The Meaning and Message of Taiko

A recent New York Times article described a passionate debate stirring up the yoga community. According to the Hindu American Foundation's position paper, many yoga practitioners are either ignorant of or work actively to decouple yoga and its Hindu base. The Foundation's campaign, "Take Back Yoga," asks that practitioners acknowledge the religion and culture from which it was birthed while also asserting that yoga's benefits are for all. This request provoked reactions from diverse ends of the spectrum including New Age guru Deepak Chopra and R. Albert Mohler, Jr., president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

As a yoga practioner, I admit freely that I've little knowledge of yoga and Hinduism while receiving so much: centeredness, focus, not to mention a workout that keeps me limber and flexible. I have, however, often asked myself what Indian Americans think of this wholesale, very American co-opting of this part of their heritage. Would a base knowledge help my yoga practice? Of course! It could only help enrich my understanding of the religion from which it came.

I've been wrestling with similar issues for taiko and Mu Daiko, especially as we work towards realizing our mission of "great performances born of arts, equality and justice from the heart of the Asian American experience." I have so many questions and few answers. The New York Times articles ask, "Who owns yoga?" I could ask, "Who owns taiko?"

There are about 200 North American taiko groups. Some approach taiko as an international music form to be shared with and performed by all. Others will cite taiko as an expression of community-building within Japanese/Japanese American/Asian American culture. Some groups are specific outgrowths of Japanese Buddhist churches and many more will cite some combination of the above. The ethnic and racial compositions of these groups vary from those predominately Japanese/Japanese American/Asian American (West Coast and Hawaii) to those with little or no such representation.

Mu Daiko is based on San Francisco Taiko Dojo's philosophies through Rick Shiomi's direct study with Seiichi Tanaka. Another influence, in a less overt way, was Rick's work as a community organizer in Vancouver's Japanese/Asian Canadian neighborhoods. His co-founding of Katari Taiko (Vancouver) and Wasabi Taiko (Toronto) in addition to Theater Mu was a direct response to the need for Asian American artists to have a voice. It was a handful of Mu's Asian American actors who begged Rick to teach them taiko.

At its inception (1997), Mu Daiko was comprised solely of Asian Americans (Japanese Canadian, Japanese American, Korean American, Filipino American, Indian American) and over the years has maintained (without conscious thought) a 50-80% Asian American presence. This percentage includes those of multicultural heritage who identify as Asian American. Mu Daiko audiences are largely non-Asian and draws its performers from the ranks of its students. Currently, 95% of our students are non-Asian. In the very near future, we could be looking at a majority non-Asian presence within Mu Daiko.

Why do we play taiko? Professionals and students alike say they love the sound of the drums, the movement, the great workout and taiko's cathartic nature. A few will say they're interested in Japan, and with the exception of a handful of Asian American students, almost no one will say that taiko is a way to connect with Asian American culture. Like yoga, it appears to be the outside trappings of the art form that are so attractive and compelling. I can't fault any of these reasons--they are certainly part of why I choose to keep learning and performing and composing. But I also play to connect with my Japanese heritage and to be a part of the local Asian American community. Is it possible for Mu Daiko to fulfill its mission through non-Asian taiko artists? Can a non-Asian create work "from the heart of the Asian American experience?"

Like so many other musicians/artists, I want to create and perform with the very best folks around. And, without doubt, we give best service to any art form by finding these best artists. But as with yoga, I also believe that taiko's cultural essence is integral to the art form. However, it comes to manifest itself in the process--through Asian American artists, or through non-Asians willing to immerse themselves in the history and culture--enriches us all.

In order for Mu Daiko to fulfill its mission, we will continue to recruit potential artists from the best students available, regardless of race or gender. We will especially encourage talented Asian American students. Regardless, each player will be expected to share taiko through his/her own Asian American lens or to be a knowledgeable culture bearer, an ally willing to transmit a sense of the "heart of the Asian American experience."

by Iris Shiraishi

Behind-the-Scenes: Cowboy Versus Samurai

In Mu's latest video on our YouTube channel, you will find interviews with some of the cast and hear them talk about working together on such a fun play as Michael Golamco's Cowboy Versus Samurai. You will also hear Sun Mee Chomet bring up one of the more poignant topics of the play: the role of race in romantic relationships.





On Wednesday, November 17th following the evening's performance of Cowboy Versus Samurai, we will be holding a special discussion about the realities and challenges of inter-racial versus intra-racial relationships. The discussion will feature a panel of actors and special guests, and you! Hear from the experts and have your say next week at the Guthrie's Dowling Studio.

Hiroshima mon amour

A few weeks ago, in late September, Hiroshima, the legendary Asian American jazz/pop band, performed at the Hopkins Center for the Arts (view our preview about it here). I say legendary because they've been together since 1980, have received many awards from such respected sources as Billboard, Soul Train Music Awards, and Performance Magazine, and recently received their second Grammy nomination for their most recent CD, Legacy. They have had the kind of artistic success and international renown that most Asian American artists in any field dream about.

Their concert was a terrific mix of their classic and newer songs. For me, it was a trip down nostalgia lane. Hiroshima was a part of the exciting times in the 1980s when many other Asian American artists were emerging, like David Henry Hwang and Philip Gotanda. It was exciting because the band has had the same leaders, Dan and June Kuramoto, through all those years, but have been open to involving a new generation of players like Shoji Kameda of On Ensemble, who Mu Daiko members know very well having worked with him as a taiko performer.

But the most fascinating part of seeing Hiroshima again was the discussion Dan and June led on the night before their concert. It was an open forum where Dan and June donated their time to share their experiences and perspectives on being Asian American artists. They were hungry to contribute and to learn about our community here in the Twin Cities. It was so enlightening to hear them talk about the challenges they've faced over the years, from agents and others thinking they couldn't succeed, to the problems of the music business. They talked about agents trying to put them in coolie hats and ninja outfits, even though their major audience base is actually African American. They talked about how they once toured with Miles Davis. They spoke of famous mentors encouraging them when they were down and of standing ovations in response to their music. They shared stories of how they have faced resistance in Japan, because the very name of their group conjures up so much painful history. Their long journey, like so many of ours, took them from the ridiculous to the sublime, from the worst stereotyping to the finest artistry.

The most inspiring part of the evening was seeing how truly enthusiastic and energized both Dan and June were about Asian Americans working together to deal with the issues facing us all. After the concert, Dan spoke to me about a project he is working on to create a national calendar website for Asian American arts events. I told him Mu would love to be a part of any such planning and was amazed that after all these decades he continues to burn with a deep and palpable passion for the cause of Asian American culture. I realize that not only do we need more talented and passionate leaders like Dan and June Kuramoto, who have had great success in their field and are anxious to share their stories, but we also need more often to celebrate them and their contribution to our culture.

by Rick Shiomi

The year in Asian American theater that was. . . and wasn't

It’s been about a month since the Ivey’s. For those who don’t know what that is, it’s the Twin Cities version of the Tony Awards. Each year I go to this event, I’m assured of something amazing and something horrifying. Not horrifying in a scary way, but in a more confusing and uncomfortable way. This year did not disappoint. I won’t go into any details, because that’s not the topic of this particular blog. What I’ve decided to muse about was the lack of Asian American representation on stage, not only in terms of awards, but also in terms of presenters and entertainment. It wasn’t completely void of Asian Americans. Isabella Dawis did perform in a very strange rendition of “Tomorrow” from the musical Annie, along with other young aspiring talent—the lone speck of yellow in a sea of red, white, and blue.

