Common Grind

There's an awkward feeling that many people of color in America experience when someone within their cultural identity group publicly does something embarrassing. I'm not talking about respectability politics here exactly (though there's plenty of that to go around, especially among "model minority" groups). I'm talking more about the feeling that comes to (most) Indians' minds when they think of Dinesh D'Souza, conservative-hack-filmaker and convicted felon, or Rajat Gupta and Mathew Martoma, Wall St. gluttons busted for insider-trading. Despite many having found success in Republican-voting fields like medicine or finance, Indians and South Asians overwhelmingly vote Democrat and support policies that positively impact American minority populations. But seeing televised images of the D'Souza-types leads to a special kind of discomfort because, with rather few representations of Asian Indian Americans out there, we are acutely aware of the damage a few bad apples in the eyes of our progressive friends in other backgrounds. Appearing racist, selfish or greedy is the last thing a post-colonial people would want to be associated with, I would imagine.

It was this uncomfortable feeling that came over me when I saw that one of the most viral, and soundly rejected, opinion pieces about the situation in Ferguson, Missouri that aimed to rationalize police abuse of power was written by a man of Indian descent. Sunil Dutta, a professor of homeland security at Colorado Tech University and former LAPD officer, laid out his case for giving law enforcement a blank check to escalate tension in his aggressively-titled Washington Post op-ed, "I’m a cop. If you don’t want to get hurt, don’t challenge me." I was also a bit irritated to read a Times of India story on Ferguson that focused in on the Indian convenience store owner who was threatened by Michael Brown in a security video that we never should have seen to begin with. As someone who has been deeply engaged in understanding the racial dimension in Ferguson and who feels passionate about the need to address our police problem, I was frustrated that these Indians, with their unprecedented opportunity to educate and influence readers, chose to fan the embers of anti-Black racism within the South Asian community instead of expressing much-needed solidarity.

Of course, it's not fair for me to say that all Indians and South Asians should think and feel a certain way, as our diverse communities are entitled to come to their own conclusions on race matters. I can instead only share some of my experiences as a way to explain how my perspectives on the disturbing trend of lethal violence--against Trayvon Martin, against Eric Gardner, against Michael Brown--were shaped and sharpened.

* * *

I grew up in Edison, New Jersey, a town name that usually brings a smirk to most the faces of most Indian people I talk to when they realize that an aunt or cousin had lived there at one point or another. As the namesake of the lightbulb’s creator and inventor that hipsters will liken to Steve Jobs, Edison has become better known for its very visible South Asian population, many of whom emigrated to work in engineering and IT fields. Soon Edison would have full business districts packed with Indian restaurants and Gujurati-owned enterprises to serve this growing community.

“In retrospect, I question just how good our schools were if "dot heads" was the best racist insult we could come up with for a group of people whose gods have multiple arms and an elephant nose.” Joel Stein in “My Own Private India” TIME Magazine, July 1, 2010

Of course, not everyone took Edison’s transformation into a South Asian-heavy community very well. Anger and resentment was quietly building up among Edison’s white denizens over the affordances given to Edison’s new creative class, who were now not only doctors and tech engineers but were also creating small businesses that primarily serve the Indian community. Stores that sold samosas were replacing Pizza Huts, and soon it appeared that brownness was everywhere, from the gas station attendant to the actress in the Bollywood poster at the train station. TIME Magazine writer and "humorist" Joel Stein had gone to my high school in the eighties and, upon returning to Edison, was shocked to see this turnaround. In the context of controversies over Arizona’s immigration policy and a weak economy that exacerbated racial tensions in towns like mine, Stein penned a column about Edison called, “My Own Private India.” In it, he lamented about the drastic changes to the town he grew up in, emphasizing that the landmark locations where he and his friends had created memories in their youth were now adorned in foreign symbols and exuded funny smells. His thesis seemed to be that change was scary, but in the process he made offensive remarks about Indian culture and the community that had overtaken his new home.

