Crazy Rich Representation

Saw Crazy Rich Asians. You need to. Go go go pay the money and go. Maybe eight times.

I’m not great at sitting through movies because sitting still is a challenge for me in general. I did not have a problem sitting through this film for a few reasons, not the least of which is, it’s a great movie! Sure, I do like romantic comedies sometimes. Many of them feel like something to flip on while I cook dinner or clean my shower. Not this romcom. The film itself is light and humorous in several places, which I found entertaining. The fashion tickled my fancy for sure. But the movie actually deals with a dense array of themes and issues that truly held my attention. I should say, the movie is based on a best-selling novel by Kevin Kwan- Kwan deserves the credit for this brilliance in intersecting themes.

fancycrave-427217-unsplash.jpg
Photo by Fancycrave on Unsplash

Representation matters. Hollywood especially needs to heed this message a thousand times over. It matters that the cast of this film was not centered around white leads (or even supporting roles!) because so often, this centering creates a one-dimensional character that fills a stereotype or perhaps edgily fights against it, yet in the process of fighting still upholds that identity. It matters that the film actually focused on women character development more deeply than the men. It truly matters that this movie deals with class- albeit sometimes in a funny, glamorous way- because here in the United States, we don’t talk about class nearly enough. It also matters that this movie deals with fraught relationships and misogyny.

Without spoilers, intersectionality plays a big part in the conflicts between different characters.  Questions are left for us to answer- what is family, really, and how do we connect and support our own? How does the privilege of resource affect our bias? How can we live out feminism in different ways? The movie isn’t just important because it cast several Asian and Asian-American actors together- it is an essential commentary on how race, gender, class, language, culture, and sexuality define boundaries and sometimes clash within a single person’s identity.

I will not claim to find much commonality with most of the characters in the film because my context and privilege is different (also, I can look literally anywhere to see “me” represented in any field or sector). I spend much of my day immersed in questions of race, religion and class because my job is to interrogate how these concepts affect public life in the United States. One particular element did feel quite close to home. The film helped me begin to question how my family system affects my work in terms of what we “preserve,” what values we continue to uphold. Increasingly, my family and I clash in terms of what we value. My job is not to dismiss their traditions without engagement. Reflecting on the moments of change in our own values matter because we need to recognize the catalysts. Crazy Rich Asians matters because it is itself a catalyst in how Asian and Asian American identities are recognized as relatable but not one-dimensional. Final note- the soundtrack is amazing.

 

Advertisements

Me Too

Me too. Of course.

The patriarchy runs deep. So deep. How many of us hesitated to post the hashtag because a) we felt ashamed, b) we felt triggered, c) we felt invalidated (I “only”…”just”…”not a big deal”…) or d) all of the above? No victim or survivor owes social media any indication that they, too, have suffered. But the problem is a tangled web, not a straight line of perpetrator- victim.

mihai-surdu-415698
Photo by Mihai Surdu on Unsplash

Who is “us”? We can’t just include women, here. Not only does that invalidate the experience of queer, non-binary, non-conforming, and others who have born witness via their own bodies to sexual harassment and/or assault, but by ignoring anyone except women, we take away agency from everyone. Survivors live every single day, and that takes agency. As little as it might feel we have.

Something else that bothers me about the past two days’ worth of posts on this hashtag: it is so easy to sympathize without owning one’s role in the abuse. This doesn’t just go for men. The first time I grappled with the truth that I experienced assault, I was not much younger than I am now. Not only did I have to relearn that what I experienced wasn’t “meant to be flattering” or “because of what I was wearing,” I began to realize that I had said those things about other people. I questioned women who wore short dresses and high heels and layers of makeup. What did they think would happen? By thinking these things, I participated in the patriarchy. Even as a survivor, I can still uphold misogyny.

Dismantling is not a one-and-done experience, either. Even now, I catch myself feeling irritated by a student who speaks too much in class- but would I feel as annoyed if the student were a man? Subconsciously, I felt more comfortable calling a female professor by her first name than a male professor with the same qualifications. Why? I’m disgusted with my subconscious. This is the problem with categorizing “assault” and “harassment” as different from “microaggressions” or “casual sexism.” While one may involve physical violence, and each experience brings a different kind of trauma and need for subsequent processing, the idea that one can’t participate in the hashtag campaign because the only real experience they have was “just” when their boss interrupted them constantly, or they’ve “only” been catcalled by strangers, not raped after drinking at a party, so blatantly hides the existence of misogyny everywhere, among all people. These “small, meaningless” gestures are the most dangerous because they are so hard to call out, and further, to explain to the perpetrator- the burden of course falls on the oppressed. Yet these acts uphold rape culture. As harmful as this has been to me, I cannot help to dismantle unless I examine my own interactions with it.

I am in awe of the friends who have shared their voices and stories these past few days. I couldn’t do it. It is so common to internalize our shame. Me too: I am a survivor. Me too: I am complicit. Me too: I pledge to bring my subconscious participation into the conscious, stomp on it, and work to liberate my fellow survivors.