This usually wouldn’t bother me. I’m used to being in events that have little to no Asian American representation. But after a year where Asian Americans exploded on the Twin Cities theater scene, I couldn’t believe there was no recognition. Let me explain. Mu Performing Arts’ productions of The Romance of Magno Rubio and Yellow Face where both on critics’ ‘Best of the Year’ lists, including The Star Tribune. Music Lovers was also on critics’ "best of" lists with me in a leading role. The Guthrie basically had a David Henry Hwang festival by producing M. Butterfly and presenting Mu's Yellow Face in their studio space. Katie Bradley starred in Mulan at The Children’s Theatre a production that ran into controversy for their use of “yellow face.” Yellow Face and yellow face in the same year! David Mura and Laurine Price starred in The King and I at the Bloomington Center for the Arts, directed by Rick Shiomi. Laurine followed that by playing Belle in the Ordway’s production of Beauty and the Beast. Sun Mee Chomet played Lady Macduff in the Guthrie’s production of Macbeth. This would have been an amazing year for Asian American theater even in New York City! This kind of year may never ever happen again. Yet it was not good enough for any recognition at the Ivey’s in Minnesota. We did this in the Midwest! During a recession!

Let me try to put it is some perspective. Mu is usually the only company that produces Asian American plays in the Twin Cities—the way that Penumbra is the main producer of African American plays. David Henry Hwang’s M. Butterfly was the first time that an Asian American playwright has been produced on the Guthrie mainstage. Rick Shiomi and I were the first non-white directors in the history of the Bloomington Civic Theater. To have this kind of impact in the theater community is a testament to the growth of the Asian American talent pool in this town. This only exists because of 15 years of nurturing from Rick Shiomi and Mu. Yet, the larger population looks over these accomplishments. I believe it is because they have little knowledge of Asian American theater history, therefore cannot contextualize just what an amazing year it was. We did this in the Midwest! During a recession!

Does the fact that we do work that challenges the ideas of race in America, turn off evaluators that go to the theater just to be entertained? Maybe. Does the fact that the Asian American community isn’t assertive enough to demand to be heard allow the majority to ignore us? Maybe. Is it insane to give a theater award to one specific ethnic group? Maybe. But all I know is as I sat in that theater, listening to the wonderful Wendy Lehr accept her Lifetime Achievement Ivey award knowing that the event was coming to a close, I couldn’t help but feel. . . overlooked. Again.

by Randy Reyes

Photo: Randy Reyes as DHH in Yellow Face, (c) Michal Daniel, 2010

A week in the life of a taiko artist

I'm one of a small group of individuals in North America lucky enough to be employed full time as a taiko performer, composer, teacher and administrator. What's it like? Here's a glimpse:

Mon, Oct 18: The alarm rings at 5:30 am and I'm off to a 6:15 yoga class. I chant, "I really need to do this" as I force myself out of bed—the hardest part of yoga! Mu's St. Paul office is the next stop. There's always more than enough to keep me busy facilitating both Mu Daiko and our ever-growing taiko program. I take off for the Studio for a brief practice and then it's time to teach. Intro and Level 3 students do so well! Mu's Artistic Director Rick Shiomi and Theater Mu/Mu Daiko members arrive at 8:30; we're rehearsing for tomorrow's performance at the University of Wisconsin-Plattevillle, where Mu Daiko members will make their "Broadway" debut with Mu actor Katie Bradley. It's a hoot! We run through our taiko pieces and then head home at 10:15 pm to pack.

Tues, Oct 19: I meet Rick at 7:30 and we pick up the rental van. We load up and set off on our five-hour drive south to Platteville. Beautiful bluffs, cows and horses amidst rolling meadows slip by. A quick check-in at the local Country Inn and then it's off to the theater for tech. Accompanied by Mu actor/musician Brian McCormick, Katie and her chorus run through our “big number,” spike placements, and transitions. It's Domino's Pizza for dinner and then everyone gets into costume. We perform well before our small but appreciative audience, then load up and make our way back to the hotel. We finish the evening at the Cancun Fiesta across the street. It boasts the best (or is it the biggest?) margaritas in town. They are indeed VERY big and VERY potent!

Wed, Oct 20: We leave the hotel promptly at 9. At a rest area besides the Mississippi, we discuss a meal stop in Rochester and give Katie Leo a buzz to see if we can meet up for lunch. Katie is a wonderful writer of plays, poetry, and prose, and Mu's former Development Associate who just moved to Rochester. It's good to be able to reconnect over some good food the heart of downtown Rochester. We roll into the Studio parking lot mid-afternoon and unload the vans. Home! Naomi Guilbert and Hiroshi Koshiyama of Fubuki Daiko arrived at our house yesterday to stay for a few days while they visit friends and family. I jump on the treadmill for a quick 30-minute run (I really need to move after the day's long drive) and top it off with a great glass of wine with husband, Naomi, Hiroshi, and our dog Archie.

Th, Oct 21: Another early morning yoga class, and then it's catch-up time in the office. Quick fue practice and dinner at home and then it's on to the regular Mu Daiko evening rehearsal. I meet with a Mu Daiko member at 6 to talk about his new composition, then spend the first part of rehearsal delving into four brand-new pieces premiered at our recent Taiko Lab performances. We talk about ways to get to the heart of each composition through staging, expression, intent, technique, and kata (form). Rick comes in at 8 to rehearse the contingent that will be performing at the Burnsville Arts Center next Thursday. We're sharing the program with Ragamala Dance, the Twin Cities-based Bharatanatyam dance ensemble. Rick and Ranee Ramaswamy, Ragamala's founding Artistic Director, share a long history of collaboration and this concert will be a great reunion!

Fri, Oct 22: I say goodbye to Naomi and Hiroshi as they head back to Winnipeg and then make tracks to the office. I set up a couple of appointments to meet with college students who are writing papers about taiko, advise a potential student about her class placement, talk with Rick about upcoming programs, and reconnect with former Mu Daiko member Rachel Gorton about some shime stands she helped design. I head home early in the afternoon and hop on the treadmill for another run. And then I start working on this blog entry! It's 8:16 pm and I'm ready for that glass of wine and a screening of Princess Kaiulani, a movie about one of the last heirs to the throne of the Kingdom of Hawai'i. Anything about my home state always piques my interest. Maybe I'll review it for my next entry!

by Iris Shiraishi

Photo (c) Michal Daniel, 2009

A weekend in the life of Rick Shiomi

One of the advantages of being the Artistic Director of Mu Performing Arts is traveling and sharing the experience of Asian American theater in other artistic communities. My latest three-day trip to California was a whirlwind of shows, workshops, and meetings that proved how vibrant Asian American theater is in that part of the country.

