatantly announcing it through Esther’s actions. The moral of the story is to speak up for what one believes in. Due to Esther’s repressive past, she is unable to do so. Yamamoto sees Esther’s silence as a lack of political will. Although the protagonist of her story lacks political will, Yamamoto makes it apparent that Esther is a coward for not speaking up, therefore indicating that she does not live her life like the women she writes about in her stories.”
R2 - Rachael Furman
Sarah Feldberg
Yamamoto also made me contemplate “silence” as a predominant trope of oppression – I’ve certainly encountered feminist and post-colonial texts which treat this as a prevailing issue (Gilbert and Qubar certainly mention it; Adrienne Rich titled a selection of essays “On Lies, Secrets and Silence”” – and I’m aware of Tillie Olsen’s narrative as well) and yet Yamamoto made me really think about this apparently simplistic or self-evident theme. I found Esther incredibly relatable – and Elliot’s depiction of Yamamoto’s own life and works rang a chord with me as well) I could relate to the self-effacement; the arguably avoidant characteristics; the retreat from the contentious sphere of journalism that Yamamoto’s detractor took such issue with) and also her ambivalence and ultimate refusal to attend an elitist institution (Stanford).
Marlene McManus
The JACL, as described in the film [“Rabbit in the Moon”] were “jackals,” veritable traitors to their community who “wholeheartedly embraced” the treatment America was giving all Japanese Americans, even to the extent of collaborating with their oppressors and urging their peers to do so as well (Omori). They are a real-life and large scale example of the “consenting voices” whom Yamamoto tells of. When the acts of the JACL had such a direct impact upon her life, how can Yamamoto’s repeated exposé of similar perpetrators in their “sins of omission” not be a reaction to her life in the internment camps? […] [H]ow can her writing lack political will?
Jean Dao
Perhaps it is because I have never had much of a formal education surrounding American treatment of the Chinese [oppression] or Japanese internment, but the literary representations do not seem to be too far from the truth when compared to the historical accounts. Of course, the authors take liberties to create fictional stories around fictional characters, yet the overall effects is not one of diluted information; it does rather the opposite and brings readers into a world that they otherwise might consider to be irrelevant by introducing the historical subject matter in context and using characters that readers can relate more easily to. Truthfully, I found it much easier to read Kingston’s China Men than “Searching for Gold Mountain,” if only for the reason that Kingston was able to spin culture, history, and raw emotion into a fictional interpretation of true historical events.
Alexa Ebert
As “Sins of Omission” points out, her [Miss Sasagawara’s] madness isn’t described in the piece as a direct result of the internment camp, but it can be implied through her actions, which is where the amount of political will implied becomes sketchy. I think that Yamamoto does this purposely because she wants the reader to interpret the piece in their own way. Although I can also see the criticism given for Yamamoto not directly saying Miss Sasagawara is the way she is due to the internment camps because it makes her political will seem almost lacking. If you don’t understand that Miss Sasagawara represents the negativity of Japanese life in internment camps, it’s hard to get something historical out of the piece. I think she should’ve definitely been more politically radical.
Andrew Anderson
An alternative aspect of the criticism of Yamamoto’s work may have to do with the fact that her characters never adopt a firm stance against the injustice that they see. However, it’s clear from reading Elliott’s piece that Yamamoto felt from early on that her characters didn’t have to voice their opinions for those opinions to exist and be known. Yamamoto didn’t believe that Babo’s silence diminished his character even though the popular view held that his silence signified “a void of consciousness and morality.” The critics of her work may simply be mistaking her silence of Yamamoto’s characters for complacency. When in reality their silence might be the same kind of “articulate silence” that caused Yamamoto to identify and sympathize with Babo.
Marian Stacey
Reading through "The Legend of Miss Sasagawara," I began to feel as though Yamamoto wrote Kiku to represent what she had been like at the Poston Relocation Center, but Yamamoto created the internee that she wished she could have been with the character of Miss Sasagawara. Miss Sasagawara's insanity, be it natural or assumed, had moments of clear rebellion that were often misunderstood by her fellow internees. For example; she holds up the Christmas present sent by (presumably white) Americans, the peach colored towel, "so that is could be fully seen, and everyone clapped again." When Miss Sasagawara holds the towel it's almost as if she's saying, 'This is what I get for living in a prison?,' but no one seems to understand her message. After Yamamoto was released and went to college, she became very involved in the civil rights movement, but "Wilshire Bus" could be read as a meditation on how little anyone can do in a moment.
