Bad Comcast, Insults, Interracial Alien Abductees, And HAPA B-day!

Thanks to Comcast, my post is a day late. I don't know why they started messing around with their servers at the exact time I was finishing up, but they did and now I have to start all over. Apologies.

Yo! Hip Hapa Homeez,

It's been another busy week of dismantling misinformation about multiracial people, and I'm exhausted. Sometimes, I get so tired of preaching and teaching that I just let stuff slide. How about you?

A couple of days ago while out walking, I ran into the bus driver with whom I had shared my woes about a difficult class I took last quarter. Since he drove the bus to the campus daily, I often complained to him about the homework that I struggled over. Coincidentally, he was familiar with the subject and tried to encourage me. When I had last seen him, I was sweating a bad grade. Surprisingly, I ended up doing better than I anticipated. Spotting him on my walk, I expressed my delight at earning a decent grade. Laughing, the driver replied, "Well, that's the Asian half of you." I was speechless. Since he's Asian himself, I wasn't sure if he was just attempting to create a bond through our cultural connection. I wanted to ask, but didn't, if he thought it possible that my black relatives might value education more than my Japanese ones. I'm sure he meant no harm by his statement. After all, Asian immigrants in America do have a reputation for being academically inclined. However, I've read articles that indicate the true model minorities are Haitians. That's right; those refugees that arrived packed in rickety boats off the shores of Florida are considered to be the most achievement-oriented in this country--counting numerous doctors, nurses and lawyers among them.

Awhile back, a Caucasian man made a similar remark when I mentioned some academic accomplishment I'd realized. "You're so smart," he said. "It must be the Asian in you." Of course, I was stunned. Was he saying that the black in me was not as bright as the Japanese? I wanted to ask if he knew who invented the traffic signal light, or who came up with the idea of blood transfusions that saves millions of lives worldwide. Hint: Neither were Asians.

And, what about Obama then? Do you think world leaders sit around thinking, "That guy is so smart. It must be the white in him." Is it a good thing then, that Obama identifies himself as an African American?

I suppose there are worse things that monoracial people can say to us mixies. Yet, I find myself often thinking that as a whole (pun intended), we humans have a long way to go.

Recently, I ran into a former classmate who is half white and half black. As we discussed being biracial, he revealed that he and his brother were treated differently as they grew up. My friend is "high yella"--golden skinned with green eyes and "good" hair. His brother, he told me, had darker skin and tighter hair. I explained that my film, Watermelon Sushi, is about this very issue--how people are perceived to possess certain traits based on nothing more than their appearance. Just when did having a darker shade of skin become an open invitation for scorn, anyway?

Earlier in the week, I was at a local copy shop when I began conversing with a young African American woman who was assisting me. Reading her name tag, I mentioned that I had a friend who shared her unusual name, but who lived back East. The young women then shared with me her complicated family history and all the places where they had resided. Then, very casually, she explained that her father had not been raised by his own mother (her grandmother), but by his grandmother (her great-grandmother) because--here the young woman lightly brushed the back of her arm with her fingers--his skin was too dark.

Can you imagine being rejected by your own mother because of something so irrelevant as the shade of your skin? If your own mother won't accept you, what hope is there for the rest of the world embracing you? Folks, we just suck.

On another note: Thanks to the quick eye of Rachel Herault, I had to revisit my March 19th blog post titled "Where Are the Extraterrestrials of Color?" If you recall, I was in a tizzy after viewing the Hollywood film Knowing, starring Nicholas Cage as an MIT prof who unravels a series of numbers that add up to doom for planet Earth. While he's busy figuring out that we're on a collision course with the Sun, several aliens (all monoracial Caucasians) intervene. I was miffed that none of the aliens were of color, and posed the question; how come the future is so white when there are more Chinese on the planet right now than anyone else? I even insinuated that Hollywood is sending a subtle message that aliens can only be Caucasian because they possess a superior intelligence proven by their ability to travel all the way to our planet. Anyway, Rachel reminded me that a couple who was actually abducted by aliens in the 1950's was interracial. Barney Hill was black and his wife, Betty, was white. In the TV movie based on their story, they were played by actors James Earl Jones and Estelle Parsons. The fact that I remember the most about the Hills' adventure is Betty's drawing of where the aliens had come from. Although she drew stars that didn't exist at the time of her kidnapping, years later scientists discovered them in the sky.

Please keep your cards and letters coming, Hip Hapa Homeez. I love hearing from you! And, don't forget to sign up to join our Facebook group--Hip Hapa Homeez. Remember our Hapa*Teez t-shirts and our open call casting for Watermelon Sushi, too.

