When I was a kid, I loved
American Girl dolls. They were
just expensive dolls, but they were
also a defining innovation of my
entire upbringing. The historical
dolls scene was the best — don’t
argue. Felicity was my favorite,
but Nellie was pretty cool and
Molly was all right. Don’t talk to
me about Samantha though. My
best friend and I would spend
hours at her house poring through
magazine pages, picking out the
dolls we wanted and the outfits
we would put them in. We read all
the books together, and made up
our own stories once we finished
the books. I wanted, more than
anything, to have an American Girl
doll. And when my best friend got
Kit Kittredge, I was so jealous.
But here’s the thing: part of the
attraction of American Girl dolls
is that the doll looks like you. All
the girls in the magazines looked
just like their dolls. There were
always sections in the back where
you could customize your own
doll so it really fit — Truly You, or
whatever it was called. You could
even buy matching clothes and
pajama sets, so you know it was
real. But my friends and I would sit
for ages, leafing through eye colors
and hair colors and skin tones but
we could never come up with a
doll that looked quite like me. A
chubby-faced, Chinese-American
girl.
That really messed with my
head for a while. Especially playing
with my friend and Kit Kittredge,
with their matching blonde bobs,
I wondered why I couldn’t get
a doll that looked like me. So I
decided I would write a letter to
the American Girl organization.
I saved all my Christmas money,
all my birthday money and all
my Chinese New Year hong bao
(red packets of Chinese New Year
money) for this moment. I had
$132.74 in cash and a mission.
I wrote to the American Girl
organization in Chicago — with my
best handwriting, to make it clear I
wasn’t fucking around — to ask if
they could make a doll that looked
like me. A doll with little almond
eyes that her classmates sometimes
made fun of, and straight black
hair that stood out among a sea of
brunette. I put all my money into
the envelope, figured out how to
address an envelope and sealed my
letter in tight.
Unfortunately, my grand plan
was thwarted by my mom, who
thought putting a fat stack of cash
into an envelope was not a good
idea. And even though I wasn’t
happy about it, I was willing to let
it go. It was my mom, after all.
Fast-forward
to
2007,
and
American Girl released Ivy Ling.
I was shook. Yeah, Ivy was a Best
Friend and not a main doll and
she was Taiwanese, not mainland
Chinese, so I didn’t relate to
everything about her. But she
looked like me, ate the same kind
of food at home and celebrated
Chinese New Year, like me. And
when I say I begged for that doll,
I’m not playing. I swear I almost
cried when she arrived in the mail,
with her red qipao — traditional
Chinese dress — and black bangs.
Finally, I had an American Girl
Doll that looked just like me. I felt
like I belonged.
This is the story of so many
Asian-American girls. I spent
so much of my childhood, and
still spend so much time today,
searching for women who look
like me in outlets of my life. It’s not
something that I would spend a lot
of time thinking about, but I think
its effects were more pertinent than
I recognize. Because whenever I
see Asian-American women like
Constance Wu, Amy Tan or Judy
Chu, it makes me think that I could
be them in the future. I can make
as much change as they have made.
I can be successful, I have a place
in America. For all the backlash I
have gotten for looking the way I
do, seeing Asian-American women
in the eye of the public makes me
feel as though it doesn’t matter. If
they could make it out and keep
chasing their dreams, I can too.
Recently, I have also been
spending an ungodly amount of
time explaining to people why
Asian-American
representation
matters. From Facebook friends,
class discussions and our own
university president, I hear that
Asians are a smaller population
anyway. It’s an economic and
business choice to use white
people. Asians are better off
compared to other minorities,
and I need to pick my battles.
Some Asians don’t care, so why
should I? And when I consider
those perspectives, it makes sense.
Stereotypically,
Asians
stack
paper, keep their mouths shut and
fulfill the image of immigrants
that is marketed to the rest of the
world. But why don’t people think
Asian-Americans have problems?
Because I know there is unspoken
poverty in urban Chinatowns,
there are ignored issues among
the Hmong population in Detroit,
and that Jiansheng Chen, Srinivas
Kuchibhotla and Alok Madasani
were shot unarmed this month
and no one really cared. However,
I have realized that people are
only aware of the Asian-American
statistics publicized to the rest
of the world. They do not see
our issues because, to them,
Asian issues don’t exist. All they
see are the numbers of Asians
getting university degrees, the
nerdy Asian sidekicks on the big
screens, the Asian fantasy girls
in pornography, but that is not
the reality of the Asian-American
experience. Although Asians are
part of the ethnic group that is
most likely to receive a college
education, there exists a serious
lack of Asian-American leadership
in industries across the board.
That’s not even mentioning that
many subcategories of Asian-
Americans receive below-average
educations — we just don’t talk
about it.