The first event was a Stories Program workshop sponsored by the Koreatown Immigrant Workers Alliance. It was a small gathering, but with the assistance of LA-based actor Ryun Yu, I was able to run the workshop based upon the stories of the participants. It was a powerful experience, revealing very deeply emotional stories about their own lives. We finished up the workshop the next morning with Ryun directing a short presentation of one of the stories.

Then I was off to San Diego to see a production of David Henry Hwang's Yellow Face (a show that Mu produced last season) by Mo'olelo Theater. The artistic director, Seema Sueko, directed the production and though it was still a preview, I was very impressed by both her creative direction and the cast of the show. The lead, David Henry Hwang's alter-ego DHH, was played by Greg Watanabe. I know Greg from back in the 1990s when he was starting out in San Francisco as a member of the comedy troupe 18 Mighty Mountain Warriors (check out the terrific documentary on the group), so it was especially fun to see him in action again. The audience gave the performance a standing ovation and I knew they had a hit on their hands.

(On a side note, one other fun moment at Mo'olelo involved seeing an image of our own Eric Sumangil from his performance in their 2007 production of Cowboy Versus Samurai, which also happens to be Mu's next production. It's thrilling to see how Mu actors are making names for themselves around the country!)

On that same day, I met with Lauren Yee, the playwright for Ching Chong Chinaman and for a new commission by Mu (stay tuned!), Native Voices artistic director Randy Reinholz, Mo'olelo's Seema Sueko, and Greg Watanabe. It was a jam-packed day!

But there was still more to do. The next morning, I met with Farrell and Sandra Foreman of the new Bear Arts Foundation, which sponsored Colorfest, a multicultural theater festival and conference this past summer. They are trying to set up a new service network for theaters of color, with which Mu would be intimately involved. It's an exciting prospect that will be an invaluable way for our theaters to connect with one another.

After that meeting, I got back in the car and drove back to LA, where I'd started my trip, to do a video interview of Michael Golamco, the playwright for Cowboy Versus Samurai. It's a part of a series of behind-the-scenes interviews and footage that will be featured on Mu's YouTube channel, and is a great way for audiences to get extra insight into the show that they might not get just from their playbill.

My trip ended with the final performance of Mysterious Skin by Prince Gomolvilas at one of the country's largest Asian American theater companies, East West Players. It was quite a terrific performance. After the show the whole cast and crew gathered for their post-show reception and I had an extended discussion with Tim Dang, the artistic director at EWP. After all that, it was off to the airport to catch the red eye flight back home to Minneapolis.

All in a weekend's work.

by Rick Shiomi

Our pantries, ourselves

Remember last year when Americans were warned that our beloved canned pumpkin--the golden orange pie filling that brings us warm feelings of family and turkey with stuffing and hot apple cider and all things that get us through the cold winter--could disappear from grocery store shelves because heavy rains had wreaked havoc on the nations pumpkin patches? For months, Grandma's pantry staple was absent. Fortunately, it has made its triumphant return just in time for the holiday season. Imagine what Thanksgiving dinner would be like without a slice of pumpkin pie!

Now, imagine if you ate pumpkin pie not just at Thanksgiving, but at every meal, and that the cost of a can of pumpkin pie filling suddenly shot up from $2.50 to $14.

According to the New York Times, this is the story facing South Korea right now. As pumpkin pie is to Americans, kimchi is to South Koreans, and at this moment, a main component of the famously odorous side dish--Napa cabbage--is suffering the same fate as last year's pumpkins. A daily staple on Korean dinner tables, kimchi is quickly becoming a delicacy that fewer and fewer people are able to afford, or even get their hands on. Even restaurants, who typically offer it as a free side the way that American restaurant-goers receive a free bread basket, are starting to charge for it.

It has become such a "national tragedy," as one South Korean newspaper put it, that the government is getting involved. President Lee Myung-bak, who recognizes kimchi as "integral to daily life" in his country, is vowing to stick to cheaper and less desirable cabbage--the North American variety that you probably enjoy in your coleslaw--in a show of solidarity for those South Koreans who cannot afford the higher price of the good stuff.

While it may be easy to chuckle at how such a simple thing as a side dish can cause a national uproar, it nonetheless represents a humbling example of how much our cultural identities are defined by what we eat. As anyone who has ever lived in another country will tell you, there's nothing like a taste of home when you have been away, and it is sobering to realize how much we take those things for granted when we discover that they are not so readily available everywhere. Some of my extended family living in Hungary, for example, found it enough of an occasion when marshmallows first arrived in Budapest that they wrote home about it. My Japanese roommate in college received huge box of food from her mother--a square yard of little candies and canned goods and teas that cost who knows how much to send all the way to Minnesota, but which was priceless to her as she pulled out sundry goodies whenever she was feeling homesick. Something about my overseas family having the essential binding agent for Rice Krispies treats, and something about my roommate having everything she needed to make a good curry, made them feel closer to home. More American. More Japanese.

So is it a "national tragedy" that so many South Koreans are being deprived of their beloved kimchi? I would say so, and I am imagining the aroma of pumpkin pie as I do.

by Stacey Peterson

New AA Film Fest coming to Minneapolis

If you are looking for Asian film in the Twin Cities that goes beyond the latest Jet Li release, mark your calendars.

Minnesota Film Arts just this week announced its first Asian American Film Festival, "In Search of Asia," November 3 - 13 in Minneapolis. While details are still forthcoming, we know that there will be a lineup of 30 films, to be released on October 18, as well as events featuring filmmakers and panel discussions.

With this festival, Minneapolis joins a select group of cities that host Asian American film festivals, including San Francisco and New York. Such events, some of which have been going on for decades, are essential not only for encouraging Asian American voices in film, but for a general public that may not consider that Asian American filmmakers exist apart from Ang Lee and that the phrase "Asian film" doesn't have to mean "subtitles" or "kung fu."

Interested in seeing what's out there in Asian American film before the festival? Check out a few short films from the 2009 Asian American International Film Festival in New York City, available to view for free online.

Music videos speak louder than words

Musicians often get caught making sweeping statements about how "music can change the world," or how "music brings people together," or how "music speaks where words fail." Meanwhile, the rest of the population rolls its eyes at such "new-agey" abstraction and looks the other way.

But ask a member of the instrumental jazz fusion band Hiroshima and you'll know that it's true.

