I Am An American.
Yesterday, after hearing about the riots in china, and how the Chinese government blocked access to Twitter and Facebook, I logged onto Twitter, and I had this @reply:
A quick Babelfish translation of Spanish to English:
willterra RT @glamurama China próibe access when twitter and facebook. (it has one such of @chungyen twittando hahahah here)
A better translation:
willterra RT@glamurama China is monitoring access to Twitter and Facebook. (they have a spy here, @chungyen hahahah)
I have lived in The United States my whole life. I was born in Bloomington, Indiana and then my parents moved to Kentucky soon after. I have lived here ever since. I been here for nineteen years, but I am not American enough.
People take for granted their citizenship. It seems simple– if you are an American, you can vote. You can serve in the army. You enjoy the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving. But it is different for me, because even though I am an American, I am constantly called on to prove it. Things like not being a tourist, being able to speak English, being an intelligent human being, and even being a human being at all– these things are called into question all the time, whether it is through outright racism or tiny little incidents.
Photo: rosswebsdale
Recently, I have spent a lot of time seeing doctors and nurses for my allergies. Through the words and actions of other people, my race and my citizenship has been made an issue of, even without their notice. Here are some things I have heard:
Hi. My name is Dr. _____. Do you speak English?
This is asked at the beginning of a conversation– before I am even given a chance to prove that I am native-born, I have already been assigned the category of “foreigner”. People say this as if my Rice-filled brain is literally incapable of learning the English language. When I answer that, yes, I do speak English, in a perfectly clear, region-neutral American dialect, their faces twitch or they do a tiny double take, almost as if the very idea is offensive.
(Phone) Hello. This is a call from Anglo Allergens to remind you that (different voice) CHENGWEN’s appointment is tomorrow.
This really makes me question the intelligence of people. I mean, there is no ENG or W in my name. At all. Where the fuck do people get this? Are they so lazy that they can’t even read the letters of my name? It isn’t in Chinese characters. It is anglocized and read exactly as it is with English consonants and vowels. What is worse is that no one even bothers to ask my name, or if they do, they shrug it off because it is “difficult”.
When I talk to other people, I am asked these questions:
What country are you from?
The United States.
Are you from China or Japan?
Why does it fucking matter? Are you from Germany, Switzerland, France, or Poland?
The problem with this question and the one before is not that it is about my heritage, but it is about my citizenship. I know this because when I answer “America”, people will ask, “but what country is your family from?”, almost as if I am not an American.
Are you Chinese or Japanese?
Are there only two countries in Asia?
If you see a black person, you assume that they are African American. “American” as in a citizen, as in belonging to America. But for me it is “are you Chinese”, not “are you Chinese American”. I am automatically assumed to not a citizen. If you think I’m overreacting or paranoid, just think about what it would be like if you asked a black person, “Are you African?”
I am a very opinionated person, especially about American politics. From time to time, I have gotten into fights with people who, after running out of good arguments, pull the race card:
Well what do you know about America?
Well look who’s talking. Are you even an American citizen?
These aren’t rare occurences. They happen all of the time, whether people know it or not. Have you ever seen a group of people of a different race hanging out together? Would you approach them? No. If you saw me on the street, would you think that I even know how to speak English? The answer is probably not.
Even if I am not being called a “chink” or “ching chong chinaman” on the street, I am still losing. My name is still gutted like a tired fish. My eyes have to meet other eyes which bore into my intelligence. I will always be the funny, quirky, sexless Asian guy.
Imagine that you are in love with a woman. Imagine that that woman refuses to even look at you. Imagine that that women thinks you are strange, that you are stupid or a “yellow predator” or ugly. Imagine that the woman you love refuses to return your love. Imagine how much that hurts. That is where I am.
I am in love with America. I was born and raised here, and I am in love with this country’s ideals. And despite the stupidity, I really am in love with the people.
I once believed that there were equal chances– that if you tried hard and did good that people would accept you, that you could really become a part of The Dream. I once believed that it doesn’t matter how you look, but how you love.
But I will never be white enough to be American.
