A Bad Month
May 25, 2000
Have we all forgotten Wen Ho Lee, our accused spy? Last week an internal Justice Department review concluded the FBI bungled the investigation by narrowly focusing on Lee, missing opportunities to look for other national security breaches.
Now that’s cause for celebration.
It also points out the emerging double standard that appears to exist between Lee’s treatment and that of former CIA chief John Deutch. Deutch, you’ll recall, had up to 1,000 pages of classified material on his home computers, mixed in with a few porn Web sites and such.
That was called merely being “sloppy.”
Lee, on the other hand, was accused of being a spy. Never mind there was no evidence that the nuclear scientist passed on secrets to the Chinese or anyone. The only indisputable fact is that Lee is Chinese American. Asian American.
It could happen to any of us. So where are the Asian Americans to the rescue?
Lee has been held without bail since December, in solitary confinement and under tight security in Santa Fe, N.M. He can’t even get CSPAN to watch Congress vote PNTR to China—which his attorneys could point out, is more than Lee gave them.
And I thought I was having a bad month. Yes, it’s just about over. Another Asian American Heritage Month, and not one card.
Not even an e-card.
And despite my clamoring earlier this month, it wouldn’t have been so bad if I were exposed to a few seconds of a coconut half-shell bikini top. Nada.
I did go to an employee gathering at one of those Silicon Valley dot- coms. Pizza was served, a few of them topped with pineapple. Considering the number of Asian Americans in the company, it could have been an AA month celebration. If someone had bothered to mention it.
Yes, another year, another AA month. At the start, we spend time talking about why we need it. Then when nothing celebratory or eventful happens, the reality kicks in and we’re left with the rest of the month wondering if there’s even such a thing as an Asian American.
Is there?
When the Census Bureau allows self-description on its forms, what is an Asian American?
The official census term is Asian and Pacific Islander. API. But, as the criticism goes, that term doesn’t get across the “American” part. That’s a given, you say? When’s the last time someone asked to see your green card?
But instead of Asian Pacific Islander American (APIA) actually used by some to be all-inclusive, others have come up with the streamlined Asian Pacific American. APA.
Not bad, and the one I prefer, but people get lazy. So we have AP. Asian Pacifics. Not the wire service, or defunct eastern grocery chain.
Or AA, which makes sense to confuse us with alcoholics drunk with their obsession. So are we. Are you ready for Asians Anonymous. Maybe we ought to just give this thing up?
Anathema, you say?
If you look at the community, most of us still cling together ethnically. Ask a crowd of Vietnamese if they’re Asian American, and you’re liable to get blank stares.
They’ll say, “I’m Vietnamese.”
As a Filipino, if I go to a group and say, “Hey we’re Asian American,” I’m apt to hear someone say, “With the Japanese?”
The Koreans would say that too.
And the Hmong would just be happy if someone asked their opinion. But they’d say Hmong before Asian American.
Where does that leave us? Nowhere. It’s ethnic death. It’s also the reason we need to either move on, or wholeheartedly adopt some kind of pan-Asian phrase.
The best reason to come together is that we are nothing alone.
Current census estimates put us at 4 percent of the American population with 11 million Asian Americans (my default term until we can figure out something we can all say).
That’s a lot. But still small. There are 6 million Dutch in American. Ten million Poles.
When was the last time you saw someone arguing there aren’t enough Polish legislators in this country?
The difference is they’re white. And we aren’t. They blend. And we—are still Asian.
According to the 1990 census, our largest groups are the 1.5 million Chinese, and the 1.4 million Filipinos. But both groups make up barely a speck.
So we need an umbrella political term. It may be artificial. But if it’s a real umbrella, it’s probably made in China. The point is we need something to put us under one label.
If you don’t like the umbrella, then maybe look at it as a giant hotel, like the places we hold our beauty pageants. We’re all under one roof. But we go into our separate rooms. Still, the marquee is clear‚ in neon lights we’re “_____________.”
Asian Pacific Americans?
Such is the search for a term that fights dysfunction. Sure, we identify with individual ethnicities. Hey, I’m my own Filipino Asian construct: An “Aspanic!”
But reality demands a Pan Asian term. Certainly for political reasons, numbers mean strength. But consider when one needs an umbrella. Or an umbrella term. When it rains what do you rely on? In times of adversity, is it better to stand alone or together?
Example: Some guy gets mad at Japan for taking his auto job, so he shoots a Chinese person. (Chinese is America’s default Asian.) When “they all look alike,” any target will do. Xenophobia has no time for the fine distinction, “Are you Malay or Thai, or what?”
This is our dilemma. We want to have our individual “roots pride.” But being American forces us together. We need to let people know we’re not foreigners. And yet we need to let each other know we’re not the enemies of our ethnic histories.
We are thrust under a term of convenience. Originally, it was for white politicians to get a handle on us. But increasingly, it must become a term for us to exert our own power—on them.
To date, we haven’t been so good at it. Just remember your fellow Asian American, Wen Ho Lee.
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