Mixed Chicks Chat Rules!

Woo-Hoo!

I'm still stoked from my appearance today on http://www.mixedchickschat.com. Hosted by Fanshen Cox and Heidi Durow, this live podcast is all about multiracial people. Every Wednesday, at 2 pm PDT, the two women discuss the mixed-race experience--often interviewing someone who's actively involved in the community. Today, it was my turn.

After talking about my formative years growing up in a monoracial 'hood, I told my now-favorite story about people having issues pronouncing my first name. If you care to scroll back in the archives, you can read my blog about my personal war with George Takei. You know, Mr. Sulu from Star Trek? Several years ago, I attended an Asian American event where Mr. Takei was a guest. Because most people have a hard time saying "Yayoi", over time I've learned to sharply enunciate every syllable when announcing it. When I did so to Mr. Takei, he brushed me off with, "You don't even pronounce your name right!" I wasn't offended until much later when I realized he must think I don't know anything about Japanese culture just because I don't look like him. So, once again, I challenge Mr. Sulu to a duel--Who's More Japanese, Fool?

Anyway, the Mixed Chicks and I had a lot of fun talking about a lot of things. And, fun is important. That's why I've come up with terms like Hip Hapa Homeez and Hapa Japa to identify us blendies. The whole business of being multiracial in a monoracial world is serious enough and, often, our approach is just too academic for the average person to take in. Therefore, my thing is to add a little hiphop, pop culture flava to our experience.

Two topics currently running on my Facebook Hip Hapa Homeez group page are:

1. Why don't more Asian men and black women have interracial relationships? Asian men tell me they think the sistahs are hot, while black women say Asian men are quite attractive. So, what's the problem, ya'll?

2. It's that old bugaboo, hair, again. So many mixed-race people have hair that's different from their parents. It's especially tricky when the mother has a certain texture of hair different from her daughter(s). With boys, I guess, you can just cut it all off. But, in my, and my sister's case, my Japanese mother with her bone-straight hair would simply "plait" our unruly manes after greasing 'em up with petroleum jelly!

Anyway, it's good to connect so check out some of the links I've posted about friends I've been connecting with lately. And, definitely, give the Mixed Chicks a listen.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

War! What Is It Good For? Absolutely, Uh, Something!

Earlier, I wrote about the tensions between Japanese in Nippon v. the J/A's (Japanese Americans) in the U.S. Even though I slammed Mr. Sulu for his snide remarks about how I pronounced my name, I didn't mean to make light of the issue of Nipponese v. J/A's. Certainly, there is much to be said about the suffering on both sides.

J/A's languished behind the barbed wire of interment camps and were separated from family and friends, lost careers, property, and--most important of all in Asian culture--face. The Japanese in Nippon, also lost face along with millions of innocent lives in Hiroshima and Nagasaki which were destroyed by American atomic bombs. My own mother, living in Tokyo at the time, often found herself racing towards a bomb shelter to avoid the constant rain of B52 bombs dropped by Americans. One day, she arrived at work only to find her office in shambles; completely demolished by bombing.

No one ever really wins a war. The devastation comes not only in the loss of lives, but also in the deeply psychological pain that often lingers following the trauma of war.

But if there's any kind of light at the end of the tunnel to be celebrated, it's the births of thousands of mixed-race babies who would've never been born had it not been for a war somewhere. So, war can be a kind of cultural bridge, too.

Who would've ever thought that an African American man from the South, whose ancestors were brought in chains from a place he has no recollection of, would end up marrying a Japanese woman whose own sad personal history made her eligible to move to America? And, who would've ever thought that a spirited and artistic Japanese woman would marry a man who should've been considered a representative of the enemy of her people?

But it happened. And, it happened to many others like my parents. It happened to Germans and Italians, too. One of my best friends in high school had a French mother and Swedish American soldier father who had met his bride while he was stationed in Europe. Another had an Austrian mother and Caucasian American father. War brides are what they called these women, but they were so much more. They were brave souls who struggled to recover from the devastation of war and, if that meant marrying a stranger from a strange land, whether or not love fit into the equation, so be it. I'm sure most of those women loved the men they ended up with, but who among us can say how we would behave romantically after losing our families, friends, countries, and even our hope.

About 3/4's of the kids I knew while our family lived at Ft. Lewis were either Japanese and black or Japanese and Caucasian, and German and black or German and Caucasian. Quite frankly, if it hadn't been for a war, I wouldn't be me.

Still, it's too bad that it takes a war to bring some folks together. Perhaps in the future, people will make an effort to not segregate into tribes and, in the words of Bob Marley, "Spread out! Spread out!"

Cool runnin's, ya'll.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

P.S. That's me and Moms, above, with her bike in Tokyo many moons ago.

The Name Game And Who's More Japanese, Fool?

