On a Moment of Transition

So, for a second there, I was re-posting "lighter" posts from my old blog, one I wrote mostly for entertainment purposes. Since I've been slow on the new posts lately, I thought I'd post another one. This one isn't one of my more entertaining ones, but it pretty much pinpoints the moment when I decided to stop blogging to "entertain," and decided it was time to just start sharing my real thoughts.

(The little gimmick here is that it's written as a letter, so you must substitute all the "yous" with the subject of the post to make it make sense . . . )

This was posted last January:



Dear What I Really Think,

Before I even start writing this letter to you, What I Really Think, I just want to warn you that it's not going to be particularly funny. Yeah sure, I'm a hilarious guy, so some of it might be accidentally hilarious - I just can't help it sometimes - but that won't be the over-arching theme of this letter. Just wanted to give you a heads-up on that one, What I Really Think. Although you should have probably already known that. And are probably pretty used to non-hilariousness.

Right. In my letters, I don't really censor myself (outside of keeping my language mostly clean). I choose something to write to, and then I let it know exactly you about it. I'll rip on it a little bit, or shamelessly worship it, and then thank it for some sort of life lesson at the end. That's how it usually goes. And it's all pretty much you about the whole matter. No making things up here. I'm not so into that.

However, in CHOOSING the concept or thing to write my letters to, I DO end up holding back a bit. I'm not really going to choose to write a letter to something that I get particularly angry about (in a real way). Or sad about. Or other such strong emotions. Why is that?

Well, first and foremost - I have a Readership to entertain. If I was to tell them you about every major issue in the world, I would likely lose them quite quickly. Because it's great to have strong feelings about things, but it's quite another thing altogether to make other people share in those strong feelings on a regular basis. I have seen far too many blogs in which the blog-runner writes all sorts of heart-felt, emotional tirades about injustice and world issues and the like - only for me to stop reading about halfway because I get tired of it. There's a REASON most people only have a few close friends with whom they share their intimate secrets - because only a few people really want to hear it. And I'd even argue that maybe even less than that (most times).

Second, most of that sort of writing ends up coming off as whiny, melodramatic, and/or pretentious when spit profusely on a regular basis. None of us listen to the "God Guy" who yells at people in public parks about how they're going to Hell. I, for one, think it's likely true for most of them, but I STILL ignore him. And that's because nobody really wants to listen to a man (or woman) on a soapbox for more than about five minutes uninterrupted. People are made to enjoy frivolous pursuits that keep our minds OFF all those serious issues out there, so the last thing we want to do with our free time is get reminded of it all. Too much of that kind of writing starts to feel like reading somebody's diary, and that just feels creepy and a little bit sad.

Third, it's not much of a writing challenge. It's easy to spit emotions into a vat and call it "writing." Anybody can write "Dear World Hunger" and come off feeling like a Poet Laureate because nobody is going to dare critique that with anything but an over-arching, "That's deep." Or - even worse - "I KNOW, Man!!! That just SUCKS!!!" It's more difficult to try to write something entertaining on a lighter level while still giving a little bit of insight into you, What I Really Think. Deep writing - if done right - is meant more for lyrics and novels, in my opinion.

Fourth, I don't feel up to it. Most of my Readership knows me. And therefore most know that I don't particularly like to share the innermost workings of the CVT on a large-scale level with people that matter. I want to say it face-to-face, so I can read the reaction in somebody's face. If I'm going to say something about you on a serious level, I am not about to give the person I'm sharing that with an opportunity to ignore it and pretend that it didn't happen. I'm obnoxious like that. If I'm going to spit fire, I want to be able to see the look on the face of the person I singed.

And finally - because it's scary to share you with people whose opinions that matter because they might not like it. And that is sucky.

So why did I feel the need to address you in this letter, What I Really Think? Because I've been distracted from writing letters recently because I've been busy doing other things in which I share you. Writing music. Having conversations with people. Doing my job and planning for it. And it seemed odd that that should keep me from writing in this. That it should make it hard for me to come up with a "good" addressee for my letters. Because it would seem natural that I should just write to whichever concept was occupying my mind at the time. But when that concept had something to do with you, What I Really Think, I would balk.