Reading the column when it appeared in a July 2010 issue made my blood boil and sparked an outcry from the Indian community (and a half-hearted, "sorry you were offended" non-apology from Stein shortly after). We wondered: had TIME Magazine not considered that such a piece, with national reach, would not only embarrass and humiliate our cultural community in Edison but lend credence to the xenophobes and bigots around the country? I saw the link circulate on social media, and the divisions over reactions to the article emerged along racial lines. My white friends wondered why Indians could not appreciate the humor of the article: one Jewish friend posted that this was a rite of passage for many racial groups, and that oversensitivity would overshadow an important opportunity to laugh at ourselves. I was not sure how to react to the article, and felt my DC and Edison identities wrestling within me when I tried to land somewhere in the middle: Stein was right, after all, that Edison had changed dramatically, but South Asians were not ready to feel the heated rhetoric that the Hispanic community was enduring in Arizona. We were not ready to be singled out, on a national scale, to become part of America’s increasingly destructive debate on immigration policy.

But I did not have to wait long before the damaging effects of the article became apparent. A week after the TIME piece had come out, I was with some Indian friends standing outside a convenience store in Edison while we decided on our plan for the night. We saw an SUV pull up slowly at the traffic light nearby. When the light turned green, one of its three white passengers rolled down the window to yell out to us:

"Joel Stein says, 'Get a job!'"

And they sped off.

I remember how my ears burned as I thought through what we had just been told. I knew what it was to feel racial prejudice, but this was different: Joel Stein had lent this drive-by insult some weird academic credibility. I wondered if he would have been proud to know that bigots were invoking his name to harass a group of Indian kids who were just picking up some Gatorade. Shame on Joel Stein and TIME Magazine, I thought and have thought many times since, for giving legitimacy to these racist sentiments, let alone with an insult that did not make a whole lot of sense when “taking American jobs” seemed to be a major source of the prejudice. Despite this logical fallacy, their racist joke still landed, though not quite as well as the one I had heard the year prior.

* * *

I take pride in having a multifaceted personality and adopting multiple perspectives, but in the face of a traumatic experience, frequent, near constant code-switching can make one feel unhinged and unanchored. Such a trauma took place a few months prior to the previous story, when I was visiting New Jersey for the Christmas holiday in December of 2009. We had finished our final exams at Georgetown and were now ready to celebrate with our friends at Rutgers University. We chose a nearby New Brunswick bar called Marita’s, and a degree of racial tension was apparent from the minute we walked in: half of the patrons were Black and the other half were South Asian, with demarcations between the two groups all but physically visible. None of this should have mattered, of course, but for some reason that night, it did: tense interactions between “us” and “them,” exacerbated by alcohol, would result in small shoving matches and verbal altercations whenever one person was in another’s “territory” or was looking at the other in a suspicious way.

“Come on, you people like spicy food, right?” Unidentified police officer December 2009

The tension eventually escalated into a large brawl outside of the bar: I watched in horror as my friend fell to the ground with blood dripping from his mouth and we dragged him out of the chaotic scene to wait for an ambulance. The block was soon swarmed by police who appeared to take satisfaction in throwing these warring minorities into the snow to break up the brawl. 

The crowd soon dispersed, and my group of friends began to walk in the direction of the hospital where our friend was getting treated for his mouth injury. Tempers flared and tears were shed as we all tried to make sense of the situation and how a night of celebration had ended so violently. The police officers urged that we move out of the scene faster, and were not satisfied with our pace.

Suddenly I felt a mist on the side of my face, which was protected by my shoulder-length hair, and my nostrils felt like they were being set on fire when I breathed in. In front of me, my friends fell to the ground, screaming in pain with their hands over their eyes. I turned around quickly to see two officers spraying the rest of my group with mace, and I will never forget what one of them yelled out with a laugh as he continued to coat a group of Indian boys in pepper spray:

“Come on, you people like spicy food, right?”

I turned my head briefly to look back as the (white) officer repeated his joke and cackled, before quickly fixing my eyes to the road ahead. There was no chance to get the officer’s badge number, or to yell back, nor would I have had the guts to do either. A quasi-survival instinct fueled by adrenaline took over as I and the other few whose eyes were spared led the rest of the group to the hospital waiting room, waiting as our friend got stitches while we washed our faces and processed the whole scene we had just left behind.