Hiroshima, an all Asian American group, formed in the late 1970s, after the tumultuous period in which America was first recognizing its diversity and the civil rights movement had gained momentum across the spectrum of American enthic minorities. Blending Japanese koto and taiko drums with Western jazz and popular sounds, the band recognized the power of exploring and promoting a unified and harmonious world through music. Hiroshima's leader Dan Kuramoto sums up the band's philosophy: "We create musically a cross-commentary about a multitude of cultures that comes from our backgrounds as Asian Americans growing up in a racially diverse America."

On Monday, September 27, Mu Performing Arts will host a lecture with Dan and June Kuramoto at the Hopkins Center for the Arts about "The Movement" in the 1960s and 70s that inspired the turn toward civil rights that ultimately inspired the group's message of unity.

But apart from its reason for existing, how does an instrumental ensemble--a group that depends purely on sound without the benefit of lyrics--send that message to a public that is none the wiser?

Enter. . . the music video.

In 1983, music videos were still a new, novel idea. We may look back on it today as the beginning of materialism and frivolity in music, the point at which "the look" became just as if not important than "the sound." But Hiroshima took the concept of creating a "music-inspired film" and used it to show the world who they were and what their music means. Observe:



Ignore the mullets and high-waisted tapered jeans for a moment and look at the people themselves. About two thirds of the way through the video, we have our main character removing a pair of mirror shades from his mysterious pursuer, revealing an all-inclusive dance scene where the divisions of race are non-existent. A small band of traditionally-dressed geishas perform with fans while young, fresh faces--white, black, Asian alike--groove together to electric guitars, drums. . . and koto.

If only MTV in 2010 had so much substance.

Find out more about the free lecture with Dan and June Kuramoto, as well as the performance by Hiroshima, here (scroll down for information).

If at first you don't succeed. . . ?

Margaret Cho couldn’t hack it as an ABC sitcom star. Now she’ll try shaking her booty.

Sixteen years after the ill fated All American Girl went off the air, Cho will return to the same network that dumped her, this time as a contestant for Dancing with the Stars.

Probably not the career arc the comedian pictured when she became the first Asian American to headline a prime time sitcom in 1994. When ABC canceled the show after one season, Cho accused the network of forcing her to lose weight and hiring a consultant to make her look “more Asian.”

(Playwright David Henry Hwang was reportedly hired to save the show. At a Mu panel discussion on yellow face casting, Hwang denied it, though I couldn’t tell if he was joking.)

If Cho is still bitter about the experience, she’s not letting on.

“Show business has changed a lot too, so it's a different kind of thing," Cho told Access Hollywood. "So, I'm really excited [about Dancing with the Stars]. I think it's great, I love the show, it's a totally different thing though. I was a really young person then and now, you know, now I'm more experienced and now I'm doing something different -- I'm dancing, which is new also for me.”

I’m not sure what Cho meant by show business changing. Has it? Sixteen years removed from All American Girl, the number of Asian American-headlined shows, drama or comedy, remains zero, with the exception of Maggie Q in Nikita on the CW. (It would be nice for a change to see a lead Asian actor not kick the crap of people.)

Meanwhile, we’ve had the endless Tyler Perry shows on TBS, a hodge podge of gay people on NBC’s Will & Grace, and George Lopez on. . . you guessed it, ABC.

On the bright side, Cho’s casting in Dancing with the Stars proves that network executives are at least comfortable with Asian Americans in ensemble or supporting roles. Witness Glee, Lost, and Hawaii Five-O.

Now if only an Asian American can make the first cut in The Bachelorette.

Frankly, I was hoping Cho would still be a little bitter about All American Girl. She certainly mined her miserable experience for comedic gold in subsequent clubs around the country. Somehow, there’s something sad about Cho making nice with ABC. I suppose bygones should be bygones but it feels like she’s selling out, at least a teeny bit.

Asian Americans can’t headline shows, but at least they’re finally good enough to wear shiny costumes and learn the tango.

Yay us.

by Thomas Lee
photo via Asian Pacific Arts at UCLA Asia Institute

History ≠ tradition, foreign ≠ old

If we were to play a word association game in response to taiko, we would probably get words like rhythmic, driving, animated, powerful. Of course if you’ve ever seen a taiko performance, you know that it is all of those things. But if we were to ask a bit further, we might expect some other words to trickle into the mix: ancient, traditional, raw, authentic.

“Authentic” is a problematic term. It is a word we throw around regularly to describe things that we deem somehow more real or honest than comparable products. Taco Bell is not authentic Mexican food, but the little restaurant on the corner owned by the couple from Sonora is. You’ll find authentic jazz at the Blue Note, not on your local smooth jazz station. Only authentic MLB team jerseys are sold on the team’s official website; anything else is just a t-shirt with the team logo on it.

But the problem with “authentic” is that it has variable definitions. One of the first things you learn as a budding ethnomusicologist is to never, ever describe any kind of music as authentic. Who decides what authentically represents a culture? What kind of discrepancy does it allow for differences between individual, location, context? At what point does something cross the line between authentic and avant-garde?

It is our tendency in Western society to look at an artistic tradition of another culture, see it’s dissimilarity to our own, and label it as authentic. Someone who looks different from us and sounds different from us must be traditional. . . authentic, right?

What they’re really thinking is that it must be old.

So what do we make of a group like Mu Daiko?



They’re chasing each other around the stage! Someone’s wearing a tie! She’s singing!

Is it authentic, traditional, raw enough to be taiko?

It depends on your definition of taiko. And of authenticity and tradition.

What few people realize when they view a taiko show, what they see is very different from the taiko that existed 2,000 years ago. At its origins, taiko is a solo art with perfunctory purpose: relaying messages to villagers, serving in religious ceremonies, ordering soldiers on battlefields. Needless to say, what you find in the 21st century is very different from its ancestry, inspired by a revival of Japanese culture after World War II and infused with modern influences from ensemble performance and martial arts. Does that not make it authentic? A feudal Japanese soldier would probably say no.

In North America, taiko has grown into its own means of expression, an art form around which Asian Americans of all backgrounds—interestingly with women in the majority—can connect with a cultural experience. North American taiko groups have long been inspired by the musical culture of the West, with many ensembles describing themselves as a blend of the taiko drumming of Japan and the popular rhythms and sounds of hip-hop, jazz, techno, and so on. Does that not make it authentic? A member of a rural community taiko group in Japan, where men still far outnumber women in taiko—would probably say no.

What do we call it, then? Who is the ultimate authority on authenticity in taiko. . . or any other artistic form, for that matter? The very nature of art is that it lives, breathes, and changes with the times. We expect it to evolve and surprise us with something new each time we encounter it. We may not always like what we get, but if it hadn’t been for artists in Japan pushing the boundaries of what the drums could do, we wouldn’t have groups like Mu Daiko today.