Last, but not least, here's a shout-out to Moms. HAPA b-day! I tried to wish it on your special day, but see 'bad Comcast', above. Omedetto gozaimasu! The photo above is one of Moms at the earliest age we could find. Here (bottom left), she's a 16 year-old nanny, out boating with her employer's family.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Albino Massacre

Recently, there's been some disturbing news--sort of race-based--coming out of Tanzania where it's been rumored that albinos (people who lack melanin to produce skin color) possess a kind of magic in their bodies. So-called witch doctors have been telling their clients to provide them with the legs, hands and/or hair of an albino in exchange for magical powers.

What's interesting about this atrocity is that an albino of black African descent has very white-pinkish skin even though his or her facial features are not Caucasian. Therefore, it sort of reinforces that white skin, again, is of more value than dark skin--of course, in a very perverse way since the white-skinned African is murdered for his or her more highly valued body.

Many unfortunate albinos have been living in fear that they will be attacked with machetes, and some have taken to living together in shelters. Besides being a real tragedy, this abomination is just one more area of life where skin color becomes the pervasive issue.

Sometimes, I wonder if it will ever stop.

Here's a link to the BBC coverage of this story:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/2/hi/programmes/newsnight/7520690.stm

btw, join my Facebook group Hip Hapa Homeez to view stories like this one and take part in discussions about them.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Haruo And Spring

Perhaps it's coincidence, or perhaps not, but this past Sunday a contestant on NHK's amateur singing show sang the Jero hit Umiyuki. I couldn't seem to extract from my mother whether or not this is a popular song, like a well-known tune equivalent to, say, Hey Jude or something. But if you know, please tell me. All I know is that yuki refers to snow, and that it's a name for girls born in winter.

Speaking of seasons and Japanese names, I remember having the biggest crush on a boy named Haruo (for spring) McKinley back in the fifth grade. I often wonder what became of him. In fact, about half a dozen girls in my class were smitten with Haruo. Although he looked totally Japanese, I'm assuming that with that last name his father was an American Caucasian. Haruo's hair was dark except for a patch of blonde in front. In this photo, you can't really see it, but it's there.

One possible reason Haruo appealed so much to us girls might've been because he was older than us. On the back of this photo, he signed his name along with his age: 12. The rest of us were 10 going on 11, so to us he was an older man--suave and sophisticated. I wonder if he might've been held back in school for a year. My guess is that he had probably gone to school in Japan and had to start all over in the U.S., maybe due to a transition in language.

Anyway, the girls all loved Haruo. Even when he cried. Oh, yeah. One time, we all had to get TB tests done on the inside of our forearms. Well, Haruo's blew up into a big red circle and everyone said he was probably infected with tuberculosis. I remember watching the poor boy at his desk lay his head in his arms and just bawl. It must've been a false alarm, though, because he was back in school the next day impressing us again with his blonde forelock and older, wiser ways.

Here's to a happy haru, or spring, to you--whoever and wherever you are.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Muffin's Twin

I thought I'd give ya'll a break today, and refrain from writing ad nauseam about race. (Okay, okay. I admit I have a ton of homework, too.)

So, instead, I'll just post a photo (thanks for the pix, Bob!) of Muffin's twin. If you recall, Miss Muffin is the BIRACIAL offspring dog (poodle/terrier) of her blended folks (Asian/Caucasian).

Since I posted a photo of the real-live Muffin last week, I thought I'd include one of her twin this week. Thanks to Cassie who sent the dog figurine to my mom after meeting her several weeks ago. Like me, Cassie is Japanese and African American and grew up in the Northwest. It's always good to connect with our twins.

Enjoy!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

P.S. Five hot, haute, hip hapa designs have been added to the Hapa*Teez lineup: http://www.cafepress.com/hapateez

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.

Back To Biracial Bizness

After five straight hours of talking, I'm exhausted. What was supposed to have been a 20-minute videotaping of a young Japanese-Caucasian American teenager turned into an all afternoon gab fest with his cool white mother. Now in her 40's, Mary (not her real name) told me about growing up in the Northwest with relatively no racial awareness. Her Danish grandfather, she said, taught her that all people were the same, and that America was a place where everyone should mix together. Taking his words to heart, she married a Japanese man, produced two gorgeous children, and now hosts foreign students of all ethnicities in her comfortable home. Determined to do her part in making the world an accepting place for all races, Mary told me that being bussed in high school was the best education she ever had. Imagine that. Then contrast Mary's experience with those Southern white kids who spat at, and called degrading names out to, black children attempting to integrate their schools. We've come a long way, baby.

And, it's been a long day, so I bid you adieu.

P.S. A happy belated Valentine's Day to Brian P. Thanks for the card (pix above), sweetie!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi