The “Model Minority” Report: Building ‘Em Up Just to Tear ‘Em Down

In the U.S, being “Asian” carries implications beyond ethnicity and country of origin. Particularly in the classroom setting and the workplace, being “Asian” implies ambition and excellence, high-achievement and success. In America, being of Asian descent puts you in the category of the model minority, the minority group has made it – the group that assimilates itself most successfully in that country, and essentially, winners of the American Dream.

A perfect photo op: President Obama signs Executive Order 13515, “Increasing Participation of Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders in Federal Programs”

When I first learned about Asians being the model minority, I didn’t think there was anything particularly wrong. On the contrary, I figured, if every minority is associated with a stereotype anyway, then the “model minority” is probably a good standard to uphold to. After all, who doesn’t want to be part of the group that has the highest education rates and lowest crime rates?

Conventional success, no matter how inside-the-box, beats unconventional failure. Everything has multiple facets, and if this is the good side of racism, so be it.

Memes like these “Asian dad” ones are easy – to come up with, and to hit the target

It’s hard to vocalize stereotypes, especially when they seem to work in your favor. I can’t deny that part of the reason I work so hard is because I know that the standards I have to meet are high. Does the model minority stereotype push me to excel? I am generally an outgoing person, but if I don’t want to participate in a classroom setting, I will take advantage of my “quiet Asian girl” appearance and sit invisibly in the classroom, undisturbed by professor and classmates. We find it hard to justify our perturbation with the model minority stereotype when, in fact, we believe that we are beneficiaries of it.

CAPAC dispels some Asian American “model minority” myths, but no matter how catchy the infographic, it’s up against much more

Yet, the thing is, we’re not.

The model minority status is an excuse.

It is an excuse bestowed upon Asian Americans telling them, “Look, you’re smart and successful not because you worked for it, but because you are Asian, and this is how your people are.” The model minority stereotype appears to be an agent to our success when, instead, it strips us of our own self worth.

Why should I believe that my hard work is motivated by racism, when it is in fact, a part of who I am, and a reflection of my tenacity and strength? Why should I be able to play up the “quiet Asian girl” appearance, when that is not who I am, when such a type shouldn’t even exist? As a people, if we are a people, we should identify with our culture of origin – if we want – but that’s different from the model minority stereotype, because that is a categorization that was placed out of our control.

Five Snapshots of Busan, South Korea

When your everyday person thinks of South Korea, what comes to mind is probably Seoul. Or kimchi, or Korean dramas, or Kim Yuna for that matter. But in terms of city names, Seoul would likely be at the top of the list. This is no surprise – Seoul is a major global metropolis, the capital and the biggest city of South Korea.

However, have you heard of Busan? As South Korea’s second largest city and located by the ocean, Busan is an important economic hub with the world’s fifth busiest seaport and the world’s biggest department store (the Shinsegae Centum City). It is especially known for its top-notch seafood and luxurious, sandy beaches.

As a tourist in Busan traveling from Seoul, I found Busan to be delightfully different and exotic in many ways, from the people to the food to the atmosphere. Here are a few moments from my time spent in Busan.

Say hello to Busan’s famous ssiat hotteok (seed-stuffed pancake)

Commonly sold by Busan’s street vendors, hotteok is nothing special in Korean street food cuisine. However, the vendor selling this particular hotteok had a queue of eager customers down the street! Chewy, crunchy, and stuffed with sunflower and pumpkin seeds and sugar, this treat had me wishing I’d bought a second (or a third… or fourth…).

Look at these colorful umbrellas!

At Haeundae Beach, one of the most famous beaches in Korea, one can rent a mat and simply relax under the shade of one of the many umbrellas. During the hot seasons, the shores can be overrun by beachgoers clad in bathing suits, frolicking in the blue waters and soaking up the summer sun. This is the setting of a famous South Korean disaster movie called Haeundae (Tidal Wave in English), where Busan is hit by a huge tsunami.

Something smells fishy around here…

Busan’s reigning symbol, Jagalchi Market is a huge fish market where fresh fish and seafood are sold daily. The products are so fresh, they’re still swimming around in the buckets! It’s an adventure to stroll through aisles of colorful, canopy-covered stalls, exploring the vast variety of seafood offered at this market. Speaking of seafood…

Say hello to my little friend…

Raw octopus. That’s right, the lady selling octopi chopped the tentacled legs of one unlucky, still-squirming fellow up into little pieces, divided the parts into cups, and gave it to us to sample. Just for the record, it’s very salty. Very salty, very chewy, and very… lively.

