By Catherine L. Luh
"Xavier High School for Girls," I would answer to that
quintessential St. Louis question: What high school did you go to?
This immediately pegs me as parochial school educated, somewhat
academically elite and, of course, native to the area.
However, just as often, the first question people ask me isn't
about high school at all. It is "Where are you from?"
Depending on my mood, I might answer, "St. Louis Hills or South St. Louis," where my
family has lived since 1955. Frequently, my answer is countered by, "But
where are you really from?" This is because I am ethnically Chinese.
Growing up, except when my parents got together with friends and relatives, I had little contact with other Chinese or even Asians. As far
as I can remember, my sister and I were the only Chinese kids at St.
Raphael's grade school or at Xavier.
I had a typical South St. Louis childhood: birthday parties and overnights; softball and tennis; choir and Mass and school. I passed my
summers hanging out at Francis Park weaving lanyards and playing the board
game mill. All I saw around me were Caucasian faces, and I got used to
it. It didn't occur to me to think of what people saw when they looked at
me.
Interestingly, others sometimes don't think of me as ethnically different either. On more than one occasion,
people would characterize the dinner group, or most recently, my writing group, as a gathering of
whites. I'd point out that that wasn't entirely true. There'd be an
embarrassed teeter.
Recently, Asian-looking faces have been thrust into my
consciousness by, of all things, advertising. I generally avoid
advertisements, as I don't enjoy shopping, but even I couldn't help but
notice the rise in Asian representation.
For about a year, peaking around the time of the Lisa Ling jean commercials, every fourth face seemed to be that of an East Asian. I
watched them among first-graders running around in brightly-colored
clothes touting fabric softeners. I noticed photogenic, black-haired,
almond-eyed faces modeling eyeglasses. I saw hip Asian men with moussed
hair and sleek, young Asian women in Spandex using an array of high-tech
appliances from digital cameras to flat screen TVs to computer and
Internet gadgets.
In the past, I had never paid much attention to commercials that featured Asians, except possibly to register mild irritation, because they
did not reflect my Mid-Western reality in any way. It was always ancient
Chinese secret this or Ah so that or some Tibetan aphorism on finding
inner peace or selling real estate. Still not shown in the media are
entire Asian families carrying on middle-class activities, such as driving
on vacation or baking cookies. The Asian face is just an extra in the
crowd.
My own theory about this upsurge of interest in depicting Asians as consumers is that we have reached an economic critical mass. Asians
have always been over-represented in the sciences and technology, as
opposed to the humanities, and the tech and Internet boom of the past
years has heightened our profile considerably. Also, Asian parents are
known to put a tremendous emphasis on family, and boomer parents, like me,
are willing to spend money on their children, even adult ones. It's a rare
Chinese family that subscribes to the "You're 18 - you're on your own"
philosophy. I also think that the ever-growing number of Chinese children
adopted by American couples plays a part.
I note a slight decline in the number of Asian faces appearing in the media in the past six months. This trend may reflect the leveling off
of the technology and dot.com stocks. Still, many of today's models seem
to be of darker complexion and of indeterminate racial background.
Perhaps the increased appearance of Asians in commercials was just a bubble, but it has perked my permanent interest. I wonder if it has had
any impact on the other residents of the St. Louis area who, like me, have
rarely considered Asian in the local racial mix.
About 15 years ago, a University City cop cited me for speeding down Old Bonhomme. When he handed me the ticket, I
protested the box where he had put me down as white. The policeman cocked
his head, squinted at me, and then said, "Well, you sure aren't black!"
Catherine L. Luh of Creve Coeur, MO is a physician.
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