Odd, and yet not odd at all (due to the previously-stated five reasons). And writing this letter isn't going to really change all that. Just thought it was a good idea to address it. And that's you about that.

All that said, I still thank you, What I Really Think, for all the creative inspiration you give me and all the great conversations I've been having lately. It's been grand.

Really Thinking About Eating Some Dried Mango Slices,
CVT

On the Politicization of the CVT

I haven't always been like this. I haven't always thought long and hard about race in America, or about globalization, or "humanitarian aid," the education system, etc. I haven't always written treatises and essays on the subject-matter to share with the public (apparently with enough skill to have people agree with me and want to read more). I haven't always written highly political (and angry) spoken-word and hip-hop lyrics (also shared with a public audience). I haven't always been willing to stand up and speak my mind loud and true. I haven't always been so passionate about how I feel about anything - let alone these specific matters.

So how did it happen? WHEN did it happen? When did my self-adopted moniker of "CVT" change from a tongue-in-cheek reference with one white friend to an identifier for a politicized, mixed, Asian-American man of color in America?

I don't think it started in the Bay.

I grew up in a world that was actually somewhat diverse. My public high school didn't have the highest number of black kids (it didn't QUITE have the lowest, either), but it did have an interesting mix of races. Specifically, it had a number of other mixed kids. There was a good amount of Asian kids. My close circle of high school friends constantly joked about our diversity in terms of "the most diverse" fill-in-the-blank when we were together (Indian, white-Filipino, white-Chinese, black, Mexican, white, Jewish, white-Mexican - all represented). Sure it tilted more towards white than anything else, but I didn't stand out in my group of friends for my race - because we all kind of stood out for our race.

So I didn't feel weighed-down by race (consciously) through my high school graduation. Sure, my first real fight was because a white kid told me to "go back to where (I) came from." I had Asian kids at school call me a "third-rate Asian sell-out." But I didn't analyze it too specifically - and definitely not on a bigger-picture level.

But then I went to school in Michigan. And I think that's where it began. Because there, races didn't mix a whole lot. The Asian kids chilled with each other. Same with the black kids and the white kids. People hadn't been exposed to other races in the same way that I had been in the Bay, and I started to see things. I was paler there (longer and colder winters), and I often got to hear people talk ish about other races in front of me (including Chinese) as if I was another white kid that wouldn't care or be bothered by it. When my mixed Mexican-white girlfriend came out to visit from California, I found myself having to give "friends" the heads-up, so they wouldn't say something stupid in front of her. When some of my black friends threw a party, I had to deal with the aftermath - a white friend getting all riled up because he felt "unwelcome" there, and how "unfair" it was that they gave him looks like that "just because (he) was white."

But I kept my mouth shut in Michigan. I thought about it some more. It burnt me inside. But I still didn't digest it fully.

So then I went to study abroad (and then live) in Tanzania for a year and a half. I watched the white kids on my trip go off and freak out about standing out so much. How the Tanzanians needed to just "get over" the fact that the students were white and foreign. All the while, it hadn't really phased me - because I was used to it. When I was working for an NGO out there, my boss apologized to me for all the Tanzanians calling me "Mchina" (basically the equivalent of "Chinaman") instead of "Mzungu" (which is what they called all the white foreigners) - as if that was an insult.

And I watched how the (generally white) ex-pats working for NGOs to "help" the people of Tanzania lived the colonial life while doing so. Staying in their own gated homes with satellite televisions and electricity and running water while the locals had none of the above. I fought with my "boss" from the NGO over how the Tanzanian teachers we worked with were treated. How the white folks felt that it was okay to tell the black folks how they should do things in their own country. And I stopped keeping my mouth shut. And ended up getting (more or less) fired from my "volunteer" NGO job.

I came back to the States fired up, but still not fully politicized. I had this anger and a knowledge of how things were going wrong without a real direction for it. I didn't know how to speak it. The people I had known had no way of understanding my experience.

So I randomly moved to Portland, Oregon. The whitest city in the U.S.

