Ode to the (Angry) Asian American
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When our parents first came to this country, they were promised a land of gold, and a wealth of opportunity that would make itself available to anyone who proved his or her worth through diligence and dedication. Our parents heard of the magical Mountain of Gold in America, from which anyone with strength of character could claim his or her own fortune. Yet when they reached the shores of this country, when they arrived in their new home, they found out that they had been misled. Surrounding the Mountain of Gold was the avaricious White man, and the White man had with him weapons. The White manís arsenal included guns, knives, and bombs, but that was not enough to resist the strength and will of our parents. Eventually, the White man was forced to use the most powerful weapons at his disposal: loathing, deceit, and ignorance. Our parents were driven away by the White manís hatred, yet they did not give up hope. They toiled for the White man, toiled with the hope that someday their children would be able to find a place upon that Mountain of Gold. The tears, the sweat and the blood of our parents was spilled upon the railroads, the skyscrapers and the corporations of this country. All this was done, with the implicit assumption that someday, the White man would welcome their children.
Our parents were wrong. They misjudged the nature of the White man that had enslaved them with his false dreams. Years since our parents first came to this country, they have seen their daughters relegated to being the White manís whores, their sons consigned to being the White manís lackeys. They have seen their children enslaved the same way they themselves were enslaved: through the empty promises and broken bonds a so-called American dream. They have seen the White man turn to a new weapon, media, to protect his precious Mountain of Gold. They have seen the White man use his radio, his television and his films to delude the sons and daughters of Asia into believing that they are inferior, pathetic beings who are not acceptable in contemporary America. They have seen their Yellow daughters cling to the White man, even though the White man hates everything that is Yellow, for their daughters have been so well-versed in the White manís lessons of self-hate. They have seen their Yellow sons denied the right to love, the right to find happiness through the company of another, by the White manís repugnant appetite for ìexoticî Yellow women. They have seen all this, and they have remained silent. Decades of toiling under the White man has shattered their resolve, and they no longer have the strength to stand in the face of such injustice.
Yet somewhere, among the Yellow sons and Yellow daughters, a sleeping Dragon has been awakened. Furious, unrelenting, and noble in cause, this great Dragon breathes a fire of pride, bravery and resilience. It is a fire that is ignited every time the term ìchinkî or ìgookî is shouted aloud, a fire ignited by the innumerable media portrayals of Asian men as asexual nerds and Asian women as whores craving the White man, a fire ignited in every single Yellow boy or girl growing up in a lily white world. My brothers and sisters, our fire is eternal: it was forged in the barren Gobi desert, enriched in the depths of the Yellow River valley, and made strong in the cold of Mount Fuji. No amount of the White manís insults, no amount of psychological oppression, and no amount of self-hatred from our own kind will ever dim our fire. Across this nation, from the posh suburbs of Orange County to the dusty alleyways of the Chinatowns and Koreatowns, from the dark pool halls of the Born to Kill to the institutions of higher education, a sleeping dragon has been awakened. The dragon has suffered and suffered in its sleep, and now demands the Mountain of Gold that rightfully belongs to it.
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