All aboard! This is Busan Station

This train station is of utmost importance in Korea’s transportation system. It is part of the Gyeongbu line, the most important railway line in the country that connects Seoul, located in the northern part of South Korea, to Busan, which is located in the south, in under 3 hours.

Although I only spent a few days in Busan, I left the city with many unforgettable experiences and blissful memories. The next time I fly to South Korea, stopping by Busan will definitely be on my itinerary.

All photographs in article courtesy of the author

Protest Smart, Not Loud: Why Do We Protest?

It seems a simple enough question. We protest to demonstrate our displeasure. We protest to take democracy back into our own hands and show the world we mean business.

By definition, the word “protest” suggests that there is an object that is the recipient of our displeasure; in other words, to protest we must have something we are protesting. There is no protest for the sake of the protest alone (at least there shouldn’t be). I think we can all agree that a protest is an expression of popular opinion, which seeks to change something already in existence, and that I’ve already used that word way too many times in one paragraph.

Sproul Hall Plaza at Berkeley, the site of many protests and rallies, past and present – to the extent that, in the 1960s, a journalist (Herbert Jacobs) developed a method for measuring crowd size from gridding protests at Sproul Hall

Humor aside, as a Berkeley student, I’m no stranger to protests. It’s part of the cultural identity of my university, one that distinguished us in the history of the United States and will continue to ripple through our legacy. We certainly have no shortage of things to protest. It seems like every semester brings another large-scale protest to the campus, over a variety of issues like tuition increases, perceived social injustices, unpopular UC officials, world affairs, and under-compensated graduate students. The list goes on. In the years that I’ve studied here, my attitude toward these protests frequently oscillates between pride and annoyance. I am proud because they are a crucial aspect of what makes Berkeley unique. They show how much our students care about the world around them and how people can make their voices heard.

I am annoyed because we often go about this in the wrong way.

It’s no secret that many things are settled in the court of popular opinion before they’re ever settled officially. Though there are many negative consequences to this, it’s an inevitable part of our society. When we protest in the wrong way, we turn the tide of popular opinion against us, not only failing to help our goals, but also invoking our dismissal as a legitimate voice. As I said above, we must have a purpose in order to protest. Without this purpose, a protest can degenerate into a collection of angry people shouting incoherently and achieving nothing. Then, a protest is no longer taken seriously and its chances of effecting change dramatically decreases.

If we protest, we need to be aware of who our target audience is. The ones who can affect the changes we want to see are the ones who should hear our protests. When protests disrupt the laypeople, instead of triggering empathy, it often triggers a backlash. This is why blocking the freeway is such an unsound demonstration strategy.

Now, why did I go into this rant about protests?

Though it’s been nearly 2 weeks, the protests in Taiwan seem to be only getting bigger. On Saturday, more than 100,000 Taiwanese protestors marched to Taipei, the capital of Taiwan, to demonstrate their anger over President Ma Ying-jeou’s trade deal with China. They fear that this deal would hurt Taiwan’s domestic businesses and allow for more Chinese influence in Taiwanese affairs. These started off as student movements, with hundreds of university students taking over Taiwan’s legislative building and camping out in the main assembly hall. Thousands more have since shown up in support.

Protest in Taipei on Saturday, March 30. The signs read 反黑箱 (fǎn hēixiāng), or “anti-black box“, meaning the protesters are against the opaque maneuvering of the Taiwanese government over the trade agreement with China

My fellow contributors on The Wang Post have also addressed this story, but I would like to use the “Sunflower Student Movement” to demonstrate my point in respect to the productivity of protests.

Though the demonstrations had generally been peaceful, violence broke out as protestors moved from the legislative into the executive building. The police responded by using force to remove them from the premises. This is where the protest went wrong.

The demonstrators have valid points. Their logic is easy to follow and it’s completely understandable why they would be upset. However, by effectively suspending the ability for the government to function productively, the protest has reached a point where the occupation itself might be harming the Taiwanese economy and its international economic credibility.

With a protest, it’s easy for passions to get riled up and for the group dynamic to lead to actions which go beyond its initial intentions. Certain ideas are contributory, but others can be damaging to the organized effort. This works on both sides. The Taiwanese government certainly isn’t doing itself any favors by using force to deal with the students, but neither are the protestors by venturing into disruptive territory.