When I moved here, I mostly listened to indie-rock music. I played guitar. I bought a keyboard to play and record "funny songs" on a cheap sound program on a beat-up laptop. I started writing sarcastic "raps" because I couldn't sing. I came up with a "funny" stage-name of "Count von Triloquism" for my faux-hip-hop. I lived with two white guys (one a conservative we found on Craisglist). I was a lab assistant at the VA hospital.

And I lived my life. I walked through a world that was SO DAMN white. I went to pot-luck parties with self-proclaimed "liberals" that surrounded themselves with more white folks and listened to bluegrass, folk, and indie-rock. I met American-born white boys who played "traditional" Zimbabwean music.

I quit my VA job and started working with kids. I worked with white, middle-class youth workers who had good intentions, but thought they were "saving" poor kids of color. They forgot to mention that most of the kids they worked with (although still in poverty) were white (because it didn't sound as impressive, or "real"). I started writing an "entertaining" blog with posts in the form of letters to inanimate objects.

And then I ended up working at a summer arts camp that actually employed other people of color. I assisted a mixed white-black (ex) slam poet who had no problem speaking her political mind, and who convinced me that poetry was meant to be HEARD, not read, and that it could actually be cool. When I got back from camp, I got hired to teach math at an alternative middle school.

I fell in love with a Jewish girl as she started questioning the "liberal" hippie social circle that surrounded her. She actually wanted to hear about my struggles with race and identity and supported my conscious push towards more colorful social surroundings and a hip-hop cultural standing.

I went back to work at that same summer arts camp, and I got a little more serious. I started writing rhymes about my racial identity. I started to stand up and speak for the kids (and staff) of color involved with the camp where I saw points being missed. I began to appreciate the importance of my role as a male youth worker of color in an occupation where we're decidedly lacking.

And now I'm here. Turning that "cheeky" faux-rap moniker of "Count von Triloquism" into the CVT by which I'm now known in certain creative circles (the blogosphere included). I see myself as a racial translator in multiple areas of my life: translating the perspective of kids (and adults) of color into language that my white co-workers can understand. Translating that same perspective into a lyrical form for Portland audiences (relatively diverse, considering, but always guaranteed to house some "liberal" white folks). And doing the same for an internet audience. In a matter of weeks, I'll finally live with another person of color (for the first time since Tanzania).

And I feel like it's finally coming together. I'm almost ready to bring my artistic side (music and lyrics) to this blog world and vice versa. To share these - my real thoughts, my passion - with people who know me, personally (other than a very select few). Tonight, my mom will hear me perform my poetry for the first time - and I imagine that will be an interesting conversation-starter, for sure. The next step is to finally talk to my dad about how my racial mix has affected our relationship.

And this is only the beginning. I still feel raw and amateur. I can only imagine how the next five to ten years are going to go down - and how loud my voice might get by then. And I hope some of you reading this now come along for the ride to see where it all ends up.

No more cheekiness for me (mostly). "Count von Triloquism" is no longer what the CVT stands for. Maybe some of you out there can figure out something more appropriate - but, for now, the CVT stands for a raised voice, questioning "the way it is," and sharing my particular perspective with a larger public. And I think that's how it's going to be for a long while . . .

On Not Trusting White People

So, we’ve been over the fact that I definitely do not consider myself white.* So, that said, I would like to touch on my particular issue that I have had with white folks, in general – trust.

Now I know there are people out there that will instantly cry “racist” and suggest that I hate white people by making a blanket statement like this.** That is not the case, and I hope to make that clear through this post (and from what I’ve already written in this blog).

I should say that I have walked through and lived in a mostly white world. My schools growing up were predominantly white (although my social circle wasn’t). Most of the people I ended up being around in college were white (with some notable exceptions). As a youth worker, I end up having mostly white co-workers. And I have plenty of close white friends, so this isn’t an intolerant hate thing. It’s an experiential thing.

Again, we return to EXPERIENCES and how they shape us. From my experiences with white people – some of whom I considered friends – I have learned to be wary of surface-level acceptance from white folks as a person of color. Some examples:

- I mentioned before ("On Not Being White") how my white friend’s parent bought into my made-up “Chinese.” An adult being so ignorant of the world around her that my made up sounds were legitimately “Chinese” to her.