Editor Response - Rachael Furman
The response papers from this week were both articulate and varied in opinion. Carefully examining the historical and literary perspectives represented in the past two weeks’ group of readings, the responses that I edited all pointed to the concept of character as a driving force of reliability and relatability and indirectly addressed issues of narrative technique and authorial authenticity.
Pointing to the discrepancy in expectation between historical and “literary” writings, the response papers sampled here all address to some extent the means by which literary works have a greater latitude, or proverbial “bag of tricks” by which to draw the reader into historical and uncomfortable truths. Focusing upon emotional intensity and relatability of character, we can come to see Ester and Miss Sasagawara as profoundly human specimens of Yamamoto’s underlying thesis that willpower and political dissent need not be domineering and loud to be present and nonetheless powerful. Effectively prioritizing emotional appeal and an a priori conceptualization of universal humanness over hard and cold facts, we see that by identifying with the characters of a piece and analyzing their methods of coping in the face of oppression we can comprehend to a greater extent to harm of racialization, fear, and oppression more so than via the medium of textbook or historical article. While the methodology and intent behind specifically Yamamoto’s pieces come in to question as the lack of overt political will comes into question, it becomes clear that literary technique lays a heavy hand over the various sociopolitical interpretations of a piece.
Extending this argument to the concept of authorial authority, the consensus of the week’s responses is that personal accounts and first hand knowledge of racial oppression both through internment and general experience color this week’s readings with reliability and embroider the facts of Japanese and Chinese ways of living in a white world with emotional pull. Combining these facts that are no longer personally removed from life with fictional representations of these events brings the reader closer to comprehending the plight of the character, author, and thus historical figure, than initially possible. While the presence of political will in Yamamoto’s pieces is still debatable, primarily because of our inability to identify it as either a literary technique or as a tenuous approach towards politicism, it is indubitable that her writings strike a chord with the students in our class, and resonate on a level deeper than the obvious surface meaning of the words on the page.
Yamamoto also made me contemplate “silence” as a predominant trope of oppression – I’ve certainly encountered feminist and post-colonial texts which treat this as a prevailing issue (Gilbert and Qubar certainly mention it; Adrienne Rich titled a selection of essays “On Lies, Secrets and Silence”” – and I’m aware of Tillie Olsen’s narrative as well) and yet Yamamoto made me really think about this apparently simplistic or self-evident theme. I found Esther incredibly relatable – and Elliot’s depiction of Yamamoto’s own life and works rang a chord with me as well) I could relate to the self-effacement; the arguably avoidant characteristics; the retreat from the contentious sphere of journalism that Yamamoto’s detractor took such issue with) and also her ambivalence and ultimate refusal to attend an elitist institution (Stanford).
Marlene McManus
The JACL, as described in the film [“Rabbit in the Moon”] were “jackals,” veritable traitors to their community who “wholeheartedly embraced” the treatment America was giving all Japanese Americans, even to the extent of collaborating with their oppressors and urging their peers to do so as well (Omori). They are a real-life and large scale example of the “consenting voices” whom Yamamoto tells of. When the acts of the JACL had such a direct impact upon her life, how can Yamamoto’s repeated exposé of similar perpetrators in their “sins of omission” not be a reaction to her life in the internment camps? […] [H]ow can her writing lack political will?
Jean Dao
Perhaps it is because I have never had much of a formal education surrounding American treatment of the Chinese [oppression] or Japanese internment, but the literary representations do not seem to be too far from the truth when compared to the historical accounts. Of course, the authors take liberties to create fictional stories around fictional characters, yet the overall effects is not one of diluted information; it does rather the opposite and brings readers into a world that they otherwise might consider to be irrelevant by introducing the historical subject matter in context and using characters that readers can relate more easily to. Truthfully, I found it much easier to read Kingston’s China Men than “Searching for Gold Mountain,” if only for the reason that Kingston was able to spin culture, history, and raw emotion into a fictional interpretation of true historical events.
Alexa Ebert
As “Sins of Omission” points out, her [Miss Sasagawara’s] madness isn’t described in the piece as a direct result of the internment camp, but it can be implied through her actions, which is where the amount of political will implied becomes sketchy. I think that Yamamoto does this purposely because she wants the reader to interpret the piece in their own way. Although I can also see the criticism given for Yamamoto not directly saying Miss Sasagawara is the way she is due to the internment camps because it makes her political will seem almost lacking. If you don’t understand that Miss Sasagawara represents the negativity of Japanese life in internment camps, it’s hard to get something historical out of the piece. I think she should’ve definitely been more politically radical.