Honestly, I was most flabbergasted by how well-delivered this officer's racist punchline was. I mean, coming up with that kind of comedic gold had to have been rehearsed, right? Did smelling the remnants of the pepper mist that splashed off of our bodies remind the officer of the pungent odor that came from these Indian business districts he hated as he drove by them? Or had he been workshopping the line, knowing that all he needed was an opportunity to use some riot gear to give the perfect one-liner to impress his buddies on the force?

As days and weeks passed, the shock turned into a sense of helplessness. There was nothing to be done here, I felt, as the law enforcement in this country had the authority and the power to do what they wished. I had no photographic evidence of what had happened, and I had never reported the situation to anyone out of fear of the repercussions. Soon enough, my friends and I tried to blunt the edges of that night's memory by making our own "spicy food" jokes, helping us file that night away as just another crazy New Jersey story.

But the experience in New Brunswick left me with a wound that gets aggravated often, and I find myself coming back to that story and re-telling it with great detail each time. An unfortunate immediate aftereffect was that, for at least another year, I would feel uneasy in bar settings where the majority of patrons were Black and would avoid them so as to not recreate the racial dynamics of that night. While that (totally racist) feeling has left me since, my simultaneous fear and contempt of law enforcement, the kind that takes such pleasure in having unchecked power, remains stronger than ever. 

* * *

I share these race stories--anchored by two short jokes told in central New Jersey that dug deep under this brown skin of mine--because this moment in Ferguson demands that we do. While minority communities experience varied, unique, complex challenges in the United States and must work on improving our perceptions of each other, expressing solidarity with Ferguson strengthens our resolve and our support network in fighting the prejudices and injustices we all face. I am therefore optimistic that through sustained dialogue, history can remember Ferguson not only as the beginning of the end to militarizing our law enforcement, but as a starting point for substantial cross-cultural conversation that confronts systemic racism in America. I can only hope that I'm not wrong.

You go, John Cho.

The Korean American actor known for his roles in the Harold and Kumar series and the recent Star Trek reboots will indeed be breaking boundaries as a romantic lead in ABC's new sitcom Selfie. He'll be playing Henry Higenbottam in this modern take on Pygamalion and My Fair Lady, teaching social media addict Eliza Dooley (Karen Gillan) how real life skills to help her experience the world outside of the internet.

The casting of Cho into the role was the result of an evolving approach to the character and the storyline, as the Toronto Star reports:

Creator Emily Kapnek says producers initially thought along more conventional lines, casting someone who was British in the vein of the original Henry Higgins character.

“The casting process was pretty extensive . . . the idea was to find someone several generations older and British,” says Kapnek. “We looked at tons of different actors, and really once we kind of opened our minds and said let’s get off of what we think Henry is supposed to be and just talk about who is, we just need a brilliant actor—and John’s name came up.”

Kapnek said it was ABC who first brought up the idea of colour-blind casting.

Once Cho was cast, writers decided not to dwell on the inter-racial relationship, making it a non-issue in the storyline.

“To not even talk about it is a really new and, I think, mature way to look at it,” says Cho.

Cho goes on to say that his cultural background helps him relate to his new role in some ways:

His immigrant background (he was born in Seoul, South Korea) also helped him to further appreciate the spirit of Henry Higgins, a character who has spent his life studying the mannerisms and speech of others.

“As an immigrant, I learned by watching other people,” says Cho. “When you’re not born in this country, you kind of study how people talk and how they act and you try and break things down.”

This reflection from Arthur Chu, famous for his polarizing run on Jeopardy! last year, on misogyny in so-called nerd culture doesn't aim to be ground-breaking. However, it is sober, honest and thoughtful about how we can process Eliot Rodger's killing of six people last week after posting a lengthy manifesto about feeling spurned by women.

Chu describes a narrative reinforced in television and film about nerd characters who can "earn" the hot and thus unapproachable girl character; this is a narrative that any guy who was put down for being a nerd in his life (like Chu, like me, like most of my friends in life I imagine) has found solace in at one time or another. While the story is old and hardly specific to male nerds, Chu provides a few telling examples as to how, when taken out of the television studio and canned laughter, the nerd's behavior is dangerous and unconscionable: 

One of the major plot points of Revenge of the Nerds is Lewis putting on a Darth Vader mask, pretending to be his jock nemesis Stan, and then having sex with Stan’s girlfriend. Initially shocked when she finds out his true identity, she’s so taken by his sexual prowess—“All jocks think about is sports. All nerds think about is sex.”—that the two of them become an item.

