The Body Politic, 1982

Abstract

Feminist Studies 42, no. 2. © 2016 by Stephanie Han 469 Stephanie Han The Body Politic, 1982 I am not your Oriental sex object! “We will not accept our position in an imperialistic construct!” I yelled through a megaphone. “Capitalism equals colonialism plus sexism!” For seventeen years in Watertown, Wisconsin, my existence as a Korean, American, Korean-American (hyphen; no hyphen), Asian, Asian American (hyphen; no hyphen), and even Oriental, had been a source of unremarkable familiarity, but after entering university in New York, my ethnicity became my raison d’être. My parents greeted this political and intellectual awakening with confusion: what else could you be? They tolerated my identity politics in the hope that socializing with other Asian students would ensure the performance of filial piety’s sacred rites, modernly defined as pursuing a lucrative career in medicine (second choice, law) and marrying a Korean man from a good family. I was a member of ASA (Asian Sisters for Action), but participated in the new tri-college offshoot AFCAC (Asian Feminists for Central American Change) rally on the suggestion of Donna Chong, ASA’s president. She had told me I demonstrