I remember a discussion with a Jordanian-American friend a year ago where I asked her, “Since Jordan is in the Middle East, which is part of a greater Asian sub-continent, would you identify yourself as Asian?” She thought about it for a moment and replied, “By that definition, yes, I am geographically Asian. By the conventional definition of ‘Asian,’ no. It does not matter if I choose to call myself Asian because most people think of ‘Asian-ness’ within a certain cultural context.”
In other words, “Asian” carries a strong connection to a set of pre-determined stereotypes within a specific geo-cultural context. If you are “Asian,” you most certainly eat rice all the time, are naturally gifted at math and have strict parents who are probably related to Jackie Chan. “Asia” automatically conjures up images of East Asian culture, portrayed as an exotic land of dragons, samurai and flying kung-fu people. The popular depiction of Far-Eastern culture on American screens has conferred upon it rock star status and the honor of representing all things Asian. The irony is not lost: Asia is a massive continent of rich, diverse cultures that defy the very essence of categorization, yet it has entered popular American culture and our collective conscience as a condensed, homogenous collection of condescending stereotypes.
Perhaps to simplify our understanding of America’s dizzying potpourri of cultures, we resort to using all-encompassing terms to categorize groups of people whom we assume share immutable, homogenizing characteristics: whites, blacks, Hispanics, Asians, LGBT, conservatives, Mormons and soccer moms. Perhaps the frivolous simplicity of this mode of categorization relinquishes us from the cumbersome task of having to contemplate the intricacies of diversity and beauty inherent in difference. God forbid we let ourselves be confused by the very idea of non-conformity or the multiplicity inherent in identity. If people defy categorization and we do not know how to shove them into neatly labeled boxes, how will we ever know how to treat them?
The question becomes: why descend into abstract arguments over definitionism? Is it necessary? Perhaps the most problematic aspect with a restrictive geo-cultural understanding of the term “Asian” is that it condenses a diverse continent — from which three major world religions, numerous ancient civilizations and influential philosophical thoughts emerged — into a handful of patronizing caricatures. If we do engage in the task of definitionism and attempt to settle on a particular rendition, “Asian” at its core would reject the quality of sameness, as it most certainly cannot be used singularly to represent a conglomeration of culturally diverse nations.
Another problematic aspect is that a singular term cannot accurately reflect the ever-changing sociolinguistic landscape of an increasingly globalized Asia, from which Asian-Americans derive ancestral heritage. Take this as an example: the spread of the English language has altered the very character of numerous Asian nations.
My parents come from Singapore, a tiny English-speaking island-state in the Asian Pacific. Singapore is predominantly ethnically Chinese, and my mother’s ancestral origins can be traced back to Yunan, a southeastern province of China. Yet, Singaporeans speak perfect English, a legacy of almost 150 years of British colonization. Singapore does not readily fit into the Eastern-centric definition of “Asian.” We look ethnically Chinese, yet we have mastered the language of our colonizers and now wield it with fierce pride. In particular, Singaporean-American identity is strongly rooted in the ability to express ourselves in English, a native language that will always remain ours.
Yet the caricatural portrayals of Asians as exotic, non-American others often cause momentary confusion in those who lack perspicacity, triggering a cognitive dissonance between ancestral origin and native language.
This makes for mildly amusing introductions, as I am asked all the time: “Your English is so good! But what is your first language, really, and where are you really from?” Such proclamations strive to strip away the legitimacy of identity. Sometimes I find myself questioning my legitimacy in English, my own native tongue, and my place in American society, as if being “Asian” automatically precludes me from claiming certain languages as my own.
The English language is the canvas onto which I paint my experiences: it is the source of my intellect and inspiration, the vessel of my dreams and ambitions, the refuge of my struggles and hardships, the proud bearer of my identity. And I just simply happen to be Asian.
Amir Aziz is a senior international studies major from Singapore.
