Kimchi Mamas

Musings On Race: How Far We've Come

In light of yesterday’s beer-fest hosted by President Obama to quell racial tensions around the recent arrest of Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr., I have found my thoughts turning, once again, to race, ethnicity, and identity. This morning I listened to a call-in show on my San Francisco NPR station wherein this topic was addressed. Specifically, listeners were invited to share their thoughts on the Gates arrest and its aftermath, which President Obama says is a "teachable moment" on race in America. One caller on the show observed that her young child seemed to have no concept of race – that she had school friends of all colors, and based her decision on whether or not to befriend someone on their behavior and character, and not on their skin color.

Korean-American Identity Redux

I haven’t been feeling very Korean lately. Well, let me clarify: I haven’t had time to give much thought to “being Korean,” engaging in Korean cultural activities, observing Korean holidays or traditions, or hanging out with Korean people. Other than my mom, that is.

With some regret, I have been too busy these past few months to participate in the Kimchi Mamas community – and have been remiss in writing posts, commenting, or even reading. When Kimchi Mamas first started, I was waaaay into the concept. I felt I had found my tribe – at last – for the first time ever, and hungrily ate up every word that was posted, read every comment on the blog, and found myself deeply engaged in every debate and dialogue that came up. It was a new thing for me, after all: hanging with a group of smart Korean American women, many of whom had similar cultural experiences to mine.

Then I got busy. I changed jobs in Sept. ’07 and this new one was so demanding that I no longer had time to breathe, let alone blog, any longer. And that’s how it’s been for the past year and four months. Until last Friday, when I quit my job, and now join the ranks of the unemployed. I know it’s probably the worst time in more than a decade to be unemployed, but I felt compelled to “choose life” over the soul-crushing assignment that I had endured for more than a year. The job was causing so much stress that I was neglecting my child, my husband, and my self. It was no good for anybody, and I am pleased with my decision.

When I go back to read some of my old posts on KM – many of which deal with issues of Asian-American (and hapa) identity, I realize how much I’ve changed, and possibly evolved. No longer do I pine for acceptance as a “real Korean” by the community of Korean-born people whom I sometimes encounter. No longer do I feel desperately afraid that, once Halmoni dies, my hapa (quarter Korean) daughter will no longer have a connection to “the old country.” I no longer wish to be 100% Korean, or wish I were born there, so that Koreans will consider me to be authentic.

The fact is, I have come to be quite happy with who I am -- a hapa Korean-American woman -- and know that nothing can change that. Most assuredly, I’ll never be considered a “real Korean” by most Korean-born people, including my mother, as the definition of such a person has quite narrow parameters; however, I don’t care! I actually feel more of a kinship with Barack Obama (a biracial person) than I do with many Korean Koreans!

My daughter, who’s now old enough to be interested in culture, national origin, and ethnicity, is proud to say that she’s Korean, Scottish, Canadian, American, and a Californian. And Halmoni’s omnipresence in my daughter’s life provides constant exposure to Korean traditions, foods, and culture -- the exact same stuff I got as a kid.

Don't get me wrong: I do appreciate things Korean and very much want to be connected to my culture and ancestry. In the future, I’d like to make more of an effort to pay attention to Korean holidays, like Lunar New Year, Chuseok, among others; but that’s about as far as I feel the need to go.

I no longer relate to that Groucho Marx joke – vis-à-vis being Korean – wherein one wants fervently to join the club that will have nothing to do with her. I can change my own ethnic self-perception, but I can’t change how others see me. And in the immortal words of Phillip Marlowe in Robert Altman’s 1973 classic, The Long Goodbye, “It’s okay with me.”

By Twizzle, who still can't get over how much free time she suddenly has!

Bi-Racial Participants Sought for Obama documentary!

Dear Kimchi Mamas and Readers:

I just received the following annoucement from the folks at the Hapa Project (led by Kip Fulbeck - author of 100% Hapa). Please follow the link if you are interested!

Happy New Year!

Twizzle

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Journalist and TV personality Veronica De La Cruz is looking for people to be interviewed for an OBAMA documentary:

Did you grow up mixed-race? Bi-racial? Wiling to share your story? How do you feel an Obama presidency might change people's perspectives on race?

Are you tech-savvy? Do you blog, vlog or have a video journal? 

Did you do campaign for Obama and use the web or new media? How so? 

We want to hear from you!! Please drop us an email and preferably a video explaining why you would make a great subject for the documentary. 

