Many reading my previous blog have already looked up who Maya Lin is. Her fame has come from her being the designer of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. Historians will recall that a great controversy ensued over not only the design but the choice of the 'designer.' Lin is what we would call a Chinese-American, born to two Chinese immigrants, who considers Athens, Ohio her home. She's an American, born and raised. She recalls back in 1982 during the VVM controversy having sort of dismissed the questions regarding her race and it's influence on the design. She writes:
Eventually, though, it occurred to me to ask the veterans if my race mattered. They seemed embarrassed . . . and it was then that I realized that people were having problems with the fact that a "gook" had designed the memorial.
It left me chilled.
In my readings, even those associated directly with the season of Lent, keep reminding me of this incredible woman and other people of color like her who daily face what she describes in the following story:
Sometimes a total stranger - a cabdriver, for example - will ask me where I am from. I mutter "Here it goes again" or I will respond, "Ohio," and the stranger will say, "No, no, where are you really from?" It used to upset me to always be seen as other - not really from here . . . not really American . . . but then from where? So I used to practically get into brawls with the person, insisting I was really from Ohio. At that point, more than a few have lectured me on how I shouldn't be ashamed of my heritage.. So now, practiced at avoiding conflict, I say, "Ohio . . . but my mother is from Shanghai and my father is from Beijing."
. . . I am not allowed to be from here; to some I am not really an American.
Now I get a little frustrated with folks like me, a white Euro-American, part of the privileged race, seem to get on a high horse about race and say things like, "I'm not racist." I like to think that I'm not, but then I'm immediately reminded of the time when I was in the grocery store restroom and as I was leaving a gentleman with a turban on his head, a Sikh Hindu presumably, and a large backpack. I'm ashamed by what thoughts ran through my head at that moment . . . I'm not sure if you want to know how my pace quickened to get out of the restroom . . . and a Sikh isn't even terrorist material! I didn't necessarily 'do' anything racist or prejudiced, but my mind went to that place, and I think that many Euros like me know what I"m talking about. There still remains a reality of more subtle, but in the end no less harmful, form of racial stereotyping. Then again, maybe I'm the only one.
As great as the film Amazing Grace was, I was saddened by the reality of another film about the white folks saving the black folks. This isn't to take anything away from the story of Wilburforce, it is a great story and one worth telling. But I guess it's my awareness that it was that type of story. I asked a close friend (a brother of color) of mine, Wendell, last week if he had seen the film and what he thought. He graciously affirmed that the movie was a good movie, but he also had to shake his head in the manner that tells me that this is not unfamiliar territory for him, territory where you go to see a movie where 'the white school teacher is the one who leads the black students to discover their ability to succeed (or whatever the particular scenario might be)...' The subtle message is that being a person of color makes that person 'other.' A reality Maya Lin and my friend live with everyday.
An equally harmful phenomenon occurs, though, when people say that 'all we need to try to be is color-blind.' I even hear black celebrities say these kind of things. But that doesn't help either because the implication is that someone has to assimilate to someone else, try to fit into the culture where there is a privileged race. My children, as far as I can see, will probably never know what it's like to be looked at as 'other.' But Wendell dreads the day when his child comes home from school for the first time having been treated differently or mistreated and the viscious awareness of being the 'other' has once again begun to consume a whole new generation. The strange paradox is, though, that I do not truly see my friends of color if I'm obsessed with not seeing their color!!! The more I claim to be 'color-blind' says that I choose to ignore a significant part of who that person is. The more I apologize for offending, makes it all about me again and the story of that friend is lost in my need feel good about myself.
So what's my point? I'm not sure if there is one, but I am aware. Maya Lin's work goes beyond the subject of physical earthly landscapes to the landscapes of our souls. The souls that long to be known. So hopefully this will be food for thought.
