Frustrations Of An Asian American Whedonite

But the answer still frustrated. Because it was clear that the notion of cultural integration was more important than the practice. That the grand vision of a mixed Asian/American tomorrow was more important than the inclusion of Asian faces and voices today.

I wanted to grab the mic again.

Shouldn’t it be a priority, if you’re trying to tell a believable story about a Sino-American future, to include Asian characters?

Isn’t it marginalizing to fantasize about a “mixed Asian” world completely absent of Asian people, especially when you live and work in a city that’s almost 1/8th Asian?

If you were to write a scifi show about a merged African and North American empire, do you think it would be acceptable to avoid giving a single spoken line to a black actor?

Or maybe something a little closer to Joss’s familiar causes:

Would you ever tell a story that purported to have major elements of American gay culture, without having a single gay character in-frame for more than 3 seconds? What about a show that claimed some feminist themes, but cast only men, with women barely seen and never heard?

But instead, I held my tongue. I’d spent the better part of an hour formulating the exact phrasing of my question in my head. I knew I’d be judged harshly for any poorly worded outbursts–especially with dozens of other fans waiting to ask their questions.

Mock travel ad for Shinon, one of the core worlds in the Alliance.

The issue isn’t Joss Whedon. It’s the blinders. All the blindspots that make it tough to understand problems that you’ve never or rarely ever had to personally deal with. The blindspots that make it tough to understand why, sometimes, race should influence casting decisions. That sometimes it should be a mission statement–or, at the very least, a priority.

The most familiar blinders for your average Whedon fan involve gender. Joss is well-known as a crusader on behalf of women’s rights, not just in his development and championing of prominent female characters, but in his spearheading fundraising efforts on behalf of amazing organizations like Equality Now.

On endless occasions, Joss has explained (with patience, care, and wit) the value of advocating for feminism. It’s an ongoing issue throughout the country, and very evident in fandom culture.

Video games, comic books, and sci-fi are perceived as male pursuits. Women participating in these fan cultures regularly face sexism and discrimination, both subtle and vulgar. The individuals who perpetuate this culture, who bring misogyny to the gaming table and reduce superheroines to agentless blowup dolls, don’t see the problem. They can’t see past their blinders.

It’s very, very admirable that Joss is able to grasp and articulate the reasons why gender equity is something that is valuable and important to everyone. This is something that a very, very large number of creators would be incapable of doing. It’s even more admirable that he’s become such a vocal and active champion for feminism.

It’s also unfortunate that he doesn’t see the overlap with the ongoing racial inequities in America.

Growing up Asian American, it’s harder (though far from impossible) to keep the blinders up with regards to race and representation. Asian Americans face a number of racial challenges: pigeonholed as model minorities, forever viewed as foreign or “incompletely” American, seen as exotic, submissive, quiet. Asian men are depicted as dehumanized, undesirable, powerless–from Long Duk Dong, to The Hangover, to Alan Scott’s gay lover (killed off by rote scripting known as women in refrigerators). Women are depicted as hyper-sexualized geishas, cartoonish exaggerations remnant from decades of American colonization in the East.

Mock ad for Fruity Oaty Bars, which are sold in the Firefly universe.

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