How I Lost, and Found, My Chinese American Identity
Born in 1937 to Chinese immigrants who raised the only Chinese family living in Macon, Georgia between the late 1920s to early 1950s, I always knew I was 'different' since everyone else was either black or white. Growing up, at times, however, I sometimes wished I could have been part of one of these groups because we had a very isolated existence, especially my parents. By the time WW II ended, the social status of Chinese in America improved considerably. Once excluded from immigration by law in 1882, and viciously and violently attacked throughout the U. S. and Canada, by the time I was growing up, Chinese were accepted even if regarded as inscrutable Orientals. The improvement was short-lived because by 1949 the Communist regime took over in China and then fought against the U. S. in the Korean war. Life for Chinese in America because increasingly difficult as many suspected that our loyalties were with Red China. At that time, I became "Chinese-American," hyphenated because I was neither Chinese nor American but some mixture seeking a place in society.
Moving to San Francisco when I was 15, overnight, I was surrounded by Chinese of many degrees of assimilation after being part of the sole Chinese family in Macon all of my life. I soon became Chinese American, dropping the hyphen. But after college, I left the Bay Area for graduate school at Northwestern in a then very white suburban Evanston, Illinois, followed by academic positions in Long Beach, Ca. and Toronto, Canada, both of which in those days had few other Americans of Asian, let alone Chinese background, especially in Universities. I became "honorary white" again as there were no other Chinese in my work or social environment.
After more Asians immigrated to the U. S. after 1965, and with Nixon's ping pong diplomacy with China, being Chinese came back into favor in America. But after spending most of my adult life in white environs, I was not too versed in Chinese customs, language, etc. so I remained "whitish." for many years until in 1981 I was awarded federal funds for a mentoring program that I was to direct for the next 25 years to guide minority students of any ethnicity to pursue doctoral degree education. My multicultural sensitivities prepared me well for this role, and this involvement helped me reconnect with my dormant Chinese identity.
Still, it was not until a few years before retirement from teaching psychology that my ethnic search for roots really awakened. What began first as a memoir to chronicle the difficult and lonely lives of my parents, especially my mother, led instead to writing my own story in 2005, "Southern Fried Rice: Life in a Chinese Laundry in the Deep South." Well-received by Chinese of my generation, my story reflected their own experiences in one way or another. I had not planned to write a second book, but the research I did in writing Southern Fried Rice enlightened me about the significant role of the laundry on the Chinese experience in America that I had never imagined. No longer was I embarrassed to have grown up in a laundry as I sometimes was as a child. I now felt proud of the legacy of legions of Chinese laundrymen and felt inspired to pay tribute to all the unsung heroes who toiled in this occupation for decades to provide for their children here and their parents in China, with the 2007 book, "Chinese Laundries: Tickets to Survival on Gold Mountain." By this time I was giving presentations to Chinese community and church groups, Chinese American history museums, and universities about Southern Fried Rice. At one such talk, a Mississippi Chinese encouraged me to consider writing about the history of the Delta Chinese grocers, a group that I had only a small knowledge of, but discovered had a unique and worthwhile story that I felt should be preserved, and resulted in writing "Chopsticks in the Land of Cotton: Lives of Mississippi Delta Chinese Grocers." I had a deja vu experience at a talk I gave last year at a Chinese church when a Chinese restauranteur pointed out a need for a parallel book on the experiences of people who ran Chinese restaurants. As a result, I am now completing "Sweet and Sour: Life in Chinese Family Restaurants" for 2010 publication.
In the process of writing and speaking about these histories, I became more "Chinese" than I had ever been. Becoming educated about the past achievements of the earlier immigrants in the face of hostile and virulent racism, I realized how important it was to help record and preserve this often neglected part of American history. It was intriguing that two of my contacts told me that my Chinese name was part of an ancient Chinese proverb, "When You Drink Water, Remember the Source," which prophetically was exactly what my post retirement career involves. Younger generations of Chinese Americans today think the problems of prejudice against Chinese are gone forever, but Chinese, like other "people of color" are readily identifiable targets. When, and if, relationships between the U.S. and China turn sour in the future, Chinese Americans will find themselves facing racial discrimination, as history has already demonstrated.Therefore, it is important that they be aware of this painful past so they can prepare to prevent its recurrence.