Classic nerd fantasy, right? Immensely attractive to the young male audience who saw it. And a stock trope, the “bed trick,” that many of the nerds watching probably knew dates back to the legend of King Arthur.

It’s also, you know, rape.

Chu's article also made me reflect on how often I'll see a stupid, misogynistic post on Imgur be filled with posts from young men hiding behind a meme like "Confession Bear" to detail their complete numbness to their male privilege, only to praised by a roar of comments from other young men. Anytime a hashtag campaign or social issue arise focused on women, Redditors are quick to argue against the existence of women's issues at all. While the internet seems to be better at calling out those who lament about being "friendzoned," the notion that one can "earn" a woman and her body is still a powerful and prevalent one. Chu responds:

It’s because other people’s bodies and other people’s love are not something that can be taken nor even something that can be earned—they can be given freely, by choice, or not.

There is, of course, a ton to talk about and unpack when it comes to misogyny in nerd-dominated fields and fora, and none of those conversations should lead to causal blanket statements about nerds and violence against women. But Chu's reflection comes at an important time when a lot of money is being made by nerds; if we're not careful, the tech boom may only serve to bolster the "earning women" concept in the eyes of the nerd who feels he has paid his dues. We should be self-critical and introspective enough to decouple the lucrative nature of nerd-pioneered fields from the path to finding the partner that makes us happy. As Chu says, we need to remember that, in relation to women, "We are not the underdogs."

Definitely worth reading and considering.

Citing budget constraints, NPR announced today that it will end its weekday program, Tell Me More, and reduce its staff by 7% (eliminating 28 positions). NPR has been at the forefront of fostering conversations about ethnicity and identity, with efforts like The Race Card Project and Code Switch, but today's development has been met with major disappointment, especially from journalists of color who consistently advocate for the need for this kind of dialogue:

The TMM crew do great work. They know everything and everyone. And they are lovely people to work with.

— Gene Demby (@GeeDee215)

May 20, 2014

Yesterday was a very happy day Today -- not so much. Sad day at @NPR Mad love and much respect to the team at @TellMeMoreNPR

— Michele Norris (@michele_norris)

May 20, 2014

What does the cancellation of Tell Me More say about the future of thoughtful journalism on race issues?

Sprinkling "race and ethnicity" stories throughout programming won't have the same impact as @TellMeMoreNPR. Nuance and depth matter.

— Angela Flournoy (@angelaflournoy)

May 20, 2014

All I’m gonna say, is @TellMeMoreNPR was one of my very first major media appearances; being there gave me confidence to continue.

— Erika Nicole Kendall (@bgg2wl)

May 20, 2014

...problem with having a show/beat/segment dedicated to diversity: guess which show gets least resources, is first to go when things get bad

— Gautham Nagesh (@gnagesh)

May 20, 2014

This is not the first time NPR has put a program addressing minority issues on the chopping block, from Tavis Smiley's talk show on the station (2004) to News and Notes (2009). Jasmyne Cannick wrote about what the trend could mean back in 2008:

"It's disappointing, because the show’s cancellation is just another sign that it’s not safe out there for black journalists…anywhere. [...] When you set a mandate that diversity is a fundamental part of everything you do to offer relevant news, culture, and entertainment programming to an increasingly diverse public—then you are obliged to live up to it. And when you do not not, it’s our job as the audience, whether we are subscribers or not, to remind you of it. Consider this NPR’s official notice.

It will be interesting to see whether NPR will be able to develop a way to maintain the spirit of the work of Tell Me More, or whether the program and its contributors will look to other media (perhaps not even radio) to pursue these conversations.

In his series CARTOON X POP, Zhi-Yun Zhang drew our favorite rappers and singers as cartoon characters. Favorites include Frank Ocean as Mike from 'Monsters inc.' Miley Cyrus as Minnie Mouse, and many others. Check it out.