Maybe we can use “authentic” to describe taiko. After all, variation, experimentation, growth, and change all represent the authentic condition of art in the modern world, no matter what culture it comes from.

by Stacey Peterson

Art for the artist's sake

Mu Performing Arts, as many other arts organizations, is built on the idea that performance is about more than simply entertainment. At some point in our lives, most of us have been affected on an emotional level by a play, a film, a piece of music, or any of the myriad of other arts that accentuate our world. Sitting in an audience, we feel a connection with the characters and the story that draws us into a different world, or even gives us a greater understanding of our own.

But what about the actors on the stage? The playwrights? The other creative artists involved with bringing a production to life?

Throughout Mu’s 18-year history, we’ve heard a common expression of gratefulness from our Asian American artists. Mu gives them a place to call home, a place where they can display their talents in a supportive environment, a place where they can tell their own stories without the added pressure of navigating the ever-present issue of race in casting. On our stage, they are not just creating an experience for the audience, but living it for themselves.

The power of performance is the inspiration behind Mu’s Stories Program, a workshop series for youth that explores personal experiences through creative expression. Over the past year, Mu teaching artists have worked with a variety of schools and Asian American youth organizations to help students develop plays based on events, observations, and their own memories. With the Stories Program, students are given the same opportunity that Mu actors get when they take the stage: the opportunity to share who they are, and communicate their thoughts and feelings on their own terms. More than simply telling a story to an audience, they are empowering themselves.

Recently, Mu’s Artistic Director Rick Shiomi traveled to California to work with students from the Korean Resource Center in Los Angeles. At the end of the weekend-long workshop, students performed their work and held a discussion about their experience in the Stories Program. You can view a video of their performance below. If you don’t have 47 minutes to watch the entire video, try 14:25 for a representative example.

MU Workshop-h264 from Korean Resource Center on Vimeo.

Humor. . . in Hmonglish

The adage "Laughter is the best medicine" may be overused, but that fact doesn't make it any less true.

When it comes to Tou Ger Xiong, though, perhaps a better phrase would be "Laughter is the best teacher."

Xiong's history shares many of the same harrowing details as other Hmong immigrants in Minnesota. His family fled Laos to Thailand, where they spent several years in a refugee camp before making their way to St. Paul. On the surface, there's not too much anyone could say about the experience that would inspire humor.

Yet Xiong has found a way to reach new audiences with his story. Often cited as "the first Hmong comedian," he has traveled around the country performing comedy and rap routines--often bilingually in both Hmong and English--based on his life and memories and the Hmong American experience. Have a look at some of his work:



"What Is Hmong?" rap, from hmongnetwork.com:

(Rap begins at 1:25)

What makes a film "Asian"?

A few weeks ago, the Minnesota Film Arts invited me to advise the group on their plans to launch the first ever Minneapolis-St. Paul Asian International Film Festival in November. Or was it the Minneapolis-St. Paul Asian American Film Festival? I’m still confused.

MFA received a grant to develop a festival that would serve underserved communities. But “underserved communities” is a hazy definition, as is what constitutes the Asian (American) community. Some people might think I’m splitting hairs or even indulging in excessive political correctness. But to understand the difference is to understand the dilemma that has long flummoxed people of Asian descent in the United States.

I suspect organizers originally planned on devoting the festival to films created in China, Japan, South Korea, and Vietnam. There’s nothing wrong with that--Asia produces quality films as any other continent.

However, I’m not sure these films reflect the grant’s original purpose of serving underserved communities. The films might be high quality, but as a second generation American of Chinese descent, I don’t feel any special emotional affinity for films produced in China. I like a good flick like anyone else, but so do white, black, and Hispanic people.

Of course, films from Asia might resonate with more recent immigrant communities, like the Hmong or Laotians. I suspect, though, an entirely Asian film festival will attract people who normally enjoy foreign films with subtitles--mainly white people.

But what’s really missing in this country are films that reflect the Asian American experience-- the model minority stereotypes, the desexualization of Asian American men and the hypersexualization of Asian American women, the perpetual perception that people of Asian descent are foreigners even though many, like myself, have lived their entire lives in the United States and consider themselves primarily Americans.

I couldn’t think of any less served underserved community.

Two immediate films come to mind and they couldn’t be more different. In 2003, Better Luck Tomorrow, directed by Justin Lin and produced by MTV Films, nearly won the Grand Jury Prize at the famed Sundance Film Festival. The film centers around a group of high achieving Asian American high school students, who, perhaps bored with their high GPAs, AP classes, and Ivy League college applications, embark on a sociopathic crime spree that ultimately results in murder.

What’s striking about this film is that main characters both embody and defy the model minority stereotypes. No, not just defy, they literally and figuratively stab, beat, and shoot those stereotypes into smithereens. Pretty dark stuff.

I recall reading a story about the film’s screening when an audience member criticized Lin for not portraying Asian Americans in a more “positive” light. To which famed Chicago Sun Times movie critic Roger Ebert retorted something like: “I doubt you would have suggested the same thing to Francis Ford Coppola for his portrayal Italian Americans in The Godfather.”

Double standards are a real bitch.

The next film true to the Asian American experience is (don’t laugh…or then again, please do) is the stoner comedy Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. No, I’m not saying Asian Americans particularly like weed and mini burgers (although I’m sure many do). But beyond the silly premise and the rock out cameo by Neil Patrick Harris, Harold and Kumar, like the kids from Better Luck Tomorrow, try to overcome the stereotypes that have made them an ideal target for every snarky remark about Asian Americans.

Kumar, an Indian American, does his best to defy his dad who desperately wants his son to become (you guessed it) a doctor. Kumar spends most of his time thinking of creative ways to sabotage his med school interviews. With his parted hair and always available lap top, Harold, a Korean American, is a dutiful, meek cubicle drone who does the work of his lazy, white colleagues. Oh sure, Harold is pissed off--he just can’t summon the courage to do anything about it. He’s similarly powerless in his affection for the hot girl who lives in his apartment building, for Harold possesses the sexual prowess of an pecan nut.

Unlike the kids in Better Luck Tomorrow, Harold and Kumar don’t murder anyone. But they do manage to ride a cheetah, steal a truck, hang glide off a cliff, win the girl, and yes, go to White Castle.

Now that’s what I call a happy ending!

by Thomas Lee

New life for Asian Pacific Cultural Center

For years, the Asian Pacific Cultural Center (APCC) has been a dream: a plan for a building devoted to Asian culture in the Twin Cities, a single place where community organizations, advocacy groups, publications, and performing arts companies like Mu Performing Arts would come together under one roof. For a city with a growing Asian American population and little to unify the diverse cultures that comprise it, the APCC would provide a vital home for sharing, collaborating, and promoting Asian culture in Minnesota.

Now, thanks to Mayor Chris Coleman's announcement this week to revitalize downtown St. Paul, that dream is taking a big step closer to reality. After what seems to have been a history of two steps forward, one step back for the APCC, the new plan to reinitiate old development projects could possibly remove the last major hurdle toward the creation of the center. An initial outline of the plan includes renovation of the historic Hamm's Brewery for the purpose of housing the Asian Pacific Cultural Center.

