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ASIAN AMERICAN ISSUES
A New Image for Asian Men?
he original flavor stereotype of Asian men may have its inspiration in Hollywood mockery of the first wave of Chinese immigrants in the Old West. Bonanza's gimpy Hop Sing was the only recurring image of Asian men for most of TV's formative decades. For variety's sake, Hollywood racked its brain and added the coolie, the waiter and the bucktoothed enemy soldier.
Corean soccer star Ahn Jung-hwan
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Fortunately, Hollywood is no longer a one-stop outlet for depictions of Asian men.
Pro sports's $30 billion estimated annual U.S. rake rivals the $35 billion pocketed by Hollywood. Driven by athletic excellence, pro sports allow no room for image jiggering to satisfy racial biases. The exploits of dashing Ahn Jung-hwan in the World Cup wasn't scripted for white American mass audiences. The straight-sets drubbing that a tall young Thai named Paradorn Srichaphan gave Andre Agassi at Wimbledon can't be left on the cutting-room floor. Ichiro's leadoff-hitting and base-stealing can't be imitated with wires and special effects.
Hi-tech and bio-tech -- whose estimated $400 billion annual revenues dwarf the media -- have spawned another set of images that clash with Hollywood's. How do Americans reconcile premiere AIDS researcher David Ho or Yahoo co-founder Jerry Yang with Hollywood's Hop Sings and Long Duck Dongs?
Questions arise. Doubts are engendered.
Even modern culture -- commonly tarred by association -- isn't entirely subject to Hollywood's reflexive Asian-male undercutting. Classical music lovers are nourished by Yo-Yo Ma's gourmet cello notes and thrill to the daring rifts of Japan's iron chefs. Younger Americans surrender racial identities to a no-holds-barred universe created by manga artists. Linguists and speed readers frequently abandon Hollywood's relentless quest for the lowest common denominator in favor of films made for Asian sensibilities.
To the extent sports, culture and business enjoy a tighter relationship with reality than does Hollywood, they offer Asian men a fairer, more compelling stage. And these spheres too pack big audiences that take note of the yawning abyss that separates Hollywood's "original flavor" Asian men from the crispier, spicier variety in the real world.
Is America seeing the emergence of a new, improved Asian male image? If so, is it making life easier for Asian American men? Or just stimulating a more determined effort at undercutting?
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WHAT YOU SAY
[This page is closed to new input. --Ed.]
(Updated
Wednesday, Jan 22, 2025, 04:38:55 AM)
Without straying too much from the topic of 'a new image for asian men?'.
it is interesting to note that out of all the places where jewish people lived throughout history, the only jewish people to have assimilated into the mainstream culture were those living in china.
http://www.regenttour.com/china/jews/index-2.htm
the ancient chinese people in china were respectful to foreigners so that was probably why the jewish people felt more at ease with the majority culture and adapted their ways.
Peace
JJ
JJ
Tuesday, July 09, 2002 at 07:30:25 (PDT)
By PARI CHANG
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/05/30/fashion/30CLOS.html
RECENTLY married and took my husband's name: Chang. I am white and I am Jewish and now I am Chinese — at least on paper. I grew up on 1970's feminism; I went to law school, became a professional, and always imagined I would keep my birth name to celebrate my selfhood. Yet when I married a Chinese man, I realized that I could support our marriage best by changing my name to his.
Hyphenation was an option, but hyphenated names often create a cumbersome jingle. In my case, Berk-Chang. It sounded like a stomach ailment ("I've been in the bathroom all night with the Berk-Changs"). I thought of keeping my birth name but did not want the burden of repeatedly explaining, "My husband is Chinese, you know." As my wedding day approached, I decided to take Chang as my last name and, by adding "Asian" to "woman" and "Jew," represent three groups at once.
People sometimes take offense when they discover that I am not Chinese, as if I were engaged in a form of false advertising. Friends recalled the "Seinfeld" episode in which Jerry speaks to a woman named Donna Chang after dialing a wrong number, asks her out and is disappointed to find she is a white woman from Long Island. She had shortened her name from Changstein.
When a group of women friends from out of town unexpectedly visited me in Manhattan, I called a popular Chinese restaurant and asked if it could possibly seat eight people that evening. "You need to call further in advance for a party that large," the hostess told me. "I have only 11 p.m." I asked to be put on the waiting list and gave her my name. Then I heard the rustling of pages. "Well," she said, "I could squeeze you in at 8:30."
When we arrived, I announced my name. "Chang party? You're the Changs?" the hostess said. I imagined her in front of a mirror, rearranging an awkward ensemble. Open the button? No. Belt it? Still wrong. "That's us," I said. I felt guilty as she begrudgingly led us to our table, but what are we Donna Changsteins of the world to do? Should I have interjected on the telephone that afternoon, "Incidentally, ma'am, I am not Chinese — but my husband is"?
I also unwittingly confused the personnel department at the law firm where I practiced at the time of my wedding. After I notified it that I had changed my name from Pari Berk to Pari Chang, a switch was made in the company directory and on my office door. I quickly learned that this meant the assumption of a completely new professional identity. I received the following e-mail message from a work friend the next day:
1. Who the heck is Pari Chang?
2. Does she count in the firm's minority statistics for recruitment purposes?
3. Do the Asian attorneys now view her as competition for the partnership?
During recruitment season, people in the personnel department, not having met me, must have assumed I was Asian, and asked me to interview anyone who was of Asian descent. No doubt some of the candidates I interviewed were perplexed. I noticed a few sidelong glances that suggested "Is she half?" I steered the conversation toward the tired matter of balancing a legal career with a personal life so that I might interject that I was recently married and offer a clue to the mystery of a white girl named Chang.
