Immigration buzz

This past summer, I was on my way to Chicago from the East Coast for my flight to Taiwan, but I decided to stop in Detroit along the way, because a cousin of mine was living there. Out of an extended family of forty-some odd cousins, I was the third youngest. Therefore, it's not a surprise that this cousin was older than I was and already had a husband and kids. As a single person, living a single life, my time is not infinite, but I come and go as I please. Not exactly so when you're married, much less have a family. There's always something that's needs to be taken care of other than yourself. So when I arrived at the airport, I wasn't surprised that my cousin-in-law had somewhere else to go immediately after picking me up. What did surprise me was the nature of the destination. He had been living in the US with his wife (my cousin) for about a decade now, first going to school and then now working. They had gone through the immigration process, and had waited years through the paperwork, and today, today was the culmination. Today was the day that he was naturalized and sworn in. To think that I had happened to swoop into Michigan on the very same day. I almost felt like I cheated, since I stumbled onto the show, but suffered none of the anticipation. On a typical overcast Michigan day, we drove to an Indian cultural center. It was much like other Indian cultural centers that I've been to; it looked western in architectural tastes. At first, I wondered if we were at the wrong place. But seeing a mish-mash collective of different cultures from around the world milling about, also wondering if they were in the right place, I was pretty sure we were on spot. The soon-to-be naturalized and the witnesses were separated, and I, being a witness, was ushered to a seat in the back of the makeshift auditorium and told to wait. I looked around and wondered about my own naturalization. I was born in Taiwan, and came to the United States when I was 7. I still hold a dual citizenship, meaning that if I ever joined the U.S. Army, I'd have to renounce my Taiwanese citizenship, and if I ever stayed in Taiwan for an extended amount of time, I'd need to carry papers on me that I grew up in the US, unless I want to be risk being dragged kicking and screaming to be conscripted into the Taiwanese military. I don't remember much about my naturalization into the US. I mostly remember the life before, sitting in school with friends, and the life after playing with kids who didn't speak mandarin. I certainly don't remember a ceremony like this. Looking around, I wondered how many of them will remember this. Most of them looked pretty excited. There was a certain buzz, but it was no rock concert. The actual ceremony was actually a bit unorganized. The ceremony started late. The ceremonial music started and stopped, and had to be restarted by the person operating the CD player. It had the feel of a 2nd rate political campaign of a rural county. Not that it mattered much, of course. People were excited regardless, but like I said, it was no rock concert. The speakers did a usual ceremonial speech. It was spoken with pride and an amateur genuineness, and I have to applaud the speaker for not succumbing to the hubris of calling America the-best-place-to-be-a-citizen-ever that is commonly heard. Instead, she spoke about what rights and freedoms they have now as newly minted American citizens, and what that means to her. It seemed to fit the general atmosphere. I remember one day about a two or three years after we moved here, my dad was discussing with his Taiwanese friends here in America, "What is an American?" They grew up in a place where ethnic identity also determined your national identity. It was a bit harder for them to wrap their heads around the idea of an ethnic identity separate from a national identity. They merely concluded, "Anyone that calls themselves an American is an American." Over the years, beyond those which I've been alive, many have tried to define what is meant by "American-ness", "American spirit", or "All-American". People will point to different things, like baseball, football, drinking beer, little league, mini-vans and soccer moms, and say to you, "This is American." They'll point to BBQs and burgers, Hollywood movies, Wall Street, Main Street, Silicon Valley, fried green tomatoes, and cowboys, and say to you, "This is American." All of which makes you wonder if you're American if you don't do those things, especially as an immigrant or children of immigrants. Coming back to my senses in the naturalization ceremony, everyone was applauding. They were taking turns being sworn in, and getting their papers. It was odd to me. It was as if they were suddenly Americans by mere mention of words, when in reality it will take many more years for them to really figure it out for themselves. What the speaker doesn't tell them that day are the mixed experiences America will send them. Some will embrace them and ask them what they're eating for lunch everyday and even ask to try some. Others will shun and discriminate them not on their job performance by the language barrier or the lack of correct social skills acceptable in America. They'll find that their kids won't necessarily date kids of their own ethnic background and that there will be a large rift between them. And perhaps, over the years, they'll grow so accustomed to being an immigrant in America that they too will feel reverse culture shock when they go to their country of origin. And mostly importantly, for Taiwanese people, they'll learn that those gym shorts are WAY too short for guys to wear in public. For those of us 2nd generation or even 3rd generation Americans, I think it's refreshing to attend a naturalization ceremony. It makes you think about what your own parents or parent's parents went through so you can be here. It makes you think about who you are and what you represent as an American. And though it's no rock concert, it certainly has all the makings of one. Wil Chung currently often wears a jacket indoors and two scarves, braving sub-zero temperatures down at UIUC while tagging along at a gun show. He learned that guns made before the late 1800's have no three day waiting period.

