One of the very best things about hosting a blog is having guest contributors like Jung Kim. I coul never approximate her life experience nor gain her unique perspective on education. I can, however, constantly learn to be a better ally. I can include her in the various spaces in which I have unique access. I am glad I met Jung several years ago at an AERA Division K planning event. Since then we have had several conversations about shared interests--specifically young adult literature.
First, even though she doesn't cry, I am glad she did, at least once. I am happy that I am not alone as a crier in public educational spaces. Second, I love that she mentioned The Women Warrior. Including this book in my A. P. Curriculum over 30 years ago was one of the best text selections I ever made. Thanks Jung.
First, even though she doesn't cry, I am glad she did, at least once. I am happy that I am not alone as a crier in public educational spaces. Second, I love that she mentioned The Women Warrior. Including this book in my A. P. Curriculum over 30 years ago was one of the best text selections I ever made. Thanks Jung.
Representation Matters. For Everyone. “Even” Asian Americans
Jung Kim
I do not cry. Friends are routinely horrified by the things that do not move me to tears. But at NCTE 2019 I broke down in a presentation on Asian American literature in front of a room full of people. I cried in public. In a professional space. I was horrified, but it was also the perfect place in which I could make such a spectacle of myself. While I have long been a champion and advocate of diverse literature, so much so that I had a student “critique” a class in one evaluation with this attempted barb, “This class should be called ‘MULTICULTURAL children’s literature class’ and not children’s literature,” it was not until NCTE 2019 that some things hit home.
Being Asian American often means being invisible, or sometimes hyper-visible. I was a good student and quiet, the prototypical model minority for most of my K-12 education. I didn’t demand attention or take up too much space. However, I also grew up in predominantly white spaces where my name and my face marked me as very different and foreign. And I also grew up before K-pop, K-drama, and K-beauty were a “thing”--which meant almost no one knew where Korea was or what being Korean meant, despite America having fought a war there.
And for a variety of reasons, my family moved a number of times, so books and the library were a touchstone for me. There I could escape into stories about animals making dangerous journeys home or youth traveling across space and time or dragon riders on other planets. I found myself in books over and over again, although I never actually saw an Asian character in these stories. It was not until my freshman year of college when I read The Woman Warrior that I read and connected with an Asian American character. This would also become the beginning of my social and racial awakening as an individual, as a future educator, and as an activist.
Being Asian American often means being invisible, or sometimes hyper-visible. I was a good student and quiet, the prototypical model minority for most of my K-12 education. I didn’t demand attention or take up too much space. However, I also grew up in predominantly white spaces where my name and my face marked me as very different and foreign. And I also grew up before K-pop, K-drama, and K-beauty were a “thing”--which meant almost no one knew where Korea was or what being Korean meant, despite America having fought a war there.
And for a variety of reasons, my family moved a number of times, so books and the library were a touchstone for me. There I could escape into stories about animals making dangerous journeys home or youth traveling across space and time or dragon riders on other planets. I found myself in books over and over again, although I never actually saw an Asian character in these stories. It was not until my freshman year of college when I read The Woman Warrior that I read and connected with an Asian American character. This would also become the beginning of my social and racial awakening as an individual, as a future educator, and as an activist.
Fast forward to today, to my current position as a teacher educator expounding upon the importance of diverse literature, that #RepresentationMatters and #WeNeedDiverseBooks. As such, I attended many sessions at NCTE 2019 by diverse authors engaging around these ideas. And one thread of questioning that began to stand out for me--people asking authors if they wrote books that they wished they had growing up. And something clicked in me, that I had accepted my own invisibility as an Asian American reader growing up, so much so that I was not even aware I was missing from the narrative. It had never occurred to me as a kid that I could be in books. I had accepted my own erasure so completely, that I did not know I could be in a story or write my own story.
So as I moderated a panel with some amazing Asian American authors, C.B. Lee, Christina Soontornvat, Kao Kalia Yang, and Nandini Bajpai, I choked up talking about the importance of seeing powerful, amazing Asian American writers and their stories. And in the audience were two other Asian American authors who I had met and befriended from the previous year’s NCTE Asian American author panel, Andrea Wang and Debbi Michiko Florence, and a room full of other Asian American authors and educators. And to be in such a space, amongst so many other others with similar experiences, was powerful. And while I won’t name names, I was not the only one tearing up.
So as I moderated a panel with some amazing Asian American authors, C.B. Lee, Christina Soontornvat, Kao Kalia Yang, and Nandini Bajpai, I choked up talking about the importance of seeing powerful, amazing Asian American writers and their stories. And in the audience were two other Asian American authors who I had met and befriended from the previous year’s NCTE Asian American author panel, Andrea Wang and Debbi Michiko Florence, and a room full of other Asian American authors and educators. And to be in such a space, amongst so many other others with similar experiences, was powerful. And while I won’t name names, I was not the only one tearing up.