Outkast reunited and their first set back was last night at Coachella. They brought the house down. The ATLiens are back.

Happy Friday, Tumblr.

♥ Common Grind

I am sad to only be learning of this tremendous activist for women of color after reading memorials celebrating her advocacy, but I can do my part in spreading awareness of her struggles--the one she fought on the outside and the one she fought within herself. Karyn Washington, who founded the website For Brown Girls and leader of the #DarkSkinRedLip project, reportedly took her own life at the young age of 22. 

Victoria Uwumarogie of Madame Noire describes Washington's contribution to conversation on women's portrayal in hip hop:

The young woman launched her website in order to celebrate the beauty of black women who don’t always feel the love out here, and pushed the project #DarkSkinRedLip to encourage black women of all shades to embrace wearing red lipstick after rapper A$AP Rocky said that women of darker complexions shouldn’t rock it. That project, like For Brown Girls, was about empowering. That’s what Washington was all about.

Christelyn Karazin of Beyond Black & White explains that Washington's suicide should remind us to be willing to accept and pursue help in the face of mental health issues:

Let’s honor Karyn’s memory and continue the work that she started, and take it a step farther. Let’s not just tell black girls and women they are beautiful and worthy. Let’s also tell them that it’s okay to fall back, seek help, and heal.

Rest in Peace, Karyn. 

‘Illmatic,’ the seminal debut album by Nas, will turn 20 years old in a few days. Canonical at this point, ‘Illmatic’ shifted the hip hop landscape and has since become one of the quintessential 90’s albums. The Source, a career-maker at the time, gave Illmatic 5 mics - the highest possible rating. The album established Nas as a force to be reckoned with. It is emblematic of the Golden Age, and a showcase of Nas’ lyrical and conceptual talents as an emcee.  

The album sounds like how I imagine early 1990’s New York City felt. It’s grimy and cold and empowering and happy and sad all at the same time. ‘Illmatic’ is Queensbridge Exsistentialism. Nas recorded raps, but was really making a movie. The album’s opener, 'Genesis', begins with the sound of a train passing overhead. A sample of dialogue from the film Wild Style, one of the first hip hop films, is layered on top. The intro fades away with a small snippet of a verse from ‘Live at the Barbeque,’ a record from one of Nas’ earlier projects. This is all within the first minute. The young rapper had a knack for storytelling and a keen interest in soundscapes. It’s clear why years later the album consistently ranks as one of the best ever. 

To celebrate 20 years Nas has done a number of special performances and appearances this week. He and Q-Tip performed ‘The World is Yours’ on ‘The Tonight Show With Jimmy Fallon,’ and he performed a special show at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. backed by the National Symphony Orchestra. He’s also a big part of the Kennedy Center’s first annual ‘One Mic: Hip Hop Culture World Festival.’ ‘Illmatic’ still matters.

The initial praise for the debut set a high bar for the young emcee. A debut classic album is a lot to live up to. While his follow up album ‘It Was Written’ did well commercially, and continues to be Nas’ best selling album, it did not receive the initial praise that ‘Illmatic’ did. This level of adoration would elude Nas for years to come.

I am reminded of Frank Ocean and the initial praise for his debut album ‘Channel Orange.’ Upon the album’s initial release in July of 2012, Ocean received almost unanimous praise. Critics were especially fond of Ocean’s storytelling abilities.

Similar to the young Nasir Jones, Frank Ocean’s debut gave him a lot to live up to. Nas handled the pressure well. As mentioned above his follow up to ‘Illmatic’ (‘It Was Written’) is his most commercially successful to date. And upon revisiting, it’s a solid album. It’s no ‘Illmatic’ to be sure, but it remains true to the Queens mafioso vibe Nas established in his first album. More recently, Nas received some of the warmest praise of his career for his most recent album ‘Life is Good.’ Comparisons were made to Marvin Gaye’s heart-wrenching ‘Here, My Dear.’ Marvin Gaye comparisons are never a bad thing.

I have faith that Frank Ocean’s follow up will be as good as ‘Channel Orange’. I bring all this up because of a recent Tumblr post by Frank Ocean.