Andrew Anderson
An alternative aspect of the criticism of Yamamoto’s work may have to do with the fact that her characters never adopt a firm stance against the injustice that they see. However, it’s clear from reading Elliott’s piece that Yamamoto felt from early on that her characters didn’t have to voice their opinions for those opinions to exist and be known. Yamamoto didn’t believe that Babo’s silence diminished his character even though the popular view held that his silence signified “a void of consciousness and morality.” The critics of her work may simply be mistaking her silence of Yamamoto’s characters for complacency. When in reality their silence might be the same kind of “articulate silence” that caused Yamamoto to identify and sympathize with Babo.
Marian Stacey
Reading through "The Legend of Miss Sasagawara," I began to feel as though Yamamoto wrote Kiku to represent what she had been like at the Poston Relocation Center, but Yamamoto created the internee that she wished she could have been with the character of Miss Sasagawara. Miss Sasagawara's insanity, be it natural or assumed, had moments of clear rebellion that were often misunderstood by her fellow internees. For example; she holds up the Christmas present sent by (presumably white) Americans, the peach colored towel, "so that is could be fully seen, and everyone clapped again." When Miss Sasagawara holds the towel it's almost as if she's saying, 'This is what I get for living in a prison?,' but no one seems to understand her message. After Yamamoto was released and went to college, she became very involved in the civil rights movement, but "Wilshire Bus" could be read as a meditation on how little anyone can do in a moment.
Editor Response - Rachael Furman
The response papers from this week were both articulate and varied in opinion. Carefully examining the historical and literary perspectives represented in the past two weeks’ group of readings, the responses that I edited all pointed to the concept of character as a driving force of reliability and relatability and indirectly addressed issues of narrative technique and authorial authenticity.
Pointing to the discrepancy in expectation between historical and “literary” writings, the response papers sampled here all address to some extent the means by which literary works have a greater latitude, or proverbial “bag of tricks” by which to draw the reader into historical and uncomfortable truths. Focusing upon emotional intensity and relatability of character, we can come to see Ester and Miss Sasagawara as profoundly human specimens of Yamamoto’s underlying thesis that willpower and political dissent need not be domineering and loud to be present and nonetheless powerful. Effectively prioritizing emotional appeal and an a priori conceptualization of universal humanness over hard and cold facts, we see that by identifying with the characters of a piece and analyzing their methods of coping in the face of oppression we can comprehend to a greater extent to harm of racialization, fear, and oppression more so than via the medium of textbook or historical article. While the methodology and intent behind specifically Yamamoto’s pieces come in to question as the lack of overt political will comes into question, it becomes clear that literary technique lays a heavy hand over the various sociopolitical interpretations of a piece.
Extending this argument to the concept of authorial authority, the consensus of the week’s responses is that personal accounts and first hand knowledge of racial oppression both through internment and general experience color this week’s readings with reliability and embroider the facts of Japanese and Chinese ways of living in a white world with emotional pull. Combining these facts that are no longer personally removed from life with fictional representations of these events brings the reader closer to comprehending the plight of the character, author, and thus historical figure, than initially possible. While the presence of political will in Yamamoto’s pieces is still debatable, primarily because of our inability to identify it as either a literary technique or as a tenuous approach towards politicism, it is indubitable that her writings strike a chord with the students in our class, and resonate on a level deeper than the obvious surface meaning of the words on the page.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
R2 Response: Micah Martin
Mary Martin:
"A small class example reinforced the absence or inadequate education at all levels of American schooling regarding Japanese-American internment in the United States during WWII. As a result, Yamamoto's political tone and the importance of her work is heightened in the cases where it is utilized many decades after the original publication to reverse "sins of omission." However, as one who is guilty of such a sin, her literary body as an educational tool could unintentionally result in my own analysis and political will of such events being injected into the piece. As so many readers do the same, the initial state of Yamamoto's politics (existent or not) become untraceable.