There is no word yet on the timeframe for completing the project, but there is no doubt that everyone in the Asian American community should be excited about the possibilities that lie ahead.

Photo by jcbehm, via flickr. www.reviler.org

Your Wednesday wake-up call

Sure, we may be behind on this one--eight months behind, to be exact, if the date on Prince Gomolvilas's blog on the subject is any indication. Eight months may well be the equivalent of a million years in our technologically advanced world, but in our defense, had MUsings existed when this video first went viral, you'd undoubtedly have seen it here first. We still remember watching this one in the Mu Performing Arts office and finding it impossible not to completely fall in love with this adorable boy strumming a ukulele and singing along.

As we await the day when this multi-talented little charmer becomes the next Asian rock star, we'll brighten your mid-week with this blast from the past. Some things, after all, never get old.

Seeing through color in casting

In the current issue of Stage Directions magazine, Iris Dorbian writes about the ever-present issue of colorblind and other “non-traditional” casting in theater. While we live in a 21st century world where an increasingly multicultural society is a reality, many theater companies still struggle with reflecting that reality on stage. . . and with a variety of consequences. On one end of the spectrum, theaters that only rarely cast non-white actors may be labeled as “gimmicky,” trying to capitalize on a pretense of equal opportunity. On the other, those that regularly feature multi-racial casts may be expected to explain themselves and their specific casting decisions to a public that in many ways still views African Americans, Latinos, Asians, etc on stage as some kind of ulterior political or moral statement, even if the theaters are simply choosing the best performer for the role.

Somewhere in this discussion of cast and color lurks an even more frustrating issue: white actors in roles designed for actors of other races. Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s may have been bad enough in 1961, but it is a practice that still occurs today.

Just this past March, Mu Performing Arts and Children’s Theatre Company (CTC) held a discussion about the issue of “yellow face” in theater in response to CTC’s production of Mulan Jr, which had cast white actors as Chinese characters. While CTC explained the trouble in hiring Asian actors to fill those roles—it was an unprecedented and prolific few months of Asian American theater in the Twin Cities, with three shows requiring heavily Asian casts going on more-or-less all at once—the topic does stir up a variety of questions:

• Is the apparent “shortage” of Asian American actors a result of a theater culture that does not encourage their talent, or perhaps a higher expectation of the level of talent an Asian American actor must possess in order to be deemed worthy for a role?


• In presenting a culturally specific story, what level of responsibility does the theater have in maintaining cultural relevance and sensitivity?


• Is it more “acceptable” for Asian characters to be portrayed by white actors in the theater world than, for example, an African American or Latino character would be? Why?


• What role does the audience play in the way that Asians are portrayed on stage?

At Mu, we pride ourselves in creating opportunities for Asian American actors that they may not have elsewhere. But we also look forward to a day when we have to compete with theaters built in the traditional Western canon for their talents, when we have to lose an actor to a rival company because he or she was chosen to play Hamlet.

Answers. . . anyone?

I have two girls who love singing, acting and performing. My oldest is 10 and my little one, 7 years old. They were recently in a production of The King and I, which ran at the Bloomington Civic Theater, and just loved the experience. After the show’s run the girls excitingly asked me what and when their next project might be. Being a dedicated mother I began surfing the net for any opportunity I could find for Asian children. My search led me to what seemed to be a million pages. It was difficult to distinguish between the sites that were reputable and those that were questionable but I eventually found my way to trusted casting web pages such as backstage.com and actorsaccess.com.

Throughout this process I learned how complex the industry is, but more importantly I learned that there are very few opportunities for Asians, especially Asian children. I was greatly discouraged and wondered how it could be that a group as diverse as this and with so many amazing stories to tell could have so little representation in the entertainment industry. This endeavor has left me with many more questions than I started out with.

Can people not relate to Asian stories and images?

Is the Asian experience not associated with the American experience?

Are Asians not perceived as being as talented?

Is the Asian “look” not sellable?

When a call for audition states, “diversity is very important to us,” is that just window dressing?

We are so much more than Kung Fu and chop suey. America’s Best Dance Crew (ABDC) has shown us that Asians can dance (and darn well). Ang Lee has proven that Asians can direct Oscar worthy movies that are not martial arts related. Comedians such as Bobby Lee and Aziz Ansari have demonstrated that Asians are hilarious, and the list goes on and on. This is why I am so dumbfounded to learn that commercials rarely look to cast Asians to sell goods, movies roles are seldom written for Asians, or stories about the Asian experience (outside of war films) are rarely developed for mainstream America’s viewing pleasure.

What do you do when you have smart, sweet, respectful and articulate children who want to do something but can’t because their image is not mainstream enough? How do you tell your Asian American children they are not “American” enough to play an American? So many more questions than answers. . .

by Kaohly Her

Hope. . . even in North Korea

For Laura Ling, a 12 year sentence to hard labor in North Korea last year was retroactively wiped away by a phone call in 1992.

Then President Bill Clinton placed a call to Kim Jong-Il, offering condolences on behalf of the United States to the North Korean leader over the death of his father, Kim Il Sung, whose army fought American forces to a stalemate in the Korean War over four decades ago.

That an American president would personally phone a Cold War foe and iron fisted dictator is surprising enough. That Clinton was the first international leader to do so, even before China, North Korea’s strongest ally, is downright unbelievable.

Good thing for Ling and fellow journalist Euna Lee that Kim Jong-Il never forgot the gesture. When “Dear Leader” agreed to pardon Ling and Lee last year over charges they trespassed into North Korean and conspired to topple the government, Kim Jong-Il had only one request: that he personally meet Clinton when authorities released the two women.

Ling, sister of National Geographic host Lisa Ling, and Lee recounted these stories in Los Angeles last week during the annual national convention of the Asian American Journalists Association.

Ling’s keynote address was striking not just for its deft prose and heartfelt sincerity but that the speech lacked any self pity or animosity one would expect from a journalist beaten, imprisoned and ruthlessly interrogated by an oppressive regime.

Last year, Ling and Lee traveled to China to work on a story about North Korean women defectors for Current TV, a cable channel founded by former vice president Al Gore. Led by a guide, the two journalists briefly crossed the border into North Korea before turning back.

It was too late. North Korean border guards chased the women into China and literally dragged the two kicking and screaming into the Hermit Kingdom. A North Korean judge deliberated for five minutes before sentencing the journalists to 12 years of hard labor, two years for trespassing and a decade for plotting to overthrow the government.

Despite rumors that the guide had lured the Americans into a trap, Ling refused to blame anyone but herself.

“It was my decision alone” to cross into North Korea, she said.

Ling also said she preferred to focus on the positive parts of experience.

Uh…what positive parts?

After the court sentenced her, Ling said she curled into a little ball in the corner of her room and sobbed uncontrollably. Suddenly, one of her female guards, who spewed propaganda at Ling when she first arrived at the prison, did the unexpected: the guard consoled Ling.

