I’ve Moved

In case you didn’t know.

I’ve moved.

http://www.downlikejtown.com

See you there.

#DWP

The first thought I need get out is how satisfying the party scene was in Dear White People.

Spoiler alert.

Spoiler alert.

I guess I already spoiled something.

Spoiler alert.

The minute Lionel pushed the speakers off the stage my mind inverted with dopamine as it does when I daydream about setting fire to kimono halloween costumes and the phrase “honorary Whites.”  This was the scene I didn’t know I’d been looking for as I walked into the Arclight.  This was the moment I mulled over as I got into my car and drove home through the cluster that is Hollywood on a friday night.

And as I made that drive I laid out my autopsy.  Writer Justin Simien’s approach to the story, a complex throwback in which no one can claim to wholly “do the right thing,” allows us to live out the fantasy of confronting racism while armed with the words and the people to kick ass.  Not only is Sam armed with rad ideology, comfortable in firm action, and laced on point (Coco throws out a Lisa Bonet joke, and to be real this movie is going to be replacing A Different World in my Cosby headcanon), but she has backup in the form of her house and organizing community.

Armed with those tools, she is able to cut down the son of the school president in two minutes and expose underlying racism in the click of a mouse.  It’s beautiful, it’s simple in its complexity, and all and all it is satisfying.  It’s the movie we’ve all wanted to see.

So as an Asian American who has always kept an eye on Asian American media and discourse, I am left with the logical next question: What would the Asian American “Dear White People” look like?

Now before we go anywhere, we can never compare weights.  The burdens held by Black folks are very different than the burdens held by Asian American folks.  Our histories of oppression, struggle, and “privileges” have intersected, but have existed in very different arenas.

So as I pulled into Koreatown off the 101, thinking through what we would say to White people, what questions we would ask of ourselves, and how logistically we would even start the movie, it occurred to me that before we can get to “Dear White People” we would need to start with “Dear Asian America.”

The creation of “Asian American,” as a term, is credited to Prof. Yuji Ichioka.  The word has been adopted for many contexts and uses, but it was first coined as a self-determined identifier in a political and communal sense.

This term, while great as shorthand, is inadequate to address the full breadth of our community.  Asia, as a concept, only exists in the eyes of the Western gaze; our homelands do not traditionally recognize that some 50 countries have a link beyond an arbitrary continental border.  So when we discuss “Asian America” (not even to introduce the “Pacific Islander/Native Hawaiian” communities which are often haphazardly and shamelessly appended by Asian American non-profits as a funding tactic) we are talking about a relatively absurd designation.

So where does that leave us then?  Why even consider the term “Asian America” as useful?

When we are able to accept the limits of “Asian America,” this is when we are able to likewise build with our fellow explorers.  If we can understand that this cage we have built as a defense mechanism can serve as an organizing —and ultimately empowerment— tool, we can find ways to advocate for our own communities, work toward our shared hopes, and use the tools we have built individually to collectively push speakers from stages and take down the system that has cornered us all in.

In thinking about “Dear White People,” if our community is to continue analyzing our complicated relationship to Whiteness (a conversation we have been going in circles on since we immigrated), like the BSU slackjawing past Sam and her White boyfriend, we too need to be open about our dysfunction and willing to dialogue amongst ourselves.

Like a good Tumblr takedown, the party scene was satisfying beyond compare as it expressed a common element of confrontation that so many of us, publicly or not, fantasize for ourselves.  Will there be an Asian American “Dear White People?” Perhaps it is being made right now.  Perhaps it has already been made.  But above all, I hope there is conversation leading us towards open, direct, community-wide dialogue about what we mean when we claim “Asian America.”

As impossible as that may seem.

Kaze

Miyazaki’s final film, “Kaze Tachinu” (The Wind Rises) has apparently been screening at The Landmark for the past week with the run ending today. Panicked and bought a last minute ticket to see it last night.

I have a VHS of Totoro that I wore down as a kid rewinding and re-watching. From there to Mononoke Hime to Spirited Away I grew up watching Miyazaki films, so this one was a little bittersweet. It had all the hallmarks of a Miyazaki film…large open fields with random gusts of wind, people rushing through crowds after coming to a realization, whimsical forms of transportation, extreme hunger after leaving the theater…between the thoughtful story, the gorgeous animation and the amazing score, it was the right ending to the ride that has been Miyazaki’s career.