No thank you

My AP American History class loves to do roleplay activities to "apply" what we learn in class. still think lecture is the most effective method of learning, but hey, acting out history is fun too. Our recent studies have been focused on the westward expansion and the California gold rush. This is the only unit that will touch on the Chinese in American history and the various hardships they experienced. (As a sidenote, I still don't think textbooks cover enough history about Asian-Americans in history and their involvement in pursuing that "American Dream.") The 2 paragraph section in my 700 page textbook covered the railroad building and coal mining that the Chinese participated in. Another notable passage is the restriction of Chinese immigration by the US government to rid of "coolies" and their "stealing" of American jobs. Thankfully, my classmates realized just how important it was for us to cover Asian-American history. 5 members of the class wrote scripts to act out a chapter of our textbook and one scene included the oppression of the Chinese. Obviously the students chose Mr. Hu, Ms. Hu, and yours truly, Mr. Yang to act out the roles of "Chinaman 1, Chinaman 2, and Chinaman 3." As if that wasn't degrading enough, the props included "Chinaman hats" for all three of us. How beneficial! When it was our turn to act, the director of the scene apoligized to me. "I'm sorry, but I forgot to bring your Chinaman hats." Oh dear! How could you forget? "By the way, can you guys make Asian accents?" No. Actually I can't. I chose to participate in the scene for the sake of obligation. However, I spoke in the same manner I always would. While I will admit that it may be all in good fun, I won't deny that I was bothered by the selection of words these students chose to use in reference to Asians. I'm not Chinese. I'm a Taiwanese American. And even if I was Chinese, the word "Chinaman" is not a word I think should be thrown around so casually. I don't blame anyone who does use the term. Maybe it is just because people still don't know about the history of Asian Americans in and the background behind "Chinaman." Chinaman - offensive terms for a person of Chinese descent Defined for you through another application of the word: Chinaman's chance means de facto no chances at all. The "devolved" slang phrase: "Chinaman's Chance"; meaning "a slim chance to make it". The historical context of the phrase comes from the old railroad and Goldrush days of pre-California, where many Chinese came to work as laborers for the First Transcontinental Railroad, especially the Central Pacific Railroad. In this employ, they were sought out for the demanding and dangerous jobs involving explosives, often for half the pay of the Irish workers. Yet the Chinees had to pay additional and higher taxes, could not testify in court against violence against them, were denied citizenship, and could be forced from profitable property. The use and "devolution" of the slang phrase "Chinaman's Chance in Hell," into "Chinaman's Chance," resulted, ending up as an insult to Chinese people not necessarily as its original intention, but as a reflection of the callous attitude towards the lives of Chinese immigrant workers. Let's be careful about the words we use. Think twice before you speak. Justin spends his free time doing homework in AP American History. Between study breaks, he researches minority American history and unknown hardships minorities experienced in the 1900s and in the present day. One day he hopes everybody will be just as aware of Asian American hardships as they are of other minority struggles.

Overheard amongst Taiwanese moms

It's hard as a Taiwanese immigrant to fit into the American workplace. It's not that the work is hard, but the language and social barriers are hard to overcome. Overheard as one Taiwanese mom related a story to another: "These Americans, they think that just because you don't socialize, that you're stupid. The work is trivial. I handed in my work within hours, rather than the full day, and my boss had to ask me if it was correct!" So while commiserating, one of the Taiwanese moms offered advice. "Look, it's not that hard. All of them have photos littered about their desk. All you have to do is pick up a photo and ask questions about it." Seemed simple enough. So she took the advice and the next day, she was at a female co-worker's desk, and she saw picture frames littered about the desk. She picked one of them up and said, "This is a cute picture. Is this your grandson?" The female co-worker looked at her a bit strangely, and replied, "No...that's my son." The Taiwanese mom nearly bite her own tongue off, and berated herself, "Those that can't converse shouldn't be so quick to open their mouth!" When she got back together with her Advice Dispenser over lunch, she gave her an earful. "Don't give advice when you didn't tell the whole story!" Wil Chung recently moved to Chicago and is braving the cold. He keeps a tech blog at http://webjazz.blogspot.com.

The Chopstick Fiend

A fork is an eating utensil, often with three or four tines. In the Western world, it is an important tool for eating, while in East Asia, chopsticks are more prevalent. Though I was born in Taiwan, I live in the Western world, in the American Midwest. Rice was a staple to my diet, and Mandarin and Taiwanese were both prominent in my linguistical diet. Yet in this Western world that I grew up in, I end up using the fork more often, and speaking English much more fluently. Four students recently came to stay with us over Thanksgiving break. Their parents are friends with my parents, and though they live in Taiwan, they attend a boarding school in Midwest America. With nowhere else to go during their break, they stayed at our house. With the house full with the guests and both my sisters home from college sorority houses and New York City apartments,the table was set with more deliberance than if it had been just my parents and myself, as it so often is these days. Our guests, more familiar with chopsticks, gravitated toward chopsticks to eat the very non-boarding-schoolesque food that my mom made a point to make. Therefore, we set the table with chopsticks, though three dining forks usually made their way to my sisters' and my own places. It was one day at lunch that I looked up and realized that I was the only one using a fork. Across from me, four teenagers just around my age were eating their noodles with chopsticks. My parents were eating with chopsticks, as usual, but beside me, my sisters were also using chopsticks. My sisters grew up with the same mixed culture as I did: an American community seeping into an Asian home. I distinctly remember when my sisters or I set the table, we would grab four chopsticks (two pairs) and three forks, and whatever other necessary utensils for the meal. My parents always used chopsticks, and my sisters and I more often than not ate with forks. We knew how to use chopsticks but somehow a preference for forks arose. My parents never insisted that we use chopsticks, or tried to nudge us toward using chopsticks. They quietly let us assimilate into the American culture of fork usage. My mom likes to tell people about the Korean American considered the best surgeon in St. Louis. It came up in a conversation in a group of doctors, and I don't know if there is any truth in that, but my mom references the usage of chopsticks in being helpful in surgery. The skills used in chopstick control are supposed to be fine and precise. I've recently been picking up chopsticks more often when I sit down to eat. I've always known how to use them and not badly and I feel a tinge of regret that I haven't applied myself in meals past. A fork is immensely easy to use - grab, stab, and eat. Chopsticks on the other hand demand more elegance and function. To me, it doesn't take much more effort to force two separate sticks to work together to seize some food and bring it to my mouth, yet I know something more is working than when I pick a fork out of the kitchen drawer. Jessica likes food. She utilizes a variety of eating utensils, from the knife to the spork, but prefers not to use a spoon, except in the case of soup. However, she still consumes corn soup with a fork.