On Wednesday, I wrote about my birth name and why I began calling myself Yayoi instead of Lena as my family used to do. As we know, life imitates art and today, during a discussion with coworkers, I was asked to explain the whole March/May, spring flower/early spring sky, Yayoi Clan/bronze bells significance of my Japanese name.

As I did, I suddenly remembered attending an Asian-American, star-studded event some years ago, and being introduced to various celebs at the soiree. Because few people of Japanese descent were in the house, I very carefully enunciated my name (as I do when among those not well-versed in Japanese pronunciation) so that I was repeating, "Hi, my name is YAH-YOH-EE" over and over again. (In Japanese, there is no emphasis on any syllable.)

When I was introduced to George Takei (Star Trek's Mr. Sulu in the photo above), I automatically repeated my mantra. Eying me suspiciously, Mr. Sulu wrinkled his nose and blurted out, "You're not pronouncing your name correctly!" Well, gee, thank you Mr. Second-Generation-born-in-Cali-but-knows-everything-about-Japanese-culture-actor man!

You see, there's been this little ongoing rift between Japan-born Japanese and issei, nissei, sansei, yonsei, ad infinitum. All of those Japanese terms refer to various generations living in America. Issei, derived from the word meaning "first" or "number one" as in ichi, are the first generation that emigrated to the U.S.--like my mother and me. Technically, I'm issei. I wasn't born in America, but in Tokyo; and, Japanese was my first language even though I stopped speaking it by age two. Even with an African American father, I have a more direct link to Japan than Mr. Sulu because my mother is uber Japanese and has never stopped sharing her customs and culture with me and my sister. Yet anyone seeing both Mr. Sulu and me on the streets together is going to proclaim him more Japanese than me.

Which reminds me: I was in Little Tokyo (J-town, Los Angeles) with a sansei (Third Generation) actress friend one night when we decided to eat at a Japanese restaurant. When I opened the menu, I saw natto (fermented soybeans) listed, and promptly exclaimed, "Oh, look! They have natto (pronounced nah-thoh)! "What's natto (she pronounced it gnat-toe)?" my friend asked. I just sighed.

Back to that rift. The Japanese in Japan oftentimes look at the Japanese who left for America as traitors, especially since the Japanese in Japan fought the U.S. during WWII. As for J/A's (Japanese Americans), a lot of them resented Japan attacking Pearl Harbor as they struggled for acceptance in the U.S. Because Americans had a hard time separating the Japanese in Japan who started the war from J/A's who were American citizens, the unfortunate consequence was that J/A's were rounded up and put in prison camps. Of course, time heals and, although people aren't as angry now, there's still a sense that prevails in Japan that J/A's abandoned their own country.

Actually, I find it amusing that a J/A like Mr. Sulu felt the need to correct me. He probably saw right off that I wasn't a 100%er, and automatically assumed I didn't know anything about his culture. But, I bet I know a whole lot more than he does about Yoshitsune, Genji tales, and old Edo. What, are you kiddin' me? My Moms is a storyteller who can't stop talking. Even if you're busy and clearly doing something important, she will boldly interrupt to talk about some significant point in her life (like when she used to heave her baby sister upon her back and run really fast so that the unfortunate asthmatic kid would gasp non-stop).

Really, though, my Moms is cool. And, she still tells many fascinating tales of Shogun v. Tenno, the 47 ronin (master-less samurai), and Benke, Yoshitsune's vassal whose statue graces a bridge in Japan. When the taiga drama series featuring Shinsengumi aired a few years ago on NHK, I was riveted--having already heard of the rogue cops' adventures from my mother.

Moms also talks about entitled samurai who tested the sharpness of their swords on unsuspecting citizens late at night. She claims the victims would walk city blocks before realizing that one of their arms had been sliced off from their shoulder. That's how sharp those swords were, and how swift the samurai would strike as they strolled past their innocent targets.

Before anyone in America even knew what a ninja was, my mother demonstrated to us how the mercenaries would literally disappear by jumping high into a tree to hide. Of course, she herself didn't jump into a tree, but she'd hop into the air to show us. (You had to be there.)

On a more personal tip, Moms loves telling about the time she put her hand through a paper wall (typical in Japanese homes when she was growing up) after suddenly standing when she'd been sitting on her knees for hours (her legs had fallen asleep). Now, that is pure Japanese. I bet Mr. Sulu never sat on his knees in his life.

Truthfully, I have no quarrel with Mr. Sulu, or anyone either J/A (Japanese American) or straight-up Nihonji. I'm just saying that just because you happen to LOOK more Japanese than me, it don't mean a thang.

And, to answer that question that's always on people's lips after they realize what my last name is--yes, I AM related to Oprah. I'm sure I am. I just wish the sistah would realize it. Say, Oprah, if you're reading this, do you know that you have half-Japanese cousins, cuz?

Oyasuminasai!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi