The Power of Representation

By: A mostly stable, middle-class Asian woman

For many that look like me, Crazy Rich Asians is more than a funny book title turned fabulous film. The first big-budget, Hollywood movie with an all-Asian cast since The Joy Luck Club (1993), Crazy Rich Asians held immense cultural implications—this movie meant I could finally see a cast that looks like me and my family on the big screen. It meant that young Asian Americans can be proud of their heritage, not ashamed.

Growing up Chinese in a mostly-White neighborhood was, in retrospect, quite damaging to my self-esteem. I vividly remember my classmates pulling their eyelids taut into small slits, yelling “ching chong.” Worst of all, I remember chiming into these racial taunts myself. In doing so, I felt like I could pretend that I was in on the joke, and that I wasn’t Asian or different or ugly. When I look back on my own internalized racism, I feel intense pity for my past self: that little Chinese girl who didn’t want to be Chinese anymore.

Until college, I didn’t view my Asian-ness as something to be proud of. I stifled it at all costs. I wished I was White. I wished that my eyes were better-shaped for applying eyeshadow, that my parents didn’t have accents, that my home wasn’t decorated with Chinese good luck charms. I wished we could become invisible to those racist people who would often tell us to “go back to China.”

Sitting in the movie theater, sandwiched between my native-born Chinese parents, all these memories came flooding back to me. The first song in the title sequence, Grace Chang’s春風吹開我的心, was popular when my parents were growing up in China. As I watched their faces light up while they silently mouthed the words to the song, tears sprang to my eyes—how could I ever be so ashamed of something that brought my parents so much joy?

My parents related to countless scenes in the film in a way that I’ve never seen them relate to a Western film before. The dumpling-making scene elicited a chuckle from my mom, who joked and said that the children are as bad at making them as I am. Each time a character called the protagonist a “banana”—yellow on the outside and white on the inside—my parents would each nudge me, jokingly. The grandma in the film spoke with a Beijing accent and was one of the only characters that spoke Mandarin; my mom, who is from Beijing, became emotional as she commented that she sounded exactly like my grandma, my 姥姥。

I must note, though, that Crazy Rich Asians is not perfect. Although it makes significant strides in increasing Asian representation in Hollywood, its depiction of Singapore and of exorbitant wealth leaves much room for progress. Although Singapore is about 74% Chinese, its minority populations, specifically Malays and Indians, were not at all represented, furthering the marginalization of these groups in Singapore. The only scene where a minority group appeared was when caricatures of Sikh people were typecast as security guards who didn’t speak and who elicited fear from the main Chinese characters. Especially in a country where indigenous people are often stereotyped and victims of racism much like Chinese people are in America, the film industry must work toward accurate representation rather than ethnic erasing. The glamorous lives of the rich Singaporean Chinese are glorified in Crazy Rich Asians in ways that deserve criticism. While this Asian representation must be celebrated, we must do so without discounting the oppressed minority groups and anti-racism activists in Singapore who are still frustrated by this depiction of their country.

On the way home from the movie theater, my dad said that this was one of the best movies he’d seen, and my mom readily agreed. This unique reaction noticeably contrasts with their lukewarm responses to other popular Hollywood movies, which they often find confusing or unrelatable. Finally, there exists a film that Asian Americans find both meaningful and entertaining, and that portrays Asian characters as complex individuals with different personalities, motives, and characteristics. Finally, a movie that portrays Asian characters as real people. This is the power of representation. And I can only hope that the film industry continues in this direction of diversification.

By Victoria Wang

Duke Student, self-proclaimed feminist killjoy, La Croix sommelier, and wannabe foodie.