“Don’t worry Laura,” the guard said. “Never lose hope.”

Ling’s story should remind us that even the most seemingly evil people, whether the guard or dictator, can sometimes show a little humanity- if the occasion calls for it.

Not often. But sometimes.

by Thomas Lee

APIAs Represent at National Poetry Slam

If you live in the Twin Cities, it's a great time to be an Asian American spoken word poet. St. Paul is hosting the National Poetry Slam (NPS) from August 3 - 7, 2010 (that's right, it's already started); in 2011 the Twin Cities will host the National Asian Pacific Islander American (APIA) Spoken Word and Poetry Summit; and, as part of the National Poetry Slam, the APIA Summit will sponsor an open mic this Saturday, August 7 from 1:00 - 2:30 at the Lowry Lab Theater in our fair capital city. According to Bao Phi, one of the open mic's organizers, API poets from Minnesota, California, and Hawai'I have already thrown their names in the hat to read their work. It promises to be a fantastic afternoon of great poetry.

Chances are good that you already know what spoken word is. Maybe you've watched HBO's "Def Poetry Jam" or have seen any number of spoken word open mics in your own neighborhood. Well, Asian Americans have been an integral part of this movement since the art form's inception. Phi gives a succinct and deeply personal summary of a decade of Asian American spoken word in his blog at the Star Tribune.

While I am a poet, I've always felt more comfortable working within the realm of page poetry than spoken word. But, as an audience member, I welcome the power of a good poem spoken on stage to an eager, supportive crowd. Listening to an articulate thought expressed with well-constructed, surprising, and engaging language in a group setting is akin to the Sunday masses I eschewed long ago. It's like church without the guilt. It's like church that makes you wanna get up and do something. And for Asian Americans, a spoken word event builds much-needed community.

Shortly after I first moved to the Twin Cities, I attended an evening of performances protesting the first incarnation of Miss Saigon, which was coming through town at that time. I remember sitting at Intermedia Arts, while a young Asian American woman stood onstage and performed a piece about her frustration with the stereotypes she faced. It was the first time I'd ever seen an Asian American female, like myself, stand in public and express anger about anything. But, it was more than just anger. By taking the stage, she had taken back her own identity as a complex, politically-aware individual. That event effectively changed my life. It set me on the path to becoming an artist myself and guided me to learning about Asian American history and politics. The lessons I've learned from that journey continue to inform my work, even as it has evolved.

Events like the API Spoken Word and Poetry Summit and the open mic this Saturday offer something for everyone, beyond poets or poetry fans. They offer a chance to be in community with other Asian Americans, to listen, laugh, shout out, and yes, maybe even cry. They give our community much-needed space to be and celebrate who we are. In this space, ideas are exchanged, tested, affirmed or challenged, and the seeds for future movements are planted. I hope I will see you there.

by Katie Leo

Viva La Korean Food!

According to the New York Times, Korean food is finally poised to go mainstream within the American palette, after too many years languishing in the shadow of other Asian fare.

It all started with the now-famous Kogi truck in Los Angeles, a venture that started in November 2008. This roving truck sold a tortilla-wrapped galbi concoction--comprised of barbecued short ribs, cilantro, onion, lettuce, and spicy chili sauce--with its exact location announced ahead of time via social networking. The deliciousness of this "Korean taco," combined with the novelty of discovering where the truck would be on any given day, made Kogi instantly popular with L.A. foodies. In fact, Kogi BBQ is so hot that its founder, Roy Choi, was recently named one of Food and Wine magazine's "Best New Chefs" of 2010. And according to Angry Asian Man, thanks to Kogi's popularity, food trucks are experiencing a rebirth of cool in Los Angeles, with "every conceivable" type of cuisine now represented on wheels.

(See a slide show of Korean tacos here.)

And now Korean chefs across the country are using this moment to seize the day for their own BBQ dreams. Korean tacos are popping up in restaurants in Indianapolis, Atlanta, Oklahoma City, and Austin, Texas, just to name a few. Many of these copycat cooks tip their hats to Choi, whom Portland restauranteur Bo Kwon calls, "the alpha." Choi himself seems appreciative but wary of the trend his idea has spawned.

"If Kogi-inspired trucks change how Americans eat, I'll be a pig in slop," he declared at a meeting of the Culinary Institute of America. "But if their food isn't any good, I'll be Kurt Cobain."

From this Korean-adopted gourmand's perspective, any trend that can win over more Americans to the joys of Korean food is a good one. But, why have foods from so many other ethnicities spread across this country, while Korean has not? Take my new hometown of Rochester, MN as an example. Here's a city of roughly 185,000 people. Sure, it's tucked inside farm country, but it does house the Mayo Clinic, which gives the downtown area a surprisingly international feel. In Rochester one will find eateries boasting Japanese, Vietnamese, Indian, Somali, Mexican, Greek and, of course, Chinese cuisine (of varying degrees of authenticity, to be sure). But, nary a Korean joint in sight. Now, while I love sushi, I find it fascinating that so many Americans are willing to eat raw fish but yet aren't familiar with the hearty stews, casseroles, stir fries, and beef barbecues of my birth country.

Do you think that one day every small town off an American highway will have a Korean place, just like most have a Chinese joint? What's your favorite Korean dish? And, most importantly, do you think Rochester will ever get a Korean restaurant? If you want to start one, come on down. You can sleep on our futon.

by Katie Leo
Photo by Arnold Inuyaki, licensed under Creative Commons

What's in a name? Apparently, way too much.

“Do you know what’s the most popular last name in the world?” my dad would ask me for the umpteenth time as a child. “Lee!”

I was never sure if that was actually true. But it sounds plausible. We all know Lee is popular in Asian culture. There’s also plenty of famous black (Spike) and white (Robert E., Tommy, Stan) people with the surname.

But judging by recent events, you would have thought Lee was as common as Schwarzenegger.
I was a reporter at the Star Tribune for nearly six years before leaving last December for a new job. In my place, the newspaper hired Wendy Lee, a cheerful Californian gal who happens to be a good friend of mine.

Aside from our last names, Chinese descent and mutual affection for karaoke, we are completely different people. She’s short. I’m tallish. She’s West Coast. I’m East. She’s not afraid to drive a car. Me? Well, that’s another story.

Yet people can’t help but fixate on our last name. Are we married? Are we related? Are we in fact the same person as we sometimes suspected of Michael and Janet Jackson?

The answer to all of these questions is a resounding no although I figure we’re related in the same way everyone is related to Australopithecus africanus.

The day the paper announced her hire must have been a slow news day.

“No one had anything better to say,” a friend told me. “So we just focused on your last name.”
Really? What’s so unusual about it? If Wendy Smith just replaced Thomas Smith at the Star Tribune, would anybody had noticed the similarity?