Anna Malefatto:
"I believe that Yamamoto's goal is not to indict Esther for her sin, but to portray how difficult it is to oppose the dominant majority beliefs, even when you know they are unjust and cause pain in the lives of so many. In his articles, Matthew Elliot touches on this point. He notes that Esther's experience is based on Yamamoto's own experience with a sin of omission that she later realized had caused serious damage. I believe that Yamamoto is expressing her own guilt in "Wilshire Bus." In the end, I think the statement the story makes is that one should not be complicit with the injustices served by the dominant majority, both for the sake of others and also to prevent more pain for oneself."
Rebecca Meekins:
"Both Takaki and Kingston have valid historical accounts of the plight of the Chinese man in America. Neither is more accurate than the other, just explained through different mediums. However, the point is made clear through both readings, that life was dangerous, difficult, and unfair for the Chinese immigrant in America. And I believe both articles suggest that perhaps, these difficulties still exist today for Chinese Americans."
Dan Parker:
"The Japanese narrator of Hisaye Yamamoto's Wilshire Bus, witnesses a racist act of drunken verbal assault that, while seemingly isolating only the individual Chinese victim, effectively serves as an all-inclusive derision that simultaneously encompasses Esther. Upon this realization, she returns to the patriarchal home with tears in her eyes both to be greeted by her husband with a patronizing pat on the head, and to fulfill her role as the weak, irrational, emotionally unstable female:
"What's the matter? You've been missing me a whole lot, huh?" And she, finally drying her eyes, sniffed and nodded and bravely smiled and answered him with the question, yes, weren't women silly." (Yamamoto 38)."
Chang Liu:
"From the three readings, I notice that Hisaye Yamamoto really knows how to depict human’s psychological activities through her clear and careful narrative style of writing. In her writing, she is able to grab small pieces of emotion of the characters and put them together to deliver her actual feeling.
Response: Micah Martin
The week's readings have provoked a variety of responses on the subject of Yamamoto's politics and/or "political will," but the overriding impression seems to be one of subtlety and understatement. Yamamoto, while sometimes outside the spectrum of so-called authentic political involvement, uses something akin to nervous quasi-awareness to provide momentary breaches in the subdued, normalistic tone of her fiction. The frightening outside world intrudes in pauses and breaks, trailed-off sentences and uncomfortable dialogue.
But while Yamamoto may wield understatement with skill and attention to detail, her involvement in the radical politics of her subject matters can and does resonate as overly reserved. By stepping back from a direct confrontation of Japanese internment, Yamamoto suffers the predictable consequence of distancing herself from the point she attempts to convey in silence.
"A small class example reinforced the absence or inadequate education at all levels of American schooling regarding Japanese-American internment in the United States during WWII. As a result, Yamamoto's political tone and the importance of her work is heightened in the cases where it is utilized many decades after the original publication to reverse "sins of omission." However, as one who is guilty of such a sin, her literary body as an educational tool could unintentionally result in my own analysis and political will of such events being injected into the piece. As so many readers do the same, the initial state of Yamamoto's politics (existent or not) become untraceable.
Anna Malefatto:
"I believe that Yamamoto's goal is not to indict Esther for her sin, but to portray how difficult it is to oppose the dominant majority beliefs, even when you know they are unjust and cause pain in the lives of so many. In his articles, Matthew Elliot touches on this point. He notes that Esther's experience is based on Yamamoto's own experience with a sin of omission that she later realized had caused serious damage. I believe that Yamamoto is expressing her own guilt in "Wilshire Bus." In the end, I think the statement the story makes is that one should not be complicit with the injustices served by the dominant majority, both for the sake of others and also to prevent more pain for oneself."
Rebecca Meekins:
"Both Takaki and Kingston have valid historical accounts of the plight of the Chinese man in America. Neither is more accurate than the other, just explained through different mediums. However, the point is made clear through both readings, that life was dangerous, difficult, and unfair for the Chinese immigrant in America. And I believe both articles suggest that perhaps, these difficulties still exist today for Chinese Americans."
Dan Parker:
"The Japanese narrator of Hisaye Yamamoto's Wilshire Bus, witnesses a racist act of drunken verbal assault that, while seemingly isolating only the individual Chinese victim, effectively serves as an all-inclusive derision that simultaneously encompasses Esther. Upon this realization, she returns to the patriarchal home with tears in her eyes both to be greeted by her husband with a patronizing pat on the head, and to fulfill her role as the weak, irrational, emotionally unstable female:
"What's the matter? You've been missing me a whole lot, huh?" And she, finally drying her eyes, sniffed and nodded and bravely smiled and answered him with the question, yes, weren't women silly." (Yamamoto 38)."
