Why those few minutes in Luke Cage meant everything to me
Let me lay the facts out before I get started. My parents came to the US in the mid-80s from the Philippines while the country was still under martial law thanks to the godawful Ferdinand Marcos. Most of my family is now either on the East Coast, California, or back in the Philippines. My oldest brother was born in the Philippines and my middle brother and I were born here, in the States.
Growing up, I was immersed in a distinctly Filipino culture while I was at home. We shopped at the Filipino store for groceries, cooked more than we ate out, and bought phone cards to call our family half-way around the world. I heard a mix of Tagalog and English everyday and adopted certain words, accents, and mannerisms as a result.
So when I left the comfort of my home and entered the foreign grounds of my middle school, I found myself lost. The food they spoke of, the slang they used, the way they looked, everything was so unfamiliar that I became acutely aware of every which way I was different. I counted everything from the way I pronounced “costume” to our eyelids, and grew overwhelmed by how dissimilar we were.
But soon, as the years went on, I grew more and more American. I went through a period of time where I tried to scrub the Filipino off and another where that’s all I tried to be. Similar to many, I am straddling these two cultures, these worlds, and am just trying to find a way to do so without losing any more of myself in the ocean between them.
What often helped, and still helps, me do so is television, but when I was younger and just beginning to unpack the complexities of my identity, it helped to destroy much of who I was.
Because of Hollywood’s racist stubbornness at including honest Asian/Asian-American stories, because of their decision to whitewash so many of our heroes, there was no one like me on TV. Most Asian representation in the 90s/early 00s was more harmful than helpful (…which is why I latched on to the few characters that weren’t so poorly shown on screen). Playing out tired stereotypes, enforcing the model minority myth, and glorifying yellow fever and the white savior complex that told me I, as an Asian-American girl, need a white man to be saved, to be worth anything. The only roles I could play were the best friend or the accountant or the ensemble, and even then, could I really? Because no one even mention the Philippines. There were barely any Filipinos on screen.
Was I not even important enough to make it as an Asian stereotype?
Were Filipinos not accomplished enough to be anyone but someone’s maid? Even though, in reality, I know there are successful Filipinos in the US?
Why doesn’t anyone who is successful or beautiful look like me? Is there something wrong with me?
Why don’t I fit into the family I see on screen? Is that why I have so much resentment towards my own family?
Who am I allowed to be?
What does my future look like?
Who should I be dreaming of?
What should I be dreaming of?
These, and many other questions, constantly circled in my mind until I broke and the things I heard became the thoughts in my head. I wasn’t beautiful, I wasn’t deserving, I wasn’t worth much of anything. I was allowed to be silent and smart, but I wasn’t allowed to be noticed or to accomplish anything. I was allowed to be small so I couldn’t be heard. I was allowed to exist if only to better the lives of the white men and women around me, if only to further their stories at the cost of my own.
It was okay for me to speak except when I wanted to say no.
Cue the next phase of my life that consisted of endless days and nights pressed up against the toilet trying to get rid of this disgusting person I’d grown to be, or the nights I’d let America colonize the Philippines over and over again because what could a country, so weak and indefensible do to protest against such a powerful nation? Who would believe us when we said that America the Beautiful killed so much of who we were?
For all of these reasons and more, seeing the two Asian-American landlords in Luke Cage touched me more than I can say. So many others have already stated this (in fact I think Buzzfeed even compiled a list of tweets from people showing their appreciation) but it meant too much to me not to say anything. Because here we have two, middle-aged Asian-Americans who have no accent and display none of the stereotypes I grew up hating, things that emphasized our “otherness” in their eyes, things that I ended up making fun of in a last ditch effort to have “them” accept me.
Let me be white, I used to think, or at least them see me as such.
But no, Luke Cage, with it’s brilliant portrayal of black women in powerful, leading roles as well as a timely bulletproof black man in a hoodie as the titular hero (among other truly amazing cast members and plot lines I don’t want to spoil), decided to portray real, honest Asian-Americans. It was touching, tear-jerking, and beautiful. The moments they shared with Luke were powerful, and they do so much to combat what we’ve seen throughout our lives.
You see, because of the insane lack of representation (see this, this, and this article), this was a much needed move to show others out there who say they didn’t know better, that they’re just doing their “best” to tell a universal story everyone will enjoy. Well, as you can see here, even in a few minutes you can help inspire hope and change so many lives. You can be so much better, and Luke Cage is the latest example that shows you how.
Give us even two minutes of real screen time, where we can see ourselves as something other than what we’ve been force-fed to believe, and we will be endlessly grateful.
Give us a chance, a platform, to tell our own stories (ahem, Master of None, Fresh Off the Boat, etc.) and we will be devoted forever.