So Asian-Americans get degrees,
but that doesn’t mean anything
when they leave campus if they
want to make change in a field.
People still want white faces to lead
their businesses and institutions.
And while it is a huge privilege
to be able to receive an education
at the university level, Asians
still have to combat the notorious
bamboo ceiling when they finish
college. It all stems back to how
Asian-Americans are perceived in
this country. Media is a huge outlet
for many Americans, and that is
why accurate and multifaceted
representation matters so much.
It’s why Karlie Kloss dressing
as a geisha in Vogue’s diversity
shoot was offensive, and why
Scarlett Johansson in “Ghost in
the Shell” was unacceptable. If
you really needed a model for
a
diversity
shoot
celebrating
Japanese culture, wouldn’t it be a
great opportunity to help Japanese
models break into the modeling
industry? Isn’t it more economical
to cast an Asian actress in “Ghost
in the Shell,” rather than try digital
alterations on Scarlett Johansson’s
face to make her look more Asian?
Hearing about things like this
makes me, as an Asian girl, feel as
though I’m not needed in society.
That someone can just take a white
woman, give her an angled bob and
call it about the same. Preferable,
even.
I have been taught, through
instances like these, that white
America
doesn’t
want
actual
Asians. They want Becky to
squint a little, and that’s more
palatable for society. They want
me to mispronounce my Rs and
say things that don’t make sense,
because English can’t possibly be
my mother tongue. They want
me to stir-fry rice in the corner,
and laugh along with their jokes
that simply aren’t true. But you
want to know a secret? It’s not
“ching chong,” it’s Chongqing,
and Chongqing is a major Chinese
municipal city with over 30 million
people. You don’t have yellow fever,
Chad, you have a problem with
hypersexualizing Asian women.
And my eyes might be smaller than
yours, but I still somehow see more
than you, because you can’t even
recognize the ignorance coming
out of your own mouth.
When I tutored kindergarteners
a few weeks ago, I walked into the
classroom and noticed that, while
the classroom was quite diverse,
there was only one Asian girl in the
room. She noticed it, too. When she
saw me, her eyes grew so big, they
looked like marbles. She ran up to
me when activities started, still in
disbelief.
“You
look
like
me,”
she
whispered.
“I do,” I replied.
She stayed by my side for the
whole time I helped out in class,
playing phonics Go Fish with all
the kindergarteners. And when
my time was up, her little hand
waved goodbye, watching me with
those big marble eyes. All I could
think about for the rest of the day
was the look on her face when she
first saw me. It reminded me of my
own inexplicable obsession with
Selena Gomez when I was younger.
I couldn’t put a finger on it at the
time, but I later realized it was
because she looked vaguely like
me. Representation matters. When
I see another Asian woman doing
important things in society, it gives
me so much hope for myself. And
this feeling is probably applicable
to other groups of people. Diverse
representation is a powerful tool
that must be harnessed to truly
attain an inclusive society. And
people will question, degrade,
dismiss and push my beliefs aside,
but I will not stand down. This is
important, and I will push until
people understand.
Progress comes slowly, but I
am willing to take slow progress
if the alternative is none. Ivy Ling
was discontinued in 2014, but in
February, American Girl released
not only a new Korean-American
doll, but also a Pacific Islander doll.
American Girl dolls might not be
the hypest scene for kids anymore,
but I hope those who still care can
learn more about those cultures,
or find a place for them within the
context of American Girl Dolls.
Because if you are here in America,
you deserve to be visible.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Thursday, March 16, 2017 — 3
American Girl Doll
LSA Dean Andrew Martin
Promotes Ignorance of Asian/
Pacific Islander Americans
STEFFI CAO
MiC Contributor
If you are worried that the
dissemination
of
“alternative
facts” is undermining intelligent
discourse and threatening our
democracy, we advise you to
pay closer to attention to LSA’s
attempts
to
eliminate
and
distort the history of Asian/
Pacific Islander Americans at the
University of Michigan.
On March 10, LSA Dean
Andrew Martin sent an email
for mass distribution in which
he announced “the first-ever
campus-wide
convening
of
students, faculty, and staff for an
afternoon of informal meet-and-
greet networking, information
sharing,
and
structured
conversations on issues of concern
to Asian, Asian-American, and
Pacific
Islander
communities
across campus.”
Apparently,
Dean
Martin
has just discovered the A/
PIA
community
the
same
way
Columbus
“discovered”
America.
The
flier
Martin
attached says the summit will
discuss the “History of APIAs at
U-M.” However, his misleading
announcement suggests this will
be a whitewashing of history.
As members of a network
of A/PIA alumni and former
student leaders, we are here to
tell Martin that our community
has convened dozens of campus-
wide gatherings of student, staff
and faculty for more than four
decades.