NCTE 2019: Kao Kalia Yang, Nandini Bajpai, C.B. Lee, Christina Soontornvat, Jung Kim
NCTE 2019: Debbi Michiko Florence, Andrea Wang, Axie Oh, Veera Hiranandani
For so long, Asian Americans have been erased, from school curriculum, from leadership positions, from literature (Hsieh & Kim, 2020). We were meant to be invisible servants or goofy sidekicks or evil villains. If we were lucky, we could maybe play a tragic love interest, but we were not allowed to be the heroes of our own stories. Ever rendered as the quiet “model minority,” we didn’t “need” culturally relevant teaching or curriculum as we were all purportedly excelling--a misconception when one looks at disaggregated data. We were also used as a wedge against other minoritized groups to “prove” racism and discrimination didn’t exist (Kim, 1999). We showed that systemic inequity and disparate outcomes were actually the fault of other minoritized groups, that if you worked hard and kept your head down like Asian Americans, you could get ahead. And if you couldn’t, then it was your own fault. Yet Asian American business leaders are few and far between (the “bamboo ceiling”), Asian American women are some of the least tenured academics, and many Asian ethnic groups struggle academically and economically .
So we need stories. We need stories that not only show that we are worthy of being in stories, but also that we are a richly diverse group with a myriad of experiences and possibilities. We are not only immigrants, “whiz kids,” dragon ladies, wimps, docile pushovers, or kung-fu masters; we are not always locked in battle about being “in between” cultures or fighting with our strict parents. Sometimes, we are:
[Note: This is the tiniest shred of possible titles and not meant to be all-encompassing.]
- superheroes (Not Your Sidekick by C.B. Lee; The Serpent’s Secret by Sayantani DasGupta; Green Lantern: Legacy by Minh Lê, Ms. Marvel: Kamala Khan by Sana Amanat et al)
- funny, spunky middle schoolers (Keep It Together, Keiko Carter by Debbi Michiko Florence; Hello, Universe by Erin Entrada Kelly)
- resilient survivors (A Different Pond by Bao Phi; All Thirteen by Christina Soontorvat; We Are Not Free by Traci Chee; The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui)
- space adventurers (Dragon Pearl by Yoon Ha Le); LGBTQ youth (Flamer by Michael Curato; The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen; It’s Not Like It’s a Secret by Misa Sugiura)
- futuristic rebel fighters (Legend trilogy by Marie Lu; Want by Cindy Pon; Rebel Seoul by Axie Oh)
- love interests (Frankly in Love by David Yoon; To All the Boys I’ve Loved by Jenny Han; American Panda by Gloria Chao)
- or average kids (Love, Hate, and Other Filters by Samira Ahmed; Stand Up, Yumi Chung! by Jessica Kim; The Boys in the Back Row by Mike Jung)
- who have been here for generations (Under a Painted Sky by Stacey Lee; Paper Son: The Inspiring Story of Tyrus Wong by Julie Leung).
[Note: This is the tiniest shred of possible titles and not meant to be all-encompassing.]
| The (relative) explosion of Asian American literature in the last decade or so has been a boon-- not only for Asian American youth, but for all youth. Paolo Freire writes about conscientization and the potential for liberation through the recognition of everyone’s full humanity. Not just the liberation of the oppressed, but the liberation of the oppressors. Being locked into ignorance and judgment about others also prevents people from fully accessing their own humanity and from being truly free. Rudine Sims Bishop, has said, literature can be mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors. Literature provides the opportunity to open doors into one’s self and to others. By reading diverse literature, we are able to empathize with those that seem utterly different from us and realize our shared humanity. At the heart of it, every single person should have the opportunity to see themselves in books, and not realize until their 40s how absent they were in the books they read. They should also have access to the broadest diversity of people and experiences as possible in books. I read as a kid because it freed my imagination and opened worlds to me that my immediate context could not give me. As cliche as it is, I truly do believe that there is magic in stories, and that books are powerful. |  |
NCTE 2019: Dr. Betina Hsieh, self, Dr. Sarah Park Dahlen
And while I know there is so much work to do, it both amazes and frustrates me that my own children take for granted that they will see themselves in books, that diverse literature is a given. Imagine what it would be like if all children had such privilege and access. Particularly in these times, I can’t help but wonder if books are not a starting point for connection, humanization, and greater understanding.
Post Script: After the initial writing of this post, the ALA Youth Media Awards winners were announced. My heart was bursting to see 1) all these diverse authors receive awards and 2) so many Asian American authors win recognition. Tae Keller for When You Trap a Tiger for the Newbery Award, Christina Soontornvat for All Thirteen AND A Wish in the Dark for Newbery Honor, and Erin Entrada Kelly for We Dream of Space for Newbery Honor, Gene Luen Yang for Dragon Hoops for the Printz Award.
Jung Kim, Ph.D. is an Associate Professor of Literacy, ultrarunner, school board member, and mom of 2, who loves sugar and caffeine too much and will always stand for #MidwestIsBest. Her most recent book is in teaching with graphic novels, and her current book project with Dr. Betina Hsieh is on the experiences of Asian American teachers. She founded the Asian American Caucus at NCTE, and is a life-long book nerd. She can be reached at kimju@lewisu.edu or on Twitter @jungkimphd.
Until next time.
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