Facing a ‘perverse preoccupation’ with race
By Heather Bautista
Are Americans obsessed with the issue of race? It’s been
described as a perverse and excessive preoccupation. I looked up
"perverse" in my American Heritage Dictionary. Here’s what it
says:
per verse (per-vurs`/, pur-`vurs) adj. 1. Directed away from
what is right or good; perverted. 2. Obstinately persisting in an
error or a fault; wrongly self-willed or stubborn. 3.a. Marked by a
disposition to oppose and contradict. b. Arising from such a
disposition.
As an Asian-American woman, I am confronted with the reality of
this excessive preoccupation with race everyday. Take it from me,
it’s perverse.
It always begins with a friendly opening line. Nine out of 10
times, a non-Asian male will ask the dreaded question, intended as
a friendly ice-breaker:
"Hi. Are you Filipino?"
Today, that friendly ice-breaker made my blood boil.
A white male approached me while I was in line, waiting for my
lunch. "Excuse me, Miss. Are you Filipino?" In a very controlled,
matter-of-fact tone, I said, "I’m sorry. I refuse to answer that
question. I never answer that question. I think it’s rude when
people ask me that question, especially before even asking my
name."
He was flabbergasted. He said, "Since when does a person have to
ask someone’s name before asking a question? Well, that’s a new
one. I’ve never heard that one before."
"Well, I hear it all the time," I replied.
He obviously didn’t understand why I was so upset. He claimed he
was just "trying to be friendly."
Actually, he was trying to stereotype me. It’s usually a
hit-and-run question. People, not the least bit curious about who I
am, will ask me what I am and then disappear. Obviously, my
appearance makes it clear that I’m Asian. But they always want to
know what kind of Asian I am. Well, I’m the kind that doesn’t like
being asked.
My least favorite is what I’ve termed the "ignorant
question":
"Hi. What’s your nationality?"
With smug satisfaction, I always turn to the person and answer,
"I’m American." This frustrates people. And I don’t give them a
break, either. They go on to ask where I’m from. I tell them I’m
from San Francisco. When it gets to the point where they are asking
me where my parents were born, I usually let them have it. "Why
would I tell you where my parents were born? I don’t even know your
name."
I tell them it bothers me when people ask about my ethnicity
because I’ve been wondering my whole life; I’m adopted. That’s not
true, but it makes them feel very awkward.
My non-Asian friends tell me I should be flattered. They say
that people see me as exotic and want to find out more about me.
Well, you can’t find out very much about me by trying to categorize
me into some stereotype. No one ever has pulled up next to me in a
car, rolled down the window and asked me my name, if I’m a student
or what my hobbies and interests are. The last time that occurred,
I was asked, "Are you Thai?" I said no, and he drove off.
I will be the first to admit that I have also been curious about
the ethnicity of others. Whenever I meet people from a foreign
country, I usually ask them where they are from. The difference is,
I ask about their background after I have already learned other,
more pertinent information about them.
When people try to stereotype me, they really can’t glean very
much about me. But their use of stereotypes tells me everything I
need to know about them. I might not know them, but I know their
kind. They are the victims of their own stereotypes. But of course,
they’re too blind to see it.
Just because I may look like someone you once knew does not mean
that I am necessarily just like her. The last time someone told me
I looked just like a girl he used to date, I told him, "Well, you
look just like a guy I turned down for a date." It’s funny, he
sounded just like him, too.
Today, when that man asked me the hit-and-run question, I was
tempted to counter with a question of my own. "Do you play the
banjo?" I mean, obviously he was white. Maybe I just want to know
what kind of white person he was. For instance, was he a
banjo-picking bigot, who was only interested in me for my race? I
think so. But asking if he played the banjo wouldn’t really get me
the answers I wanted.
Of course, I’d never ask a complete stranger a question like
that. It would be too perverse.
Bautista is a senior sociology student.