Not
coincidentally,
overcoming LSA’s lack of support
for A/PIA Studies and lack of
awareness of A / PIA concerns
has been a central impetus for
these regular convenings.
To
erase
the
history
of
A/PIA
organizing
at
the
University is to ignore the
collective struggles we have
fought against Eurocentrism,
hate crimes and institutional
racism,
while
fighting
for
ethnic
studies,
affirmative
action and social justice. This
erasure reinforces the model
minority stereotype of Asians as
passive and conservative, thus
fostering divisions between the
A/PIA community and other
communities of color.
In
recent
years,
A/PIA
students,
faculty
and
staff
organized a series of campus-
wide summits, conferences and
events in response to LSA’s failure
to retain A/PIA Studies faculty,
which reached a crisis point
starting in 2011. Within an eight-
month period, the United Asian
American Organizations, the A/
PIA Studies program and Multi-
Ethnic Student Affairs convened
two summits, one strategy session,
one
community
conversation
and an Asian-American activism
conference, where more than
80 presenters addressed both
campus and community issues.
Participants
included
prominent
A/PIA
scholars,
artists,
organizers
and
off-
campus leaders, including a U.S.
congressman and a state senator.
Two presenters have since been
elected to the Michigan House of
Representatives and Philadelphia
City Council, respectively. These
gatherings also addressed the lack
of space for A/PIA and student of
color organizations on campus,
as well as the problem of a hostile
campus climate.
To pretend that events of
this magnitude never happened
demonstrates
either
profound
audacity or a supreme level of
ignorance that should disqualify
oneself
from
leadership
in
education. But why is LSA trying
so hard to erase this history? We
have some ideas.
First, when students don’t
know how vibrant A/PIA Studies
used to be, it is easier for LSA to
pretend as if its new diversity plan
is breaking new ground rather
than peddling old rhetoric. Prior
to the demise of the program,
A/PIA Studies curriculum and
faculty had a strong presence
among
student
organizations
and campus life, and frequently
collaborated to put on events
several times a semester. One of
the annual events that has since
dropped off was “HolidAPA”,
an event held at the end of the
fall semester to showcase A/
PIA Studies end-of-the-semester
projects.
Second,
setting
low
expectations makes it easier for
LSA to defend its poor decision-
making
regarding
leadership
choices for the A/PIA Studies
program and Department of
American Culture, which lost 20
faculty of color from 1997 to 2016,
including all four prior A/PIA
Studies directors.
Third, Dean Martin and LSA
are covering up their own roles in
undermining faculty of color and
ethnic studies. The University
is currently the defendant in
a landmark suit by two highly
successful,
award-winning
faculty, who cite the University’s
own documents to reveal how
prior LSA deans and senior
faculty opposed ethnic studies
and favored white professors with
thin resumes to lead American
Culture.
If he wants to believe he is
so committed to diversity and
the A/PIA community, Dean
Martin
should
retract
these
alternative facts and implement
the five demands we presented
in November 2016, and reinstate
professors Kurashige and Lawsin
immediately, giving them the
resources needed to restore A/
PIA Studies at the University. If
he will not do this, we challenge
Martin
—
a
quantitative
researcher — to show us the data
that on A/PIA Studies activity
(e.g., student enrollment and
involvement, fundraising, public
events,
local/national
awards,
media coverage) before and after
Prof. Kurashige’s termination and
explain the discrepancy.
INTERESTED IN
WRITING FOR
MIC?
Michigan in Color is
a space by and for
students of color.
We accept all forms
of submissions —
personal narratives,
poems, policy critiques,
and more. If you are
interested in joining
or submitting a piece,
please contact at
michiganincolor@
umich.edu.
When you see me, do you only see my hijab?
ZANIB SAREINI
MiC Contributor
When you greet me, do you
only see my hijab?
When I walk into
the classroom
the grocery store
the mall
the gym
the airport
Do you only see my hijab?
When I am
angry
sad
silent
happy
When I
fail
succeed
smile
cry
Do you only see my hijab?
When you ask me
“What foreign country are
you from?”
“When were you forced to
wear ‘that’?”
“When will you have an
arranged marriage?”
When you
silence me
call me a terrorist
look at me with fear
yell at me to “go home”
pull your child away from
my side of the sidewalk
are shocked that I can
speak English
feel threatened by my mere
presence
Do you only see my hijab?
Maybe the more important
question here is:
What do you even see
when you see my hijab?
Me?
or
Your
false
perceptions,
implicit biases, unconscious
hate, irrational fear, invalid
disgust,
and
uninformed
generalizations?
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
A/PIA ALUMNI
MiC Contributors