He’s almost done recording the follow-up and I’m very, very excited. I consider ‘Channel Orange’ a New American Classic. I’m excited to see what Frank Ocean does after. I certainly won’t compare the two because I know artists grow and don’t necessarily want to make the same thing twice. I’d imagine Frank Ocean doesn’t, the same goes for Nas.

The takeaway here is this: trust the artists you love. No one wants to make the same thing twice, so we shouldn’t expect it. Frank Ocean has cited the Beatles and the Beach Boys as inspirations for his follow-up. This sounds like a completely different sonic space than the neo-soul vibe of ‘Channel Orange.’ The Beatles and the Beach Boys have a psychedelic, rock’n’roll connotation to them. I’m excited. Very excited.

Bring the helicopter out.  

- Cory

A lot of folks, the kind that were so damn sure that Asian Americans don't understand satire, lamented last week that the conversation around #CancelColbert was distracting from the deeper issue: Dan Snyder and the offensive moniker of his Washington football franchise. I really enjoyed the response by The Nation's Julie Carrie Wong on why this argument--one that implicitly pits minority groups against another while exonerating the white entertainer that juxtaposed their issues in the first place--is particularly shaky:

We have been told that, even if Colbert’s joke hurt the feelings of some Asian Americans, it was all in furtherance of a greater good—the education of people within his audience who did not realize that the name “Redskins” is an offensive slur until it was compared to anti-Asian slurs. This narrative strikes me as particularly specious. It rests on weighing the education of a group of people who have been hypothesized into existence as more important than the experience of a group of people who are actually speaking out to express their discomfort...

We have been told that Colbert’s joke was aimed at the abhorrent racism of the name of the Washington football team, and that bringing up the question of racism aimed at Asian Americans is a distraction that will hurt the cause of Native Americans. This is a charge that would be easier to swallow were it not that so many of the writers putting forward this argument have never written about changing the name of the team themselves. Park and many of her fellow #CancelColbert tweeters have a history of engaging in Twitter activism against the team’s name alongside Native American activists: See #NotYourMascot as one example. Meanwhile, the idea that Colbert is more valuable to the fight against racism than people of color who are engaging in anti-racist activism on their own terms comes perilously close to a white savior argument that deserves serious scrutiny.

This latter point made by Wong, in which she reminds audiences that it was in fact Suey Park who helped popularize the #NotYourMascot campaign created by activists from EONM (Eradicating Offensive Native Mascotry), shows how we benefit from supporting and celebrating each others' activism on race issues. That brings us to the powerful graffiti piece above by artist Gregg Deal, (brought to our attention by the talented new Arts editor of the Washington City Paper and friend of the blog, Christina Cauterucci), one that we're proud to celebrate on here:

It’s a likeness of Chief Joseph, a 19th century Nez Perce leader famed for his peace advocacy, framed in banners that read “American Genocide Reconciled Thru Football.” The mural is one of dozens painted on a 990-foot wall at 514 Rhode Island Ave. NE.

To bring his message off the wall and onto the Internet, Deal included three of the most-used hashtags in Twitter conversations about racist mascots—#changethename, #notyourmascot, and #changethemascot—and one repping Honor the Treaties, a crew of indigenous street artist-activists.

Deal tells Cauterucci that his activism stems from a lack of indigenous representation in high-profile discussions on the name and its connotations:

“It’s about actually looking at it from perspective of indigenous person, instead of trying to assume that’s what indigenous people think,” he says. “It’s an issue that goes back much longer than the 80 years of this football team, or the 40 years of activism to change the name.”

Their conversation goes on to highlight the way graffiti and street art, temporary media that are intrinsically political in their appropriation of public space, are uniquely positioned to address this issue of the offensive team name:

According to Deal, part of his new mural's power lies in its location: a neighborhood full of longtime D.C. residents, many of them the kind of diehard Pigskins fans who might take issue with a painting that brings the legacy of genocide onto the field.

“Somebody will likely come along to deface [the mural],” he says. “But street art is temporary…It’s part of the statement of the work. If it gets defaced, it'll just be proof that we need more education on these issues.”

Great work by Gregg Deal in expressing his perspective as an indigenous artist in a provocative manner, and props to Christina Cauterucci on getting the story out to the DC community.

- Anupam