- In middle school, there was a kid I knew (we got along relatively well, I thought) who was getting teased and picked on by a bunch of kids. I wasn’t part of it, but I was standing and watching, feeling bad for him and trying to decide what to do (yeah – of course I should have stood up for him, but it was middle school). Suddenly, he turns to me and yells (through his tears) “why don’t you just go back to where you came from!?” I was shocked, at first – where the Hell had THAT come from? But then I snapped out of it, and I had my first fight based on race. But I still carry that feeling of shocked betrayal – to save himself, he found a racist hate within him to fling my way, even though I wasn’t one of the people hurting him. That was probably one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned about racism – hurt people hurt people.

- The summer after my first year of college, I was back in my home town at a party hosted by one of my old high school friends. Another white friend (we’ll call him “J”) brought some of his college buddies by. Well, let’s just say the college buddies were assholes, and it led to a fight. I got in there and broke it up, and my friends and I basically had J’s college buddies take their friend and leave. As that happened, the kid who had been in the fight made a comment about “that Buddha-looking motherf***er” (me), and I watched as J laughed in response. I wanted to kill him. And, again, submerged racism reared its ugly head when I wasn’t expecting it.

- In college, I was at a party with some friends, sitting on the front porch. A white kid comes in (a friend of some of my friends), talking about a fight he just almost got into. He told everyone how he had seen a bunch of Asian kids hanging out on their porch and when they wouldn’t bum him a smoke he yelled, “F***ing chinks!” The people on the porch with me laughed at his story – including some of my “friends” (those that didn’t, of course, said nothing).

- I had a white ex-girlfriend who was dating another bi-racial (white/Asian) guy. When I asked her what his specific background was (Chinese, Japanese, etc.), she said she didn’t know and was shocked when I told her that that was something she should ask. When I told her that likely really mattered to him, she argued with me and asked, “How would you know?” She later said she was surprised that I hadn’t “dealt with” the fact that I never saw people that looked like me around since I should "be used to it by now."

- Here, in Portland, I have had numerous white “liberal” males talk to me about how much they are into Asian or “exotic” women. White liberal females talking about race in a group of white people (and me) and how they “know how it feels” because one time they were the only brown-eyed person amongst a group of blue-eyed folks. Then arguing with me when I tell them they don’t know what they’re talking about.

- I have worked with white youth workers serving kids of color – who clearly target black and Latino youth in ways that defy understanding. Then, when I brought it up with my superiors, they told me my “expectations were too high” of my co-workers and nothing was done. Later, when I asked for a diversity training because I was so worried about the racial dynamics I saw at our school (and wanted a safe place to talk about it), I was told they would make it a priority – only to see it never happen (over six months of school after my request). And this is a boss that I respect and admire in so many ways – probably the best boss I’ve ever had, on a general level.

There’s more, of course. There’s always more. But I think these stand-out examples cover the themes I think need to be covered to explain why I don’t trust white people. Because - I remind you - these were friends or people that were in a position of (potential) trust. These weren't the overt racists (mostly) or bigots that I avoid. These were the white folks willing to be friends with me. People in positions where they (generally) had good intentions about race. It is the fact that these things still happened in spite of all that that made them so damaging. And so, with white people now:

I don’t trust that they don’t have some ingrained racist notions that they hold back because they know it’s not appropriate – only to have it come out when under duress, or when they need a scapegoat.

I don’t trust that they are truly my allies – that they will do more than just talk, actually standing up for me and my own when it really matters (whether or not we're around).

I don’t trust that they don’t make racist jokes or comments when I’m not around (or they think other people of color are not around).

I don’t trust that they see women of color as more than objects – that they actually care about the ethnicity and culture and experiences behind them.

I don’t trust that they are really listening or actually want to understand race and privilege on anything but their own terms.

And I don’t trust that those that work with kids of color actually do it out of respect, as opposed to white supremacist notions that “backward” cultures of color need a white savior in order to become civilized.