There was a lot of controversy in Japan as it follows the life of a military plane designer pre-WWII so while it’s clearly an anti-war/anti-militarism film, the main focus is the creation of a killing machine (manufactured by forced colonial labor and used in Axis campaigns). I was a little surprised at just how nationalist it was at points, but balanced with Miyazaki’s previous films it contextually didn’t feel unsettling.

Thank you, Miyazaki-san.  Your work has been a textbook for life.

Gardena Bowl with Grandpa

Grandpa has finished boxing his meal to go.

Grandpa: So how many people are you going to Vegas with?
Sean: A little more than 10 of us I think.
Grandpa: Oh I hope you’re staying downtown to save a little money!
Sean: We’re staying on the strip but we’re fitting a bunch of people in the room. Probably sleeping on the floor.
Grandpa: Well that’s ok, you won’t be sleeping much anyway.

When I drop him off at home he offers me a bag of persimmons and a 2014 calendar of patriotic images he received in the mail.

Season 15

Been MIA as life has been a little insane.  Moved back to KTown, turned 25, ended the season at TNC.  BUT I’M BACK.

I forgot to eat dinner last night.

It wasn’t until I pushed into my apartment that my stomach kicked in and reminded me that I had eaten little more than a sandwich, a gin-tonic, and a Cafe Dulce iced coffee all day.

Last night was the final Tuesday Night Cafe show for the season. For those who don’t know, we organize a free multidisciplinary show every first and third Tuesday of the season running from April to October. The intention was to create a consistent Asian American arts scene, to bring young people into LA Little Tokyo, and to utilize the (at the time) new Union Center for the Arts.

15 seasons later, our founder Traci is stepping back to concentrate on building other programs within our larger organization, Tuesday Night Project. Last night was a waterfall of love for her and the space. I have never heard the name “traci” more in a 2 hour period of my life.

It was also a passing of the torch…I am privileged to take over the role starting today.

But what made last night amazing was as always…the people. I kept neglecting to grab The Park’s Finest we have posted to the side for staff, performers, and volunteers because when I wasn’t making sure stuff was going smooth I was running into old friends, meeting new people, and introducing folks to the space. It was a night of serious reflection for long time artists and members of the staff, yet through all the names people didn’t know and inside jokes they didn’t get, the people “got” it and stayed, laughed, and cried.

And CRIED!

I’ve had like 4 people tell me that they cried even though they walked into the courtyard with no more than a base understanding of what TNC was. And I’ve had folks beyond that ask how they can get involved!

It really reaffirmed for me that the most important thing for me to do is to make sure that no matter how many faces change, how many SNAFUs arise, no matter how the community shifts, that I have to, at the heart of it, keep our ship moving to the needs and vision that traci and her crew set out to focus on when they first hit the mic in 1999. To support artists, to bridge communities, and to put on a show that the audience can absorb, process, and build from.

The people will always “get it”.

April will come sooner than we think, and I really hope that you will put April 1st on your calendar as the first show of the 16th season. It will be the start of a fresh chapter with an old soul.

And I am going to go in on this breakfast sandwich.

Thank you to the staff, performers, audience members, and volunteers who made it happen. Special shout out to my friends who were able to make it out on a school night. It really really meant more than you can imagine.

The Long Haul

Photo credit: Daren Mooko

It’s still, 7 years after moving to LA, odd to think of myself as part of the JTown community.  I remember sitting in my high school bedroom scouring blogs and webforums, looking for some semblance of community to latch onto.

Yet here I am reading this guest blog post on Angry Asian Man by my friend/mentor traci kato-kiriyama about Little Tokyo and Tuesday Night Cafe, feeling that sense of familiarity that comes with knowing the landscape, both physical and intangible.

“I think all the time about Los Angeles and the PEOPLE who brought me up and those, of all ages, who continue to raise me. I think of the undeniable power of art to bridge people at a totally necessary heart and spirit level. That, if I didn’t have art, I wouldn’t know how to survive and if I didn’t have community, I’d have no reason to. I think about all these wonderful people we’re surrounded by, who are passionate as much as they are grateful and forgiving of each other and themselves in order to stay in it… for the long haul.”

– traci kato-kiriyama, “Oldest-And-Still-Running-Blah-Blah-Blah…”

What is a community without the storytellers.