Chang Liu:
"From the three readings, I notice that Hisaye Yamamoto really knows how to depict human’s psychological activities through her clear and careful narrative style of writing. In her writing, she is able to grab small pieces of emotion of the characters and put them together to deliver her actual feeling.
Response: Micah Martin
The week's readings have provoked a variety of responses on the subject of Yamamoto's politics and/or "political will," but the overriding impression seems to be one of subtlety and understatement. Yamamoto, while sometimes outside the spectrum of so-called authentic political involvement, uses something akin to nervous quasi-awareness to provide momentary breaches in the subdued, normalistic tone of her fiction. The frightening outside world intrudes in pauses and breaks, trailed-off sentences and uncomfortable dialogue.
But while Yamamoto may wield understatement with skill and attention to detail, her involvement in the radical politics of her subject matters can and does resonate as overly reserved. By stepping back from a direct confrontation of Japanese internment, Yamamoto suffers the predictable consequence of distancing herself from the point she attempts to convey in silence.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
"Iron Chink" and the Museum of Chinese in America (NY Times)
Now, of course, its casual slur inspires some shock. It is a companion piece to another object, a cap-gun toy from the 1880s, when the “Chinese Question” (as objections to Chinese immigration was called) turned violent: pull the trigger, and a suited gentleman kicks a braided Chinese man in the rear, setting off the miniature explosion.
As you walk through the Museum of Chinese in America, which is reopening in Chinatown on Tuesday in a warm and inviting new space designed by Maya Lin, you can’t see these objects and not be aware of the kinds of challenges these immigrants once faced.Full story here.
____
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
R1 Response Edit - Sam McFadden
Veronica Bruscini
“…Perhaps the most compelling similarity between Asian and Native American film portrayal is again, the lack of strong leading men. Asian characters are pigeon-holed as the “wimpy” businessman, the mystic Oriental, the karate expert or the thug; Native Americans fare little better, relegated to the roles of the scalper, medicine man, spirit guide, or embittered resident of an “Indian” reservation…”
Rebecca Meekins
“…Yang’s story harbors a deep racial theory that is expressed in each of the three articles, that theory being Orientalism. It is no longer simply a means of domination as Said explains, but as Ma points out, it has become a way of life for most Asian Americans living in America. Orientalism is so prominent in the United States that those “misrepresentations”, as Ma calls them, become the idenitity of Asian Americans in the United States today”
Keen Hahn
“…Jin/Danny’s psychological shapeshifting and the Monkey King’s literal, physical transformation move in the beginning to conform to the projected stereotype, but then later, upon both characters’ realizations of the severe instability of such an image, the characters shift, once again psychologically and physically, into the state that they are most comfortable in, regardless of the views of the Orientalist presecription surrounding them.”
Anna Malefatto
“I find that what I am taking away from this combination of texts is a need for a way for Asian Americans to embrace their culture and heritage without being cornered into stereotypes. The young actors, writers, and directors interviewed in The Slanted Screen were certainly proud to be Asian American, but they also expressed a feeling (at least when they were children) of embarrassment that accompanied being Asian…”
Andrew Anderson
“The Asian American struggle is primarily and race struggle, but it is also a class struggle. The initial emigration of the Chinese to California in the 1800s upset the class divisions that has already been established….the anti-Asian sentiment probably has more to do with class relations that it did with race, but it set a precedent that allowed Asian Americans to be seen as inferior and exposed racism for years to come.”
Micah Martin
“The Chinese are, for a short while, regarded by the post-Civil War south as hardworking, dependable replacement for the “uppity” black workforce. Here one can see a willingness to stereotype Chinese or ‘Celestial’ culture as industrious, subservient and uncomplaining. One supporter of Chinese plantation labor even advocates the creation of a permanent caste for the Chinese in America that would leave them subject indefinitely to white authority.”
Angie Woodmansee
“…The violent hypersexuality that traditionally defines African American masculinity at least allows for the individual to retain a sexual identity – this sexual quality has been, on the other hand, entirely eliminated in the dominant discourse of Asian American masculinity, except when present as deviance or perversion. Asian American men ceased to be a threat after having been successfully feminzed, providing the opposite, though equally powerful, alien image in comparison to African American masculinity.”
