Today I submitted an assignment for my EDST401 class (Education, School and Social Institutions) where we were asked to write about our personal histories. I absolutely loved that assignment because it gave me the rare opportunity and absolute freedom to reflect on and put into words things about myself that I am eager to share with people. Although 1000 words was not nearly long enough to talk about myself, I also realize that there is a limit on how much another person can care to know about me. I really respect my professor for even asking to know as much–particularly given how many classes of students she is dealing with. Without further ado, a bit about the story of my life…
Whenever someone asks me where I am from, I chuckle nervously and tell them that I was born and raised in Canada—fully aware that this is not the answer they are looking for. After a moment passes and I sense them grappling with how to word the next question, I hastily add, “My father is from Singapore and my mother is from South America—but my ancestors all came from China, so I’m a Chinese-Canadian who doesn’t speak Chinese.” This explanation warrants several misunderstandings, but most people latch on to the implication that my appearance is because of my Chinese heritage and are satisfied. Each time, as I try to steer the conversation away from my race, I feel a twinge of guilt because I have, once again, marginalized my identity and dismissed the topic I long to discuss.
I am not at all ashamed of my heritage—on the contrary, I am proud of my parents and choose to introduce myself based on my family’s origins. My father was born in Singapore just before it gained independence from Britain. His father and mother were natives of Singapore and Malaysia respectively, however all of their parents originated from parts of China. My mother was born in Trinidad and Tobago to my grandmother and grandfather who immigrated there from China to settle down. While my father speaks a dialect of Chinese at home, my mother was raised in an English-speaking environment and never learned Chinese. My parents met while completing their degrees in England and immigrated to Canada to get married and live.
Growing up, I did not know that “Chinese” is a nationality applied to people originating from China, nor that Chinese people are not indigenous to Singapore or Trinidad, hence I identified as a Chinese person. After all, even though we speak English at home, my parents raised me according to mostly Chinese values, we observe traditional Chinese celebrations, cook mainly Chinese meals, and identify with the Chinese population. I never entertained the possibility that I was something other than Chinese.
An experience that greatly shifted my self-identity came surprisingly late in life, during my exchange to Japan in university. Given my limited Japanese vocabulary, I introduced myself as a Chinese person who cannot speak Chinese, because everyone knew that I was from Canada and I figured a Chinese person raised in Canada equaled a Chinese-Canadian. However, one day one of the other international students—a girl who self-identifies as Malaysian, whose mother tongue is Chinese—overheard that my father is Singaporean and came to me to confirm the fact. When I did, she exclaimed, “Then you’re not Chūgokujin (a Chinese person), you’re Chūgokukei (of Chinese descent)!” Her statement really confused me. How could I not be a Chinese person when my cultural upbringing was all Chinese? In my mind, only the Aboriginal peoples could call themselves “Canadian”—I know now this is untrue—and everyone else identified themselves by their ancestral origins. Who could I identify with if not the Chinese people?
My experiences in Japan, particularly that encounter with my friend, taught me that people self-identify in different ways, and made me realize “Chinese” is a nationality, not an ethnicity. I learned that, while I consider my Malaysian friend, Taiwanese friend, and friend from Hong Kong all to be “Chinese”, all of them identify with their country of origin despite their common language and cultural backgrounds. In this sense, categorizing self-identities is as debatable as defining the working class in Joanne Naimann’s discussion. The controversy continues because some people define the working class as those who work to make a living, while others believe it extends to those in the productive sector (Naimann, 2008). Both arguments exclude factors such as wages, working conditions and whether jobs are in the private or public sector. Despite my Canadian nationality, I still identify myself in terms of the Chinese people, but I acknowledge that other people deal with the question, “Where are you from?” differently.
Living in Canada, I think that part of my tendency to classify people based on their language and appearance is from my inability to simply answer “I am from Canada”. A popular, satirical Youtube video called “What kind of Asian are you?” highlights the double standard by which Caucasian people can claim that they are American (or Canadian) without further questions about their origins, whereas Asian people are always expected to identify with an external country (Ury, 2013). Despite the suggestion that people indigenous to the land have the rights to call themselves Canadian, the Aboriginal peoples tend to identify with their clans, while Caucasian immigrants rarely adopt hyphenated identities. This historically-rooted inequality and other inequalities such as sexism and classism that society still faces, are all part of why I aspire to be an educator. I hope to teach children about the mistakes of the past which contributed to the discrimination of the present, and to inspire them to continue the process of eliminating these inequalities.
Another facet of discrimination that fueled my desire for change is the societal expectations linked to gender and sex. Raised in an individualist society by my parents who hold more collectivist beliefs, I am frustrated by the sexism that still permeates both ideologies. Some many note that overt sexism displayed in collectivist cultures through expectations of female subservience, devaluation and gender-based roles is becoming more debated in individualist cultures. Individualist societies still generally socialize men to hold open doors or offer to carry heavy items while women are still complemented for their femininity and face less expectations to have successful careers. Covert societal expectations for gender norms are still rampant, even among those who argue for gender equality.
Even though I do not fit gender conventions in many ways—I never wear makeup, despise shopping, speak frankly, keep a messy room, prioritize career success over finding love, excessively play video games and exert control—I find myself engaging in behaviors that sustain gender stereotypes. I am soft-spoken among men to avoid being disliked, wear dresses I think will earn me compliments, and spend endless hours worrying that pursuing my dreams will jeopardize my chance to get married. As a child, doing science experiments, watching cartoons and Pokemon cards were my main interests, yet I received more attention for my hobbies such as beading, baking and playing piano, and ultimately adopted more gender-consistent hobbies. In many ways my development reflected the position of Marilyn Frye (2008), who argued that women are like caged birds who do not realize the extent of the oppression confining them. Having men give women equal rights, respect, and expectations will not eliminate sexism if women do not also discourage small benefits they currently hold (less career expectations, men support and them) from perpetuating.
Although I am in no way a model person who is neither racist nor sexist, my experiences with these social issues taught me that every person needs to think critically about how to identify and eliminate deeply rooted discriminatory beliefs and actions on order to work towards a better future. I may not be able to change the world alone, but if numerous like-minded individuals stepped up to inform the future generation, we can change what was once dismissed as unchangeable.
References:
Frye, M. (1983), Oppression. In The Politics of Reality. Crossing Press, A Division of Ten Speed Press, Berkeley, CA. pdf.
Naiman, J. (2008). Chapter 6, Analyzing Social Class in How societies work: Class, power, and change in a Canadian context. 4th Edition. Fernwood Publishing, Black Point, NS., Winnipeg, MB. pp. 133-157. Pdf
Ury, D. [helpmefindparents]. (2013, May 23). What kind of Asian are you [Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWynJkN5HbQ