Do You Recognize Me Now?
On my first day of pre-school a parent asked me with a smile, “What are you?”
At a time when I only saw black and white, I confusedly told her I was white. She smiled, shook her head, and said, “I know, but what are you really?” as if to say, yes I know you are American but what are you really, wink, wink. Back then I didn’t consciously realize that I ate different food, spoke a different language, watched different things, and grew up with different values. This became apparent to me in second grade when I was teased about the food my mom packed me for lunch. This phenomenon has come to be known as the “lunchbox” moment, the moment when young Asian American children are teased and shamed for eating something different and for being different.
When I look back on my childhood, I now know that my parents raised me in a custom-made Filipino enclave. I watched Filipino novelas with my mom and my inang (grandma). I ate almost exclusively Filipino food and my family spoke Tagalog at home. When I was young, being Filipino wasn’t just a part of my identity; it was the entirety.
My mom, brother, and me in our 1 bedroom apartment in LA in 2004
I identify the period after high school as the whitewashing of my identity. For two years at the American University in Washington, DC, I continued to mold myself into what fit the picture of the most successful people in the nation’s capital: an assimilated all-American professional. I highlighted the parts of my life that fit the story, while ignoring the parts of my history and culture that didn’t match the successful hustle and bustle of DC. I was proud of not being too Filipino, I was proud of being different than my parents and my family, and I was proud that I had assimilated so well into American culture that my ancestors might not even be able to recognize me. I bought into what was whispered into my brain: my Filipino culture was backwards and inferior to western, white culture.
This was a myth created by western imperialism and perpetuated by modern day media. In America, I was taught about my culture on TV when a Filipino delicacy was thought to be so disgusting it warranted a challenge on Fear Factor. I saw the beautiful islands of the Philippines portrayed as “jungles” in Survivor and again in articles dubbing the islands of the Philippines some of the best “jungles” to visit. The message about my country was so strong that many people only know the Philippines as a poor country with a corrupt government. Western culture and the media took parts of my country and our culture and created a narrative of inferiority while forgetting about the cages they put my ancestors in during colonization.
"I bought into what was whispered into my brain: my Filipino culture was backwards and inferior to western, white culture."
What Western culture fails to emphasize are the traits that truly encompass my culture. The narrative fails to tell the story of the overarching selflessness that the everyday Filipino lives their life with. It can be seen in the Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW’s) who go abroad so they can send money to their families. OFW’s make up over 10% of the Filipino population, which comprises 1,844,406 Filipinos who in many instances leave husbands, wives, children, and parents behind to create a better life for them. We don’t talk about the grandparents and the aunts and uncles who step up to raise the children of OFW’s, the way my grandparents took care of me for four years.
My grandpa working in Saudi Arabia after WWII
The US emphasizes its victory and service in World War II while awarding white Americans the GI Bill. During WWII, Filipinos were offered full US veteran benefits including US citizenship for them and their families. In exchange, Filipinos fought in the war, were taken as POW’s, and took part in guerilla warfare on behalf of the US. In 1946 after the war, President Truman signed the Rescission Act which allowed the United States to renege on their commitment to the Filipino troops who had fought and fallen besides US troops. People like my grandfather never received US citizenship or the promised benefits to him and my family for serving the United States. In 2009, Filipino veterans who earned citizenship themselves were given $15,000 for their years of service during the war, for leaving their families months at a time, for their countless injuries and traumas from the war and for their courageous service; $15,000 certainly doesn’t seems fair. According to the American Coalition for Filipino Veterans, over 250,000 Filipinos served in the US military during WWII but only 70,000 are still alive in the United States and able to collect payment. Thousands of veterans like my grandfather died before they saw any compensation for their service.
As a young professional starting out in predominantly white Washington, DC, it is difficult to wear your culture on your sleeve and be successful. How do you hold on to your culture and live in a society that recognizes your culture as savage and inferior? How do you succeed in a country that colonized your home, whose people came to your country and tried to “civilize”your ancestors? This was not a system created for me; it was created to colonize me and my home. It was created for me - and people like me - to want to assimilate so badly into society that we forget about all the incredible work and sacrifice that brought our family to these shores in the first place.
(This article was originally posted on the Feminist Wire)