Reach out to us: generationOdoc@gmail.com

http://www.allthingscnn.com/2008/11/getting-to-knowveronica-de-la-cruz.html

Mutt like me

It's no secret that I'm over the moon that Barack Obama is our President-elect, but for those of you who don't know me or read my blog, I've been a supporter since he first announced his candidacy some two years ago. I've written about what it means to me as a biracial American to have someone like me ascend to the presidency. Of course - inserting necessary caveat - I've supported him not because of his race, but because he is the right person to lead our country right now at this moment in our history, fraught with both peril and unfathomable potential.

And I know, I know that he cannot be expected to carry the weight of all that he is to all of us. As the first African American, the first minority, the first biracial president in our history. It is too great, too momentous. I read a beautiful open letter from Alice Walker to Obama written just after he was elected and she said, "But seeing you deliver the torch so many others before you carried, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, only to be struck down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear." The word "historical" is being thrown around like "bipartisan" these days, but all that history making, all that symbolism and standard-bearing, it creates some sticky expectations.

So, I admit, I have expectations. And when Obama was talking about his daughters' promised dog during his press conference on Friday, I was troubled by his use of the word "mutt" to refer to himself.

Hapa Kids Photo Shoot in Santa Barbara

Kip Fulbeck, author of the book Part Asian, 100% Hapa, will be doing a photo shoot of hapa children at the University of California, Santa Barbara, this weekend. Full details are below. Please contact Lindsay at the Hapa Project is you are interested in participating.

Thanks,

Twizzle

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MIXED KIDS PHOTO SHOOT at the University of California, Santa Barbara this weekend!

UCSB Arts Building Photo Studio - Arts 0242

Sunday, September 14th, 2008 11:00 AM - 2:00 PM

I am not hapa.

I grew up in Los Angeles, one of the most diverse cities in the world, but it was and is not uncommon for me to experience racism. From the overt ("Your parents made a mistake.") to the subtle and ignorant ("Oh, mixed children are so exotic looking. I want to marry a white guy so I can have pretty babies!"), much of that racism centered around my mixed background.

My mother is Korean and my father is Caucasian. When asked the ubiquitous question, "What are you?" I always felt unprepared to answer, like I had been singled out in class to answer a question but had failed to do the reading the night before. "I'm half Korean and half white," was the most common response. Or perhaps, "I'm Korean, English, Dutch and Scottish." Or occasionally, when I was feeling surly, "I'm human, and you?" And it wasn't just the white folks who were asking. Other Asians, especially other Koreans, seemed unceasingly curious. "Are you Mexican?" (It was never "Are you Latino?" of course.) "Are you Hawaiian?"

Koreans were often visibly shocked to discover that I was one of them. Or not. Because still, I am often not accepted as one of them. I have pushed and shoved and planted my feet firmly in the quicksand of identity and shouted, "I am Korean American!"

H words: Why I am not a fan of "old fashioned" words

A few posts ago, I read a comment that included these words: "half breeds".

No, I am not rallying for angry responses because 1) it's obvious that there were no malicious intentions and 2) she may be referring to what OTHERS say.  It wasn't clear as the words were not in quotation marks but I am not going to pretend to be a mind reader.

In fact, I should thank her since those words got me thinking about self-identifying labels for my biracial daughter and others like her.

Half.  And other pesky fractions used to describe people.  I get lost as the denominator gets larger and larger... it's what, 2, 4, 8, 16...?  Isn't there a name for this kind of mathematical progression?  I should know, right?  Riiiiight.

Anyway.  Back to the point of this post.

The Multiracial American Family

Thanks to our commenter Kristen for pointing this out, I caught her comment about MSNBC featuring coverage on being Multiracial in America. There are six video vignettes of individual families from various parts of the U.S., from Alabama to California and in between. I watched all of them. Their stories are so different but so familiar, too. I don't know how long it's been there, or how much longer it will be available, so I encourage you to take a look. (Note, it does not include the perspectives of a family made multiracial through adoption or of a multi-racial family with same-sex parents, but many resounding themes are woven throughout each family's story.)

I'm so glad this is being discussed more and more in mainstream media. I don't constantly ponder what it means to be a Korean-American, a woman, a mom, in an inter-racial marriage and raising a multi-racial family. I don't see myself as doing anything extraordinary, my marriage and family are not a political platform. We're just a family. But I know I get to say that because I am a beneficiary of the work that had been done by brave activists before us. I am grateful that I don't have to fight today to justify my marriage or have to endure my child being called an abomination (at least not to my face), with no recourse or rights.