I do not blame people for assuming that I am Chinese — my name is Chang; it is a fair assumption. Responses sometimes go beyond surprise, however. Acquaintances often boldly announce their approval of Geoffrey as my husband. "I think it's wonderful," they comment. Then they add that he is handsome and "so tall!" Those of the more boorish variety shout, "Pari Chang!" when they see me, as though my name were some kind of verbal high-five.
As time passes, I feel emboldened by my new identity. Losing my birth name, ironically, has been for me a matter of self-definition. I am tickled by the irony of having made a modern decision by doing the most traditional of all things wifely: taking my husband's name.
We were lucky, because both sets of parents approved. They met for the first time before the wedding at an authentic Chinese restaurant chosen by Geoffrey's dad. My dad thought he would wow them with his affinity for moo shoo chicken, his confidence in the wisdom of fortune cookies. My mom asked me if Geoffrey's parents were aware that Jews love Chinese food. But I couldn't help wondering what my father would say if the duck was presented with its neck intact. He is a steak-and-potatoes man, a Hebrew Tony Soprano without the mob, owner of a wholesale meat business in Brooklyn. Geoffrey's dad, Julius, is a physicist.
At first, my dad spoke slowly and clearly when addressing Julius. Had I not popped a sedative before dinner, I might have snapped, "Dad, he speaks English." (Geoffrey's father moved to the United States in the 1950's.) My parents relaxed as Julius told stories of his teenage years around the Jewish neighborhood in Skokie, Ill., where he went to high school. They even tasted the whole-fish soup with enthusiasm. We drank wine and discussed pop culture, gossiped about celebrities.
"So, who is Chinese in Hollywood?" my father suddenly blurted. "What about Mista Miyagi, from `Karate Kid' — is he Chinese?"
Julius, bless him, answered my dad with grace. "Miyagi? Japanese."
"Oh! How about Odd Job, from James Bond — is he Chinese?"
"Odd Job? Supposed to be Korean, but it's a Japanese actor."
In his unorthodox way, my dear father was trying to cozy up and learn. Julius knew this; he could feel the effort at connection beneath the impropriety. In fact, both of my parents and my extended family have welcomed Geoffrey (and embraced my decision to change my name) — and vice versa.
Still, they try to weave tapestries from stray threads. It so happens that Geoffrey's first cousins are half Jewish. Their name is Gottlieb. My grandmother, during our Sunday telephone chats, never fails to ask, "And the Gottliebs, how are they?" The Gottliebs, Grandma, are agnostic. "Doing well," I tell her.
The Chinese are not unlike us, my family likes to say. They joke that Chinese and Jewish women both play mah-jongg. And they think of Chinese and Jewish families as close-knit. Don't they both value good educations and have children who are diligent students, superstars at math?
When Geoffrey laughs, his eyes are smiling moons. When he sleeps, his lashes are like caterpillar legs, straight and stiff. I hope our children will have caterpillar-moon eyes and will know Jewish culture.
We had a Chinese banquet for a rehearsal dinner, and a rabbi officiated at our wedding. We live on a continuum, hovering between East and West. I took Chang as my name to honor this blend, and our choices.
Lynne
Lynne
Tuesday, July 09, 2002 at 06:59:43 (PDT)
I agree that Hollywood, in its portrayal of AM and Asians in general, propagates stereotypes. But there's more than that. There are moments in the media where there are veiled insults towards Asians, carefully calculated to degrade the Asian image. So, when I think about how Hollywood isn't merely careless and insensitive, but consciously making a choice in how to best stick it to us, by swaying Americans into seeing me as a nerd/ kungfu man, my sister into a "me-so-horny" prostitute, my father into a spy, I can't help but take it to heart.
Jews, like any group, have their good people and their bad people. Maybe it's the business of Hollywood that attracts the worst of humans, regardless of ethnicity.
Media-whore
Monday, July 08, 2002 at 21:42:42 (PDT)
JJ,
There are a lot of reason why CTHD suceed in the west but not back in asia:
1) The story is novel in the west. Wu Xia stories have been in asia for thousands of years.
2) Westerner are facinated with Kung Fu.
3) Westerner didn't know the Mandarin spoken was out of place. In Chinese society the first thing the audience asked is why are all the accents out of place. It's like watching a movie set in the civil war period of USA and someone is speaking with a NYC Brookyln italian accent another speaking like a valley girl and a third speaking like a beach bum.
I predict that the Jet Li movie called "Hero" will be a big hit in asia and be less well recieved in the West. Due to the angle in which the Wu Xia genre will be approached.
AC Dropout
Monday, July 08, 2002 at 10:47:14 (PDT)
Geoff,
You wrote: "Arguably, there's no other sport that's more woven into the very fabric of American culture than baseball. There are some really good Asian athletes in the game today."
I agree. I am a tremendous baseball fan, the type who remembers statistics, etc. After thirty years of loyalty, my love has been requited-- Asian major leaguers! My white friends always act like "what's the big deal?" when I tell them how great it is to see big leaguers who look like me. It's no big deal to whites, no longer that big a big deal to blacks and hispanics, to see their own ethnic group in the bigs. But Asians are celebrating, believe me. I grew up worshipping Aaron, Clemente, Mantle-- while Sadaharu Oh was doing his thing in Japan. Now we've got Ichiro on the cover of SI. Awesome!
Yonsei
Monday, July 08, 2002 at 10:45:06 (PDT)
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