MULTICULTURAL STUDENT AFFAIRS

In self-isolation, my go-to activity so far has been watching anime. I’ve switched it up by doing homework, going on walks, cooking new things and the like, but I always come back to anime. It started out with Haikyu!! and eventually developed into Ouran High School Host Club, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Balance: Unlimited, Demon Slayer, and most recently Tokyo Ghoul—all of which have brought me great joy and engagement during times when there isn’t a lot to be found. I’ve been thinking a lot about why exactly I enjoy it so much. The first thing that comes to mind is Asian-American media, which I’m expected to enjoy because of representation.

The time that I started college was the advent of an interesting time in terms of high-profile Asian-American media representation. 2017 had The Big Sick; 2018 gave rise to Crazy Rich Asians, Searching, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before and Hasan Minhaj’s Patriot Act; 2019 produced The Farewell and Hustlers; this year has already sprouted Parasite’s Best Picture win (although that feels ages ago now), Never Have I Ever, The Half of It and Tigertail. All of them were interesting to watch, but very few felt completely satisfying to me.

I noticed that in some of these movies/shows, they’re not actually designated for an Asian-American audience—they target an “American” one, i.e. mostly white. When there’s an Asian-American protagonist, they usually have mostly white friends (which isn’t necessarily unrealistic, but it’s not as common as representation of it is). There are superficial markers of Asian households (dumplings, Yakult), but they’re often explained or even performed to the audience rather than simply existing in normalcy (Lara Jean explaining Yakult to Peter Kavinsky). While these media are praised for “representation,” studios are still primarily concerned with the interests of white audiences, and sacrifice a lot of substance in the process.

Of the pieces that aren’t so guilty of catering to white audiences (ex: The Farewell, Tigertail), they still feel deliberately Asian-American—as in, they’re mostly about Asian-American-specific experiences like immigration, culture clash, being stuck between two worlds, et cetera, rather than about humanity as a whole. While I still appreciate those for the realizations they bring about myself—I cried my eyes out to The Farewell—I don’t want every movie with an Asian-American protagonist to suddenly be an “Asian-American” movie. Which made me wonder, Am I just being picky? What do I even want from Asian-Americans in media? What is the ideal? 

Then, I recently watched Lady Bird and Frances Ha, both of which are really interesting, heartwarming stories on womanhood and aging. Even though the characters weren’t Asian-American like me, they were used to tell a story about the human experience that I could relate to. I wanted that. I didn’t just want an Asian-American character performing their background for white audiences, but I didn’t solely want stories of Asian-American-specific experiences, either, because that isn’t the limit of what we have to offer. I also wanted Asian-American characters who were just themselves: human and complete. What makes that so difficult to have?

I encountered this topic recently in Af-Am 339: Unsettling Whiteness. We talked about Richard Dyer’s book White, in which he breaks down concepts of whiteness in areas such as pop culture. He says that because the concept of race came from white people and has been a tool of theirs for so long, to be white means to be without an assigned race. White is the default. When we describe passing a white person on the street, we say a person. When we describe passing an Asian person on the street, we say an Asian person. White people get to be just “people,” to which Dyer says, “There is no more powerful position than that of being ‘just’ human. The claim to power is the claim to speak for the commonality of humanity. Raced people can’t do that—they can only speak for their face. But non-raced people can, for they do not represent the interests of a race.” Because we are not white, we are boxed in to speak only about ourselves, rather than about humanity.

Which brings me to anime. 

I wouldn’t say that anime is Asian-American “representation.” Many of my Asian-American friends can speak to growing up with anime (Pokemon, Sailor Moon) or anime-adjacent shows like Avatar: the Last Airbender, and while these shows often have a familiar aesthetic or lead to kinship with other Asian-Americans, that seems to be oversimplifying it. Lots of other American kids grew up with those things and loved them just as much, and there are plenty of non-Asian people who enjoy anime. 

But perhaps anime is a medium that helps Asian-Americans see ourselves as “just people” who can, as Dyer says, tell stories about humanity. Made in Japan, it doesn’t have white audiences as a high priority. It caters to Asia, and thus isn’t trying to perform its cultural aesthetics for anyone. It’s free of the white gaze. The same applies to other Asian media I’ve seen, too, from movies like Dear Ex (谁先爱上他的) to shows like Itaewon Class. Is it somehow easier to imagine ourselves in the shoes of anime/Asian characters in comparison to characters in American media, even with Asian-American actors? 

I’m not sure if there is a definite answer. But my friend Mike told me that when watching anime, we “can sometimes forget that what [we’re] watching is anime,” which, right now, I can’t do with Asian-American media. It’s so often sanitized for the white gaze or a specific commentary about being Asian-American—and it’s not that I want to forget that I’m Asian-American, but I want to be more than just my identity. 

And the shows I’ve been watching have helped me feel that way, partially also because there are so many already in existence. The themes explored in the shows I’ve watched have ranged from romance to depression to friendship and family, and I find myself feeling so enveloped in them in the most thrilling way. You know the feeling when you’re so heavily invested in a series that, once you finish the last episode, you feel like you’ve suffered a great loss? When it’s pulled you in so deeply that you can’t believe it wasn’t real? I have only ever felt this with Avatar and anime. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that Asian-American media is certainly still evolving and finding its voice, and I’m still figuring out how I fit into it all. It’s been hard for us and other people of color in America to be represented with depth and variance, and I want to say that mentality is slowly changing, but I also know it will take a while. 

In the meantime, I feel like I’ve found a little happy place in anime, and I suggest you watch some too if you get the chance. 

As an epilogue, here are some of my favorite (spoiler-free) anime in the form of gifs.  :)