Ultimately, it’s important to realize why we protest. If we want to affect change, we have to be smart about it. As the protest in Taiwan continues to gather steam, let’s hope it keeps this in mind.

Laowai Comics: Self-Help for Chinese Holiday Travel

Step Guide to holiday travel. Click to enlarge.

This week from our friend Laowai Comics. Only in China. Keep it crazy.

One Picture = 1,000 Words? Here’s 5,000 (and Change)

In my week trawling the web for images, there are some pictures I come across – which, I always hope, TWP could use to illustrate articles, but most of the time, it’s just a cousin to the Wiki wormhole. Here they are, and a bonus if you’re stuck inside due to the snow like we are: guess for which of this week’s articles they were culled.

Clever Bart Simpson graffiti in Spain

I know it’s Photoshopped (right? right?), but yowza! Jay Chou

Naked couple duvet: a different sort of conversation in bed

The most awesome “tiger mom”

Looking Through My Lens: Why I Take Pictures

In an era where people enjoy taking pictures on their iPhones, I’m still walking around with a manually adjustable film camera. I need to spend hours in the darkroom processing the negatives to make prints. My friends always ask me what keeps me enthusiastic in my photography and why I choose a film camera over a digital one. While I do like my high-performance digital camera, I see the world differently through a film camera.

Usually, I have to wait a few days – sometimes, even a month – to see what I’d shot. In the darkroom, under the dim orange light, I drop the photo paper into the developer, flipping it for about thirty seconds; the image would appear, spreading from the corners to the center. A minute later, I carry the fresh print in a tray under normal light, and I see a scene from the past.

At times, the negative may appear “boring”, but I’d go ahead and print it. To my surprise, there are details I hadn’t noticed, either when taking the picture or in the darkroom: an old woman with her face raised to the afternoon sunshine as a man passes by, walking his dog; students in a blur, jogging down a path; customers, at a restaurant, with the soft glow of light bulbs overhead. The people and the harmony of these scenes make me realize the eternal appeal of Charlottesville, my town, and why Thomas Jefferson chose to make his home here so long ago.

Documenting a moment of happiness

(Photo: Shabai Chen)

As a beginner in film photography, I felt frustrated whenever I’d ruin a roll of negatives. Later, I learned photography is a personal experience: the negatives may be ruined, the positives may be lost, but one’s memories occupies forever a space in one’s heart.

Last Spring Festival, I met an old Chinese woman with her five-months-old granddaughter. She was helping take care of the infant for her own daughter. The baby’s name was Jiu Yue, which meant September in Mandarin; we had a long conversation, and I took a roll of black and white pictures of them. Unfortunately, it didn’t come out the following month, and I nearly cried when I looked at the blank negatives.

I sat on a bench outside the studio, holding my camera and feeling its weight, trying to find meaning in this format. Finally, I told myself, that although I lost the physical representation, I’d met a nice woman and a cute baby, had a sweet conversation. I felt warm when I thought of the beautiful afternoon. I still had my memory; the only pit was that I couldn’t share it with others.

A photograph doesn’t show the truth; it’s first and foremost there to show you what the photographer sees. An example: on Tuesday, April 16, 2013, the University of Virginia’s Chapel bell tolled 32 times at 9:43 a.m., once for each of the victims in the April 16, 2007 shooting at Virgina Tech and for the victims of the bombing at the Boston Marathon a day prior. I sat in the garden, counting the bells; looking through the trees and through my lens, I focused on the bells and documented that moment to 1/125th of a second.

The author at an art exhibition

(Photo: Shabai Chen)

Photography is not about aperture, shutter speed, or framing; to me, it’s about life. It slows down my rapid pace, reminding me of the meaning of life and that it is wonderful. I enjoy not only the process of making prints in the darkroom, but also matting and compiling a portfolio – all those moments, memories, stories, and surprises together. My portfolio is about me: about walking in the forest, lying on the grass, looking at my shadows, seeking soft lights, and listening to my own voice.

Life is like photography: we develop from the negatives.

Recently, I did what my teacher told me in my first class: turn off your phone while taking pictures. Then, I turned on a peaceful world with sky peeping through the trees, outlining the delicate edges of the leaves; a little boy with a balloon; blooming flowers with morning dew still on them. That was what I saw through my lens.