Ni Una Mas

I’ve spent a better part of the past 24 hours reading through Facebook statuses lamenting the ruling in the Zimmerman case, and all I can think about is how much I need to get off my phone.  The ruling came down last night and my feed is still a solid stream of hoodies, anger, and through all that, a tiny glimmer of hope.

Between a late start this morning, breakfast, some family coordination and finally a writing meeting in the evening, I only managed to catch the end of an action in Boyle Heights organized by the East LA “Ni Una Mas/Not One More Coalition” formed in response to the case.

My family is originally from Boyle Heights, a neighborhood that has been a revolving door of ethnic groups for the past century but currently home to a sizable and lively Latin@ community.  I took my favorite parking spot in JTown, walked to the train station, then caught the Gold Line east.

Sometimes I forget how close Little Tokyo is to East LA.  How the streetcar used to bring folks to JTown, and how even today it’s a straight shot down First to cross the river and hit Little Tokyo.  I think about how far we seem from each other, but how our actual physical distance alone reaffirms the nonexistence of ethnic communities as solitary beings, and how there is such hope for coalition building between us all.

I spent a little more time at Mariachi Plaza after the action was over.  I walked to the other side of the station, taking in the dancing and wonderful smells of Sunday-night pupusas and tamales.  The sun fell as I descended into the subway, taking with it the haunting pollution-purple hue of the Los Angeles sky.

We will keep building our communities, keep building our coalitions, and keep building our minds.  We will work together so that there will be not one more.

10:55PM

My favorite writing spot closes at 11PM and I usually get into a good rhythm at 10:55.

I’ll be long done with my tea, the crowd will have thinned out, and I will have overplayed whatever song I have chosen to write to, and the divine will pass through me and to my keyboard with 5 minutes left and the staff already cleaning the bathroom.

So I write as I pack to fool the staff into thinking I’m leaving and to fool myself into thinking that the staff actually buys the charade.

I’ll do the laptop dance where I stand up and start folding my power cable while typing between loops of the cord. When not typing I stare at the screen to proofread the last paragraph and make mental notes of what I want to write next.

Next, I do the stand and type. This makes the staff think I’m just making last minute adjustments…is what I say to myself as the staff gets more and more irritated that this guy bought a tea four hours ago and refuses to leave.

Oh did they announce that the cafe is closed? Twice? To me specifically? I can’t hear them over the headphones I’ve conveniently decided to turn the volume up on.

It’s already 11:01 as I get to the end of what I have so far (by this point they are, understandably, literally trying to sweep me out of the store), so I’ll just pick up my laptop and slowly close the clamshell as I type with one hand. I put my backpack on for extra effect, and also I look better with a backpack on anyhow. If I’m going to take up unwelcome space I should at least try to look decent doing so.

Finally, with a dull snap, I close my laptop and clean up the table. They’ve blacklisted me by the point. Or they would have blacklisted me by now if that was a thing.

Instead, I will be back next week to do it all again. Perhaps, this time I will choreograph new moves to keep the process going. Pehaps I should start tipping…

Summer in the City

Summer time!  It’s summer time!  Cold tea and pizza time!

I am amazed at the volume of out of towners who show up in JTown during the summer.  Sitting on the steps of the old Higashi Temple waiting for a friend, I must have ruined at least 10-15 photos by people trying to document the ancient facade with their ancient digital cameras.  No Instagramming today.  All the smartphoners are on their bikes as part of CicLAvia.

I wonder, sometimes where they all come from.  They can’t all be from out of town, I highly doubt that our three block radius is hitting the front page of the Lonely Planet guide anytime soon.  Perhaps they are Westsiders cautiously venturing east of LA Brea.  Perhaps they are commuters, curious about the Gold Line stop they always pass through.  Perhaps they are daytrippers from OC, Santa Barbara, San Diego, looking for a bite to eat and a curiosity to pin on their Pinterest.

Regardless, they are here, and perhaps they will be back.  Perhaps they will become regulars, perhaps they will not return.  Perhaps they will be at a party and mention the bacon donut they got the other day at some cafe in Little Tokyo.  Perhaps they will be at a party spitting game and suggest dinner at this Japanese place they discovered some odd Sunday months ago.

It is summer in the city, and the days are long in JTown.  Out of towners and locals welcome.

Third Night of Meetings in JTown

I think I’m drinking too much tea.