“…Perhaps the most compelling similarity between Asian and Native American film portrayal is again, the lack of strong leading men. Asian characters are pigeon-holed as the “wimpy” businessman, the mystic Oriental, the karate expert or the thug; Native Americans fare little better, relegated to the roles of the scalper, medicine man, spirit guide, or embittered resident of an “Indian” reservation…”
Rebecca Meekins
“…Yang’s story harbors a deep racial theory that is expressed in each of the three articles, that theory being Orientalism. It is no longer simply a means of domination as Said explains, but as Ma points out, it has become a way of life for most Asian Americans living in America. Orientalism is so prominent in the United States that those “misrepresentations”, as Ma calls them, become the idenitity of Asian Americans in the United States today”
Keen Hahn
“…Jin/Danny’s psychological shapeshifting and the Monkey King’s literal, physical transformation move in the beginning to conform to the projected stereotype, but then later, upon both characters’ realizations of the severe instability of such an image, the characters shift, once again psychologically and physically, into the state that they are most comfortable in, regardless of the views of the Orientalist presecription surrounding them.”
Anna Malefatto
“I find that what I am taking away from this combination of texts is a need for a way for Asian Americans to embrace their culture and heritage without being cornered into stereotypes. The young actors, writers, and directors interviewed in The Slanted Screen were certainly proud to be Asian American, but they also expressed a feeling (at least when they were children) of embarrassment that accompanied being Asian…”
Andrew Anderson
“The Asian American struggle is primarily and race struggle, but it is also a class struggle. The initial emigration of the Chinese to California in the 1800s upset the class divisions that has already been established….the anti-Asian sentiment probably has more to do with class relations that it did with race, but it set a precedent that allowed Asian Americans to be seen as inferior and exposed racism for years to come.”
Micah Martin
“The Chinese are, for a short while, regarded by the post-Civil War south as hardworking, dependable replacement for the “uppity” black workforce. Here one can see a willingness to stereotype Chinese or ‘Celestial’ culture as industrious, subservient and uncomplaining. One supporter of Chinese plantation labor even advocates the creation of a permanent caste for the Chinese in America that would leave them subject indefinitely to white authority.”
Angie Woodmansee
“…The violent hypersexuality that traditionally defines African American masculinity at least allows for the individual to retain a sexual identity – this sexual quality has been, on the other hand, entirely eliminated in the dominant discourse of Asian American masculinity, except when present as deviance or perversion. Asian American men ceased to be a threat after having been successfully feminzed, providing the opposite, though equally powerful, alien image in comparison to African American masculinity.”
Sunday, September 13, 2009
R1 Response Edit Reflection-Alexa Ebert
Common topics throughout the postings include society’s perception of Asian Americans, common stereotypes, racism, and the concept of Orientalism/the Oriental. Racism in today’s society in compliance with Asian Americans is still prevalent. I agree with Jean’s statement that the Western concept of “the Oriental” is such an altered and messed up image. The fact that the various pieces we have read/seen so far suggest that “the Oriental” and the Asian American images will cross paths in the future is almost a horrifying thing to imagine. Why would these pieces suggest this if the image of “the oriental “ is such a horrible depiction of Asian culture? Do people just not understand what exactly this image/stereotype entails? Are people just not educated enough on the subject matter? Do people just perceive different scenarios and situations differently?
Everyone seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that Orientalism is as Marian states “a racist construction.” One of the main ways that people learn about Asian culture and society is through the media which most of the time portrays them negatively and stereotypically, as Tin-Yan Chan states. I hypothesize that the lack of education about Asian culture causes people to stereotype and categorize Asians and Asian Americans. Maybe if people were more educated on the subject matter, they would be more careful and think twice about stereotyping. I agree with Jean in saying that Amy Tan collaborated with Western distortions through he novels. She portrays the common struggles that Asian Americans go through in her novels, but they are very stereotypical. This is just like how in many movies Asian actors portray stereotypical Asian characters. For example, Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee are in films where they are martial arts masters. This issue brings into account is it/was it better to get a big role that is a stereotype and publicize your heritage or to reject the role. Even though Asian actors got/get big parts in films, I would think it would be insulting to their culture to be portrayed as a stereotype. Anna Sophia Moran raises an interesting point about whether stereotypes are to degrade Asian culture because they are viewed as a threat. In conclusion, I think that Asian history and culture should be taught/worked in to curriculums in high school to help get rid of typical Asian stereotypes. If people become more educated on the subject matter, they will be less susceptible to comply with stereotyping.
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