Korean or American? The Complexities of Biculturalism and Biracialism A young Hapa woman examines her position in American society By Tammy Conard-Salvo "This is a Korean restaurant," she warned me. "I know; I'm Korean," I replied. She didn't say anything, didn't seem especially pleased or not pleased. But I knew I was an outsider, and I felt that no matter what I said or did it would not make the woman think I was Korean. My husband and I had been searching specifically for a Korean restaurant while we were driving around Queens, New York. It had been so long at this point since I had eaten at such a restaurant, complete with bulgogi grilling on the table and little dishes of vegetables and kimchi. When I ordered the meal in Korean, I think the woman was surprised that I was able to do so. She was very polite, and both my husband and I enjoyed a huge delicious dinner. Yet I feel that my Sicilian-Lithuanian-American husband and I were viewed with curiosity, an oddity among the usual "full-Korean" patronage. What this story describes is a situation I find myself in more and more these days, a situation of unclear identity and a feeling of alienation within a community I thought I was part of. Am I Korean or am I American? Well, I'm both. And I'm neither, all at the same time. This complex identity allows me to straddle the field between the two groups, and yet I am not completely a part of either single group. How can I be both Korean and American? Easy, if anyone has lived as an Army brat. Military families represent an entirely different culture, apart from the fact that many of these families are multiracial and multicultural. Many military children are familiar with multiple cultures as they often find themselves living overseas, so embracing a multiracial/multicultural identity is natural. Even within the United States, military families often live on or near military bases, which often represent some of the most diverse communities outside of major metropolitan urban centers. When I was growing up, I was never the only half-Korean child in my school, especially during high school, when there were many more ethnic configurations than being half-Korean. Living in U.S. Army communities has never allowed me to question my identity in the way I am doing now. ______________________ Am I Korean or am I American? ______________________ When I went to college, I was a complete outsider for the first time in my life. I think people were afraid to ask me about my ethnicity. Physically, I don't look "full-Korean," nor do I look especially white. Some people have asked if I am Hispanic or Alaskan, and some have commented that I look like I'm "something," although they're not sure what. The concept of a mixed ethnicity does not occur in the minds of individuals who have lived in all-white upper-middle-class communities, where other races exist elsewhere. I think to a certain degree some people feel disconcerted when they are unable to identify a person’s race or ethnicity by looking at them. Half-Koreans like myself challenge people’s notions of identity through physical features. When people encounter the unfamiliar, they don’t know how to react. Some respond with hostility, others with curiosity, not resting until they find out “what” the person is. And still others tend to exoticize multiracial individuals, labeling them as smarter or prettier than single-raced folk. When I attended graduate school in Lubbock, I was again confronted with the sense that my identity was a contradiction. Because I am not a Korean exchange student with limited English skills and because I do not look full-Korean, people often forget that I am Korean. When I visit the Korean market across the street from campus, the owner (a very nice Korean woman who always tells me when she will make a new batch of kimchi) introduces me to other customers as someone with a Korean mother. My Koreanness is a by-product of my mother’s heritage, not my own. Although I am not seen completely as an outsider, I am not seen as part of the community. And truthfully, I was not part of the Korean community that exists in Lubbock. I never attended Korean-speaking churches, nor did I know or even hang out with any Koreans there. Does that negate the part of me that is Korean? No, and I think that is the issue. A few years ago, I read a collection of essays entitled Half and Half: Writers on Growing Up Biracial and Bicultural. These essays, written by people of various races, ethnicities, and cultures, exactly portrayed my dilemma. The writers have had to establish their identities in a world where biculturalism and biracialism do not exist. Many of these writers find themselves ethnically and culturally isolated based upon their geographical location. Some live in nearly all-white communities where ethnic diversity does not exist, and the complications that arise not only affect the writer but his or her family as well. Specifically, a piece by David Mura entitled "Reflections on my Daughter" describes his concern with his own and his daughter's cultural identities. Mura, married to a Caucasian woman, discusses the complexities of cultural isolation in terms of his daughter's mixed heritage. ______________________ My Koreanness is a by-product of my mother’s heritage, not my own. ______________________ Mura's reflections on his daughter's identity remind me of my own struggle to form a cultural identity. He presents readers with the last lines of his poem "The Colors of Desire." Several lines caught my attention: "…child, white, yellow, / who knows, who can tell her, / oh why must it matter?" Mura goes on to state "The past, the present, and the future. A world beyond race, a world within race. Where is it her life will go?" In many ways, I am David Mura's daughter. Only instead of having a guiding parent read Mochizuki's Baseball Saved Us to me, I am discovering what it means to be culturally and ethnically isolated - through literature and through my own experiences. Mura questions the whole issue of race and asks "Why must it matter?" Unfortunately, it does matter, particularly when we live in a time and place that continues to use the word "minority" to describe anyone who is non-white. In a country such as the United States where race has been a source of problems, one’s cultural and racial identity will always be an issue because societies try to define identity and individuals, either with or against the grain. America is, in my opinion, still uncomfortable with the idea of crossing racial boundaries. Preconceived notions and stereotypes continue to encourage backward ideas about race and culture - that there are no (and should not be any) in-betweens. Why else would you only have five options when asked to identify your race, the last being "other?" Despite a person’s ability to choose more than one ethnicity on the Census, most of mainstream America does not classify people multiracially or multiethnically. As a product of that ideology, I mostly choose to identify myself as Asian-American. Only recently have I considered identifying myself as Hapa, after I realized that such a nice neat term existed. It’s too complicated to provide a long list of my entire ethnic background. One evening, my husband and I had an argument regarding my self-classification. Somehow, we were on the topic of my Native American background, part of my ethnicity of which I know very little due to circumstances within my family’s history. I am curious about this part of my background, and I wish to seek more information about my father’s family. But I am in no hurry, and it still would not change my self-classification of Asian-American or Hapa. I still feel more attached to the Asian-American portion of my background simply because that was the culture most present in my upbringing. My husband thinks on the other hand that the suppression or alienation of my Native American background is the very nature of Native American identity. As biracial and bicultural Asian-Americans, should we expect to be regarded as part of the Asian-American or Caucasian-American communities even though we are both part of and separate from these groups? On one hand, as long as Asian-American print magazines and websites rarely include Asian-Americans of mixed heritage as part of their audiences, we will constantly be marginalized. When I look at currently popular Asian-American magazines and websites, I am struck with the idea that the Asian-American identity is being molded into a trendy, exotic-Gap, yuppie image. Looking through A Magazine, I see a blurb or two and perhaps an article that addresses the complexity of Asian-American identity as well as political issues affecting Asian-Americans. But I also see a fashion spread featuring extremely expensive clothes and advertisements attempting to woo Asian-American corporate workers into a so-called diverse company. ______________________ As long as Asian-American print magazines and websites rarely include Asian-Americans of mixed heritage as part of their audiences, we will constantly be marginalized. ______________________ Certainly there is nothing wrong with wanting financial success and seeking jobs in the corporate world. There is nothing wrong with fashion tips or designer brand clothing. Why shouldn't an Asian-American magazine include such things, especially when general-audience magazines such as GQ or Cosmopolitan seem to ignore Asian-Americans altogether? Yet I wonder about how magazines such as A define Asian-Americans, even without meaning to, through exclusion of biracial Asian-Americans. More specifically, I worry about being Korean-American and how neither Koreans nor Americans seem to acknowledge biracial Korean-Americans as part of both groups. I began this essay with a personal story about being in a Korean restaurant in Queens, but this piece is more than about that one experience - it is about the indescribable and unconfined identity of Korean-American and other biracial and bicultural individuals. I don’t presume to have any definite answers about how the media, the government, or Americans in general can deal with the countless issues and situations that arise from a growing biracial and bicultural community, but I do encourage discussion and recognition of these issues. Perhaps one day I will walk into a Korean restaurant and no one will think twice about me being there. Perhaps one day I won’t be asked where I’m from because people are so preoccupied with the way I look. I certainly wouldn’t trade my complex identity and heritage for something easy, run of the mill. Despite what stereotypes and misconceptions exist, I am still in control of who I am and how I present myself. I am Korean-American whether or not full-blooded Koreans see the Korean part. About Tammy Conard-Salvo I received my bachelor of arts at Howard Payne University, a small university in a small town known as Brownwood, Texas. I finished my master's in literature at Texas Tech University, in which I focused on Amy Tan's three novels. My thesis is entitled Creating An Asian American Mythology: Storytelling in Amy Tan's Fiction. Clearly, my interests center on ethnicity, particularly with the Asian-American and hapa communities. I am Korean-American with some Native-American (Chippewa) roots. My mother is a first-generation Korean immigrant, who came over to the United States when she married my father, an American Army soldier. Growing up as a military child, I was exposed to a variety of cultures and ethnicities, and I lived in places like Killeen, Texas, which boasts 82 different nationalities in that town alone. Currently I live in West Lafayette, Indiana, where I continue to ask questions about identity and culture.   This website: Copyright © 2006 Dream World Media, LLC. / Urban Mozaik Magazine. All rights reserved. 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