But I don't think about these things often. Most of the time, I just go about my days quietly and uneventfully, endless grocery store runs, putting the little one down for a nap, and these days trying to find a new job that will enable me to also be a mom. A whole lot of normalcy here. But there is always that tension - not necessarily a bad thing, but something that is there, like white noise in the background. It's helpful for me to have it brought to the surface, not necessarily screaming it from rooftops, guns a-blazin' and fists raised in the air, but getting a glimpse into the introspection we all go through in making our choices. Learning about other everyday families, living with and loving each other, just being, like us.

--Carol

Obama the Mixed-Race Candidate

When I heard Obama's speech on race, it struck me that it was a speech only a mixed-race person could have made. As he told the story about his grandmother, I started to think about the racial tightrope he has navigated all his life. How painful it must have been to realize that if his own grandmother encountered him on the street and didn't know him, she would cross to the other side. On the flip side, I read several editorials early in the campaign that questioned whether he was "black enough."

One of the things that motivated me to start blogging three-and-a-half years ago was knowing my daughter would have to walk a similar tightrope. My parents are officially against racism, but they still occasionally say things that make me cringe. Among Koreans, my daughter's light brown hair instantly marks her as different.

I am glad that Obama's candidacy has already sparked dialogue about mixed-race people and families, and whether he wins or loses, I hope this conversation continues.

--Weigook Saram

Adventures in K-town

Lately I've felt like anything but attractive. A bloated, waddling whale perhaps. Attractive? No. But yesterday, as I was stopped in the shadow of the Wiltern at the front of the line waiting for the light to turn, a young man crossing the street stopped, walked to the side of my car, and tapped on my window. I considered trying to ignore him because, you know, random man tapping on my window and all, but instead I opened it a half inch and raised my eyebrow at him quizzically.

Instead of answering my questioning stare, however, he looked suddenly horrified. "Oh!" he began, clearly startled, "I was going to ask for your number. But you're preg..." But having then caught sight of the toddler strapped in behind me, he didn't even bother to finish his sentence and hightailed it across the street.

------

My friend Jenny, Caius and I had lunch at a kal gooksu restaurant off Wilshire in K-town. I'd had the dish (a sort of noodle-y version of dduk gook) the last time Charlie and I went to Korea, but had completely forgotten about it since I assumed I wouldn't be able to get it here. Charlie's mom had told us that this dish was all the rage there despite it's modest origins as a poor man's dish. The line at the restaurant we went to in Korea can stretch down the block. We managed to beat the lunch rush yesterday, nabbing a table before the waiting area filled up with what seemed like a never ending supply of hungry patrons. We ordered two bowls of kal gooksu and shared a plate of piping hot steamed pork dumplings. I avoided the bright red kimchi and instead finished a plate of white pickled cabbage - perfectly crunchy and sour with none of the indigestion-inducing spice. I can't wait to take my mom and Charlie there. Since Charlie has today off for Cesar Chavez Day (yay!), maybe we'll go today.

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Jenny and I had agreed to meet at ABC Koreatown Plaza, near the fountain on the first floor. Caius and I arrived some 20 minutes early so I decided to make a quick run of the market. I picked up frozen mandu, instant Pulmuone brand jajang myun and neng myun, some Clementines, and a bag of bung duigi, a large, round popped rice cracker that I used to eat as a child and that Caius absolutely loves. Still needing to kill some time, we sat next to the fountain near some halmonis (who also seemed to be simply killing time) and nibbled on our bung duigi.

Soon another halmoni approached us, pushing an orange bugaboo stroller with a one-year-old girl inside. She sat next to us and started chatting with me in her limited English. She was friendly and good-natured and seemed excited to have her granddaughter be able to look at another child her age. I offered to share our bung duigi with the little girl, and the girl promptly threw down her stuffed dog to concentrate her full attention on this amazing snack. Still, the halmoni seemed a little confused by Caius and I.

"Where is he from?" she asks, indicating Caius with her finger.

"Here?" I answer, a little confused. Maybe, I think, she doesn't know how to say what she really means to say.

And then later on in the conversation:

"His hair is black. He's eating Korean snack." She points from Caius to me and then back again. Suddenly, it dawns on me. We don't look related to her.

"Oh! My husband is Korean and I am half Korean." I slash one of my hands in front of me to illustrate "half," but I don't think she gets this last part.

Turning to another halmoni sitting behind me who has edged over and is listening to our conversation she explains in Korean (and somehow I am able to understand but my translation is probably not accurate), "His daddy is Korean. That is why his hair is black and he likes Korean snack!" They seem excited to have solved the mystery.

It is not until much later in the day that I realize that her original question assumed that I was Caius's adoptive and not biological mother.

- Nina
cross-posted at charlieandnina