I don’t trust white people. And I have plenty of reason not to.

But there are exceptions, to be sure. I have two white friends here in Portland, “F” and “A” (incidentally, both with Jewish blood), who have never let me down in this regard. Who I know are not afraid of race and are willing to really check themselves in regards to it. Who do not deny their natural prejudices, and thus are able to confront and move past them.

But, unfortunately, I have found them to be the exception, thus far. And so I continue to distrust white people, even after I have befriended them to some degree. Because I never know when they might just side-swipe me with ignorance or (worse) outright racist notions.

So, to any white readers – please think on this, and see if privilege has caused you to make this impression on others. Are you to be fully trusted as an anti-racist ally? And to my readers of color – any stories of hope to combat these negative experiences?

I hope there are.


* If you haven’t read it yet, read “On Not Being White.”

** Other people have said it better than I can, but “racism” implies power and privilege, so it gets old when white people accuse people of color of “racism.” I can definitely be prejudiced, but let’s call if what it is, okay?

A Mixed Experience

My mother is Chinese (born in China). My father is white (born in New Jersey). I am neither (born in California).

I don't look like my mother OR my father, and I don't share their racial experiences. When I would visit my grandmother (on my mother's side) in Oakland Chinatown, I felt very American and out of touch with Chinese culture. When I am with my father's side of the family, I feel my "other"-ness strongly and know that that is not my world, either.

When I went to high school (in the SF Bay Area), I was considered to be a "third-rate Asian sell-out" by the Chinese kids. When I went to college in the mid-west, people continuously asked me if I was an Engineering student.

I can't count how many times the first question a stranger asked me was "What ARE you?" (or a variation thereof). I've been told I have "a great look," as if my racial combination was a fashion statement.

I often wonder if my father has/had an Asian fetish. I wonder if I was into Asian women alone - would that constitute a "fetish"?

I grew up listening to indie rock in a largely white town, while my group of friends was a photo-op for diversity (we often crammed into the "most diverse backseat of a car in the world" - one mixed Filipino/white guy, one Jewish guy, a Mexican guy, a black guy, and an Indian guy; leaving out my white/Mexican girlfriend of the time).

Now I work in the whitest city in the U.S. (Portland, Oregon), listen mostly to hip-hop (and write and record my own) and constantly seek other non-white folks to bond with.

I've been ashamed of my Chinese-ness, preferring to call myself just "mixed" or else pretending to be Latino or other races attributed to me. Now I loudly, proudly claim my Chinese background and blow up stereotypes whenever the opportunity presents itself.

My ambiguity and experiences have given me a multi-faceted perspective on race in this country, while my ambiguity has caused people of all races to discount my experiences.

I have been told by white people that I am "practically white" and therefore cannot speak to being a "person of color." I have been told by Chinese folks that I am "definitely NOT Chinese." I have been told by black folks that there is "no way anybody could think you are anything BUT Chinese" (after I told them what my background was).

I have been in diversity trainings where my explanation of what it's like to be a person of color has been humored and ignored, only to watch every person in the room focus, ask questions, and otherwise validate the experience of a black person who said the EXACT SAME THING as me.

I have pondered long and hard how the racial identity of the mother of my future children would affect my ability to connect to them. I have also thought about how that mother's racial identity would either let down or make proud my grandparents.

I don't want my children to be whiter than me.

I have thought about how, when I finally travel to China, I might avoid problems by pretending that I'm Hawaiian, and not telling anyone about my mix.

I have never been in a room where more than half the people look like me. Only while visiting Hawaii did I feel like I actually looked like a "native." No place exists on this planet where I can even pass as the racial majority.

Strongly interested in racial politics, I have studied, read, and talked to people from racial backgrounds different from my own to learn about their racial experiences and to try to understand what it is, so as to avoid stereotype and prejudice pit-falls in my own life. And I have grown to realize that almost nobody else - of ANY race - is willing to return the favor. So I'm going to put it all in one, easy-to-access place.

I've lived in various U.S. cities and Tanzania. I've worked crap-jobs, in a psychology lab, and now I teach middle school math.

And now I'm writing a blog.