Constructing Identity Through Documentary and Thriller

 

    When I loaded up the PBS documentary's first episode, my roommate debated whether or not to stay and watch with me. She explained her reasoning: "It's PBS; there's just something about it. They're always fun!" There is an enjoyable, entertaining aspect of the documentary, but that's not surprising considering producers made it with wider audiences in mind. The first two episodes of the PBS documentary pans across old photographs, intertwined with considerate interviews from experts and relatives, a soothing narration that reminds you that history repeats itself, and the honest effort to represent a collective identity— the aesthetic is certainly inspiring and touching because of the personal legacies included. Thoj's Die By Night would involve a different viewing experience altogether, by the looks of the few script excerpts included in the article "Occult Racism." The contrast between the comprehensive dialogue on Thoj's Die By Night script and the PBS docuseries illustrates the discourse that comes with self-actualizing representation— how choosing to represent a marginalized collective may elide specific identities or perpetuate narratives that may actually do more harm than good. 

    In both works, racial antagonism exists as the critical site of discourse to articulate feelings on citizenship and belonging in a country that prides itself so much on its mixing-pot ideology. The PBS documentary's historical work highlights evidence to the contrary through personal testimonies of activists of the period— gathered through relatives, descendants, and archival information, it certainly creates an emotional resonance that makes the documentary compelling. The common bond of a collective identity depends on some level on shared or common history, so it's not surprising that this seems to be the documentary's overarching goal. If history textbooks can be accused of brevity and condensing narratives, we should look at the documentary series with a critical eye for the inspiring track it chooses to pursue. The first two episodes reiterate various forms of Asian discrimination and struggle, such as the formative Exclusion Act (that announced America's formal immigration policy). Still, simultaneously, it aligns its historical construction of Asian-American identity formation with an activism spirit. Uplifting certain tales such as the loyal American Unos announces a particular narrative of engaging with legislative bodies to create change, usually the power of collectivized movements. Asian-American identity and legacy rooted in collective resistance to that antagonism — instead of a strictly cultural celebration of an identity or a history— are portrayed solely through survival tactics. I don't think it's ahistorical or necessarily damaging to prioritize the societal contexts or obstacles constructed by American society that informed Asian-American identity formation. Still, within the first two episodes that intend to frame the century, it becomes the defining arc of Asian-American history. I could understand critiques that go further and charge the documentary with defining identity with activism and negotiations with American society rather than merely existing. While marginalized identities are tinged in some shape or form with racial antagonism, it shouldn't be boiled down as the essence of identity. Asian-Americans experience differences, but their existence cannot be defined by that. 

    I found the reading very informative and thought-provoking, but I didn't consider it in dialogue with the documentary until we discussed representational methods in class.  Thoj's motivation to tackle the media invisibility he grew up with and the Hmong community's subsequent villainization through a visual articulation of the political issues that plague them could be critiqued for its reliance on racial antagonism as the source of conflict. As the article pointed out, in the aftermath of Chai Soua Vang's shooting case, the script's violence resonates differently, but I think it's fair to question why Thoj's representative venture prioritizes depictions of violence. At the same time, Thoj's choice to represent that racial antagonism as a tangible, evil danger elevates it from his observations of it as an agent of systematic racism that "works below the surface, doing damage methodically and invisibility" depends on the generic semantics of horror.  Considering the subject, I think there's something innovative about the occulting of racism within the script. Thoj's supernatural articulation of racism interested me greatly because it rightly configured this restrictive social phenomenon as this lurking presence that endangers and feels absolutely visceral. 

    It feels unfair to compare it to the bodily sensation of a woman walking alone at night, an experience that you couldn't avoid taking the subway to school every day. Still, it was honestly impossible for me to separate that knowledge of the deep hyperawareness of how your body, face, and presence could lead to a situation that ends with bodily harm. I would wager that to a certain degree, the same hyperawareness sometimes debilitates in predominately-white classrooms, where you can feel others attaching certain stereotypes and preconceptions just from perceiving you. You don't know what harm could fall upon you because of the rationale of racist subjectivities.   

    At this point in the term and after questioning the validity of self-representations in class, I'm definitely contemplating my own position as a creative with marginalized identities. You know, I don't know how universal this impulse maybe, but when you like film, media, and literature, I can only assume you would try to take a stab at it yourself. For as long as I can remember, I've always mentioned that desire to create authentic representation as my strong ambition with the ingrained assumption that any mode of representation from the perspective of a minority. Thankfully film criticism and film studies have certainly created an oppositional lens of sorts, especially when film studios like to market blockbusters taking advantage of the film industry's issue with diversity. As well-meaning or constructed as they may be, bids of representation cannot heal or absolve the lack of representation just for merely existing with good intentions.