Little boy with balloon

(Photo: Shabai Chen)

“Ms. Left” Searching for “Mr. Right”

Last week, my friend Candice called me with excitement I could hear right through the phone: she announced a good “peach blossom” (桃花, tao hua) she’d receive in the coming months. I was surprised by her change in attitude: luck in love, in feng shui , is known as “peach blossom luck”, but astrology?! Who would pay for that? Yet, “peach blossom luck” is one of the most desired sign for any woman, especially for those in their mid-to-late 20s, due to their fear of becoming a “Ms. Left”.

A career fair? No – it’s a large-scale blind date! The goal is “No girl left behind!”

In the last couple of decades, the word “Ms. Left” (剩女, sheng nu) has increased in its popularity in Chinese lexicon to describe a growing social group: women who’ve reached the age of 25 and are still single. A Chinese woman’s ideal marriage age, to be considered “normal” and “responsible” by society, is around her mid-20s; therefore, the use of “Ms. Left” is slightly mocking and implies that these “leftover girls” failed to find their “Mr. Rights”. In the past, there was no such word as “Ms. Left”; for thousands of years in a conservative China, young people married under their parents’ or families’ orders, which rarely let daughters be “left behind” without a purpose.

The emergence of “Ms. Left” in popular language would not be possible without China’s fast economic development and cultural opening-up in the 1970s. The new generation, born in the 80s and 90s, was lucky and enjoyed the advantages, compared to their parents. In contrast to 30 years ago when only a limited number of women completed college degrees, today, female Masters and PhDs are ordinary and abundant in China. This is one reason why women today are closer to being “Ms. Lefts”: they’re in school for longer, and once they’ve graduated, in a society where education and economic status are paramount, these women may not want to marry “down”.

Take my friend Candice as an example. After graduating from a prestigious university in China at the age of 22, she came to the U.S. for graduate school. When she completed her Masters education, she was 24 – oops, only a year away from age 25! If she’s still single by then, congratulations, Candice has earned herself, along with her Bachelors and Masters, the title of “Ms. Left”. There are many women in China in the same situation; no wonder, the number of “Ms. Lefts” is increasing dramatically.

Though not favored by young women, the label of “Ms. Left” cheers up other people: the “dating and marriage” business in China is booming. Pressure posed on women by the media’s abuse of “Ms. Lefts” contributes to modern Chinese women’s search of marriageable men before “it’s too late” (a.k.a., before they’re placed in the category of a “Ms. Left”). The other part to this is the young men: they’ve realized that the clock tick-tocks for them as well, and the competition drives the demand on the male side too. (Though, they might be more concerned about running out of other choices besides the “Ms. Lefts” if they don’t hurry.)

Suddenly, reality dating shows are viral on major television channels. One of the most successful shows, “If You are the One” (非诚勿扰, Fei cheng wu rao), imported and tailored to the Chinese market, has earned the highest program ratings since 2010 and represents a cultural trend. (It’s now a classic case study at Harvard Business School!) Admittedly, the program is rather fun to watch, with 24 pretty women standing behind lighted podiums waiting for the male candidates (5 per show) to show up, engage in banter, and swoop them off their feet. The problem is: these TV programs are entertainment, rather than solving one’s real-world relationship urgency. But, not to worry, if you aren’t the star of a popular reality show, there are myriad professional matching websites and dating agents who will fight for your business.

A scene from the Chinese dating show “If You are the One” (非诚勿扰). Ladies, let’s get it started!

Although it’s unclear whether society’s hyperventilating about “Ms. Left” drove Candice to pay a generous amount of cash to a well-known astrologist to analyze her romantic prospects, she became a lot happier and more relaxed after knowing a peach blossom luck blooms in her future.

“Ms. Left” is a unique feature in modern China: in the Western world, many single women in their 30s and 40s are label-free. Instead of judging how Eastern culture imposes pressure on women, the more realistic problem relates to how women view themselves. Surely, 20-somethings have youth on their side, but it doesn’t mean that women in their 30s, 40s, or beyond are “decrepit”: on the contrary, they’re stunning with the sophistication, wisdom, and confidence that younger women do not have. No matter how society changes, it’s the woman’s self-perception that matters.

As women become more confident, I believe that one day “Mr. & Ms. Left” will no longer be a derogatory term, but just another happy couple living next door to “Mr. & Ms. Right”.