Oh God, another Asian American identity crisis?
I was recently sent this Instagram reel created by a Croatian-Canadian girl who shared the cultural challenges she faced moving to Croatia as an adult. There were two elements to her story: Croatians living in Croatia rejecting her (“but in Croatia they just hear my accent”), and her outdated Croatian identity. I focused on the former during my first viewing of the reel, but realized that the meat of the matter was in the second.
When I was initially sent the reel, I had completely dismissed her experience as singular and a matter of her unfamiliarity with her parents’ culture. She did focus on her accent. I figured this was no different from an archetypal “banana” or “coconut”: someone who is ethnically non-white, but has become wholly assimilated into the culture of the country they’ve immigrated to, or been born in. This was a well-established two-part process for many third culture kids, including myself: Step one is realizing that one is alienated from their roots, from their parents culture. Step two is reacting to it: either with acceptance or by learning more about their roots and second culture.
As far as I was concerned, I had already gone through this whole process. I grew up in an Asian enclave, attended a predominately white college, then went to China and “discovered myself”. Realized that I was not “neither there nor here,” but rather both here, there, and together at the same time. I could be proudly Canadian, Asian-American, and Chinese at the same time. I understood the language, mores, and folkways of each, and swam comfortably in all three. I was impatient with Asian-Americans who loved to insist on telling people that they were “from here”, when their ethnicity and potential cultural background is a perfectly acceptable question.
This all came ahead a week ago when someone I met in China had an issue with my claim to be Chinese. Granted, I am a Canadian first and foremost: I am a citizen, and I have spent most of my life there. Yet I identify strongly, and I believe not incorrectly, with Chinese culture. Part of the disagreement stems from the existence of a Chinese state and a Chinese people: I am not a Chinese citizen. Further complicating matters is that there is a Chinese term for someone who is ethnically Chinese, 华人. This distinction exists for many nation states with significant diaspora populations: Kandas (Kazakh), Nikkei (Japan), and Desi (Indian subcontinent).
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The nuance here is that 华人 is solely based on ethnicity. A third-generation Malay-Chinese is a 华人, regardless of how little attachment they have to Chinese culture or language, so I was taken aback when that was all my relationship with China was reduced to. Another issue is that there is no commonly used translation for it in English: Chinese is used to denote all three: citizenship, ethnicity, and culture, as well as language, which I speak well. So when I say I am Chinese in English, it is perhaps already confusing, the same way it would be when I say I’m Canadian without any further context. When I say it in Chinese, it is perhaps even more so.
To an English-speaker, comments like the ones the Croatian-Canadian girl received deny a certain sense of self that took effort to build up and become comfortable with. But there was a second part to her story, namely her outdated Croatian nationalism, inherited from her parents, strengthened by the small community she had in Canada. With globalization and the wealth of the Western world, nationalism can be considered quite passé in countries that have never caught up. It is instead fashionable to aspire to the freedoms of the west, and look to tradition as outdated, policy as backwards. This is not to invalidate the experience that shapes this political perspective, but to contrast it against the steady diet of nostalgia for a past that perhaps never was, which is often fed to immigrants second generation and beyond. Then, it is further cemented by the othering they face.
I have a good friend who holds a dual citizenship, Canadian-US. He grew up in the States, but attended college in Canada, where I met him. After college, he went to work in Capitol Hill. I always had a nagging feeling that attending college in Canada actually made him more American. He probably wasn’t as intensely aware of his identity in the States, but upon starting college, amidst all the “where are you from” questions, telling people he was from the US certainly didn’t hurt in reinforcing his identity. One thing leads to another, and then he becomes the singular authority on anything American: which is a lot in Canada. In essence, he became more aware of his nationality at college, becoming more American in Canada.
In a similar way, immigrants can become more acutely aware of how they differ from others once they are removed from a home environment. Particularly in a pluralistic society such as Canada, it’s no longer a question of how different Canadian culture is, but how different the home culture is compared to all the other cultures. Just like the DFW joke about the two fish swimming in water. This isn’t a claim that I understand Chinese culture better than Chinese people do, or that my perspective is much more informative, but rather an exploration of this aspect of myself.
Like discussed earlier, there are two possible reactions after acknowledging its existence: rejection or acceptance, often both radical. As someone who has chosen to accept this part of my identity, I obviously believe it is the healthier approach. Still, this approach takes work, and it can be frustrating, such as in the case of the Croatian girl, when all that work is summarily rejected. I believe in the strength of accepting all three parts of your identity as an immigrant: of the old culture, of the new culture, and of the mélange, if it exists: Asian-American, Turkish-German, Ukrainian-Canadian, to name a few larger ones.
It’s a bit ironic to claim that I have a good relationship with my identity when a comment sent me on a thousand-word spiral to complain. Yet after some reflection, I’m out of this crisis once more. Just as I wouldn’t entertain someone from Canada telling me that I’m not really Canadian, I really have no need to seriously be bothered by someone from China telling me that I’m not Chinese, whatever they might have meant by that comment. China is a big place with varied people after all. If I’m being honest, I am less culturally Chinese than someone who has never left China, but I can catch up on whichever aspects I’ve missed out on by growing up in Canada. Although it has taken work and will continue to take work, I am comfortable in any of the three culture milieus I identify with. I am Canadian, Asian-American, and Chinese.
