By Jason Lim
I grew up in NYC in the 1980s, but went to a school that was largely devoid of Asians. In a class of a little over 100 students, I had one Korean kid who stayed for a year and another Japanese kid who stayed for two.
At the same time, I had my own clique with good buddies belonging to the nebulous grey area between jocks and nerds. Despite the absence of others who looked like me, I felt as if I belonged.
We are talking about the era of badly dubbed Saturday afternoon Kung fu movies ("Five Deadly Venoms," anyone?), "Karate Kid" and "Sixteen Candles." Inevitably, I had friends run up to me with an outrageous Mr. Miyagi accent, asking me to "Wax on" or "Wax off," and to do the crazy crane-on-one-leg move.
Most of the time, I actually obliged because, seriously, which high school kid doesn't appreciate attention? If it was meant to be disparaging, I didn't feel it. And looking back, I don't think my classmates meant it to be disparaging either. It was just a curiosity that they associated with me because some Asian character in a popular movie did it. Some seriously asked me to teach them Karate moves based on the movie, as if I was born a martial artist by the nature of my ethnicity.
"Sixteen Candles" dialed this up a notch with the explosive popularity of its "Long Duk Dong" character. Sure, the character was a mocking stereotype meant to be a comedic relief. But he stole the show and became a popular figure, which, once again, was associated with me in school, eventually earning me various nicknames ― colorful variations on "Long Duk Dong." Eventually, everyone settled on "wanger" as my nickname, lasting until my graduation.
Was I offended at the time? No. Did my friends intend to offend me at the time? Honestly, I don't think so. They meant it to be funny. In fact, everyone in the group had a nickname that was meant to be funny by exaggerating whatever characteristic that that person had. With me, it happened to be my physical features rather than my behavior. But it wasn't meant to be offensive nor was it taken as such.
I felt like I belonged. Of course, I didn't belong to all the different cliques, but who does? I certainly wasn't the "big man on campus." But, at least, I didn't feel disrespected because of my race. I might have been disrespected because I couldn't shoot a basketball, throw a football, or differentiate worth a damn, but I still felt I belonged. It was my community.
In today's speak, people might take pity on me for not being woke enough to be offended. They might point out that I was a mere token in a school filled with a majority of whites (Jewish students, actually). They will point out that being associated with certain abilities or characteristics based on my race is the textbook definition of racism. I might even be accused of internalizing racism or being pathetic enough to crave any type of attention, even one tinged with gross curiosity and scorn. I guess they could be right in an academic sense.
The problem is that living today does not necessarily match all existing anthropological theories. Academic theory will lend a certain truth to a particular snapshot in time, but by its nature, it is not diverse enough to speak to all of the truths lived by individuals on the ground in every moment. Oftentimes, however, I feel as if today's society demands that I feel angry about those instances in the past that would be considered offensive today.
They call for a brotherhood of common outrage, when I don't necessarily feel outraged. And it's a brotherhood the boundaries of which become ever more disparate and granular since everyone wants the right to be uniquely victimized and outraged. Seriously, who isn't a victim today? Conversely, if everyone's a victim, then everyone's also a victimizer.
If I say that my memories about my high school days are positive and warm, then that's what they are. I don't need to feel outraged by what happened several decades ago, using specific existing sensibilities of today when that's not my truth of what happened at the time. Ultimately, isn't that my choice? I have a right not to be outraged or belittled by what people say or do to me. By choosing not to be outraged, I am not disrespecting myself. In fact, I am doing just the opposite; I am empowering myself not to be swayed by the behavior of others.
This fact doesn't mean I want my son to experience the same thing that I did in the 80s. I understand that times change. What I do want for my son, however, is not to be forced into outrage in spite of himself because he is being told to take a side. Sure, he might end up in a situation in which he is a "token." But he can choose not to feel tokenized and take ownership over his own belonging.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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At the same time, I had my own clique with good buddies belonging to the nebulous grey area between jocks and nerds. Despite the absence of others who looked like me, I felt as if I belonged.
We are talking about the era of badly dubbed Saturday afternoon Kung fu movies ("Five Deadly Venoms," anyone?), "Karate Kid" and "Sixteen Candles." Inevitably, I had friends run up to me with an outrageous Mr. Miyagi accent, asking me to "Wax on" or "Wax off," and to do the crazy crane-on-one-leg move.
Most of the time, I actually obliged because, seriously, which high school kid doesn't appreciate attention? If it was meant to be disparaging, I didn't feel it. And looking back, I don't think my classmates meant it to be disparaging either. It was just a curiosity that they associated with me because some Asian character in a popular movie did it. Some seriously asked me to teach them Karate moves based on the movie, as if I was born a martial artist by the nature of my ethnicity.
"Sixteen Candles" dialed this up a notch with the explosive popularity of its "Long Duk Dong" character. Sure, the character was a mocking stereotype meant to be a comedic relief. But he stole the show and became a popular figure, which, once again, was associated with me in school, eventually earning me various nicknames ― colorful variations on "Long Duk Dong." Eventually, everyone settled on "wanger" as my nickname, lasting until my graduation.
Was I offended at the time? No. Did my friends intend to offend me at the time? Honestly, I don't think so. They meant it to be funny. In fact, everyone in the group had a nickname that was meant to be funny by exaggerating whatever characteristic that that person had. With me, it happened to be my physical features rather than my behavior. But it wasn't meant to be offensive nor was it taken as such.
I felt like I belonged. Of course, I didn't belong to all the different cliques, but who does? I certainly wasn't the "big man on campus." But, at least, I didn't feel disrespected because of my race. I might have been disrespected because I couldn't shoot a basketball, throw a football, or differentiate worth a damn, but I still felt I belonged. It was my community.
In today's speak, people might take pity on me for not being woke enough to be offended. They might point out that I was a mere token in a school filled with a majority of whites (Jewish students, actually). They will point out that being associated with certain abilities or characteristics based on my race is the textbook definition of racism. I might even be accused of internalizing racism or being pathetic enough to crave any type of attention, even one tinged with gross curiosity and scorn. I guess they could be right in an academic sense.
The problem is that living today does not necessarily match all existing anthropological theories. Academic theory will lend a certain truth to a particular snapshot in time, but by its nature, it is not diverse enough to speak to all of the truths lived by individuals on the ground in every moment. Oftentimes, however, I feel as if today's society demands that I feel angry about those instances in the past that would be considered offensive today.
They call for a brotherhood of common outrage, when I don't necessarily feel outraged. And it's a brotherhood the boundaries of which become ever more disparate and granular since everyone wants the right to be uniquely victimized and outraged. Seriously, who isn't a victim today? Conversely, if everyone's a victim, then everyone's also a victimizer.
If I say that my memories about my high school days are positive and warm, then that's what they are. I don't need to feel outraged by what happened several decades ago, using specific existing sensibilities of today when that's not my truth of what happened at the time. Ultimately, isn't that my choice? I have a right not to be outraged or belittled by what people say or do to me. By choosing not to be outraged, I am not disrespecting myself. In fact, I am doing just the opposite; I am empowering myself not to be swayed by the behavior of others.
This fact doesn't mean I want my son to experience the same thing that I did in the 80s. I understand that times change. What I do want for my son, however, is not to be forced into outrage in spite of himself because he is being told to take a side. Sure, he might end up in a situation in which he is a "token." But he can choose not to feel tokenized and take ownership over his own belonging.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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