It didn’t help that a headline in a local news blog read: “Strib completes Lee for Lee swap.” I suddenly felt like a baseball card.

A few months ago, reporters gathered in a conference room for a tense staff meeting. After a few heated exchanges, the room grew quiet. My friend, never wanting to waste a perfectly good awkward moment, raised his hand.

“I want to ask a question that I think everyone here wants to ask,” he deadpanned. “Is Tom Lee related to Wendy Lee?”

Aside from a few muffled giggles, no one really understood the joke, including the editor running the meeting.

“Um…I don’t think so,” the editor dutifully answered. “I do know that they know each other quite well.”

After a while, people grew bored with the last name thing. So they started to focus on our looks.
“You know, Wendy Lee is much cuter than you Tom,” I heard more than once.

Now, I completely agree that Wendy is much cuter than me. In fact, I would feel downright uncomfortable if people said I was much cuter than Wendy. (I guess I just don’t equate myself with “cute” in any sense of the word.)

But why would the question even come up? Do we always like to compare the attractiveness of present and previous employees? If the paper announced Wendy Smith is replacing Tom Smith, do people automatically think: I wonder if she’s cuter than him?

Perhaps I should change my last name to Schwarzenegger. That way, there would be no need to wonder whether Arnold or myself would win the title.

It’s pretty obvious, no?

by Thomas Lee

Unveiling the fighters of the "Secret War"

In May, MinnPost shared a compelling article about the fight of local Hmong veterans, who played a vital role in the Vietnam War, to achieve full military honors and burial rights in U.S. national cemeteries. As members of a division known as the Special Guerilla Unit, these veterans took part in the so-called “Secret War” by aiding the CIA to prevent passage of supplies along the Ho Chi Minh Trail through Laos. After the war, many former SGU members fled persecution in Laos, eventually emigrating to the United States. They now make their homes in the country whose military they helped to support and whose soldiers they risked their lives to rescue.

Traditionally, however, U.S. military burial rights are only given to American servicemen and women. This means that currently, despite the thousands who fought and even died alongside American forces almost as an extension of the U.S. military itself, Hmong veterans are not awarded the same opportunity for interment in national cemeteries as their American counterparts.

According to MinnPost, Take Action Minnesota has been involved in the recent push to bring the issue to the public forefront. In the article, organizer Dai Thao concisely explains the importance of extending military burial rights:

"Hmong vets gave up their homeland to defend American freedom," he states. Affording burial rights to this group, says Thao, "will show that the bonds forged by Hmong and American veterans are real, and are not forgotten."

Now, after years of lobbying from SGU member organizations and supporters nationwide, California legislators have come through. This week, they introduced a bill to Congress that would give full military funeral honors to Hmong veterans of the Vietnam War. The bill in many ways recognizes the story and monumental sacrifice of these veterans--a sacrifice so often obscured by history--on a national level for the first time.

With an estimated 7,000 Hmong potentially affected by this bill, the challenge now rests with legislators to build congressional support for fighters and allies who have long been forgotten by, or never even revealed to, the American public.

Asian American history needs more than just a month

MUsings may not have been around to celebrate Asian American History Month in May, but that doesn't mean we need to wait until next year to recognize the long, storied, and oftentimes shocking history of Asians in the United States. In May, change.org highlighted a list of 10 facts about Asian American history that emphasize the social injustices and discriminatory practices that Asians have experienced in the last 250 years. As incredible as these facts are, it is even more surprising how few people are aware of them.

As the article states, Asian American history is grossly overlooked in our educational system. Despite entire units devoted to World War II in middle and high school level history classes, for example, most students graduate with extensive knowledge of the Jewish concentration camps in Europe but may never learn about the injustices that occurred in Japanese internment camps right here in our own country. While the advent of Asian American History Week in the late 1970s, and its subesquent expansion to Asian American History Month in recent years, provides some recognition on a national level of the contribution of Asian Americans, it is only a small step toward a much larger need for public education in the part that Asians have played throughout the course of United States history.

If there were one thing that you could teach all students today about Asian American history, what would it be?

Jeremy Lin is no Yao Ming

Lin is an undrafted 6’3 point guard who recently graduated from Harvard University. Ming is a 7’6 Chinese national and former number one overall draft pick with the Houston Rockets.

Yet the American-born Lin will soon join Ming in the NBA, having just signed a three year contract with his hometown Golden State Warriors.

Asians in the NBA, or any North American professional sports league for the matter, are as common as balmy winters in Minnesota; you just never see one. The ones that do come along, like Ming and Ichiro Suzuki of the Seattle Mariners, are already established foreign-born stars, vehicles for the NBA and Major League Baseball to market their brands to global audiences, including immigrant communities in the United States.

I doubt Lin will receive any huge endorsement offers anytime soon. But that doesn’t make his achievements any less compelling: an unknown Asian American kid from California who played his butt off at Harvard and earned a spot with the Warriors thanks to pure merit and hard work. In other words, the stereotypical Asian American experience.

If the NBA really wants to reach Asian communities in the United States, perhaps they should keep an eye on Lin, especially if he gets really good.

Will he become the Asian Jackie Robinson for basketball? Too soon to tell. But like Robinson, he’s already seen the ugly side of the race barrier.

In an interview with CNN this weekend, Lin said he heard racial taunts throughout his career at Harvard. The only real surprise, he said, was the abuse he took as a freshman when he didn’t even play that much.

Lin took it in stride. “I accept it as part of the game,” he said. “They’re just trying to get into your head.”

It’s sad that Lin has to accept it as part of the game. Everyone expects a little trash talking. But racial taunts? Whatever happened to “your mother wears combat boots”?

Black players endured the same thing before breaking into baseball and basketball. Today, black players are the majority in the NBA. One can only assume (or perhaps hope) that fans don’t scream “nigger” at games. If they did, which player are they trying to mess with?

Here’s hoping Lin can excel in the NBA not as a novelty or race pioneer but as American kid who got game.

by Thomas Lee

Welcome to our MUsings

For the past few years, we in the Mu Performing Arts office have been passing around the idea of starting a blog. After all, the ranks of Mu artists, staff, board, and friends are teeming with talent, ideas, and unique perspectives from the Asian American community that deserve to be shared. As an organization whose mission is driven by seeking out and expressing "the heart of the Asian American experience," who is better suited to provide a place for sharing those perspectives than Mu?

Although Mu is a theater and taiko company, MUsings is about more than just Asian Americans in the arts. It is a home for stories, news, reviews, profiles, and commentary that provides insight into what it means to be Asian American and, by extension, what it means to live in an increasingly diverse society. We will feature a variety of regular and guest bloggers from a broad spectrum of backgrounds who will each have his or her own voice to share. It is our hope that as MUsings grows, we will become not only a blog, but a hub where people from all walks of life can connect with one another, engage in discussion, and build a community around a common purpose: to journey into the Asian American experience in all its forms.

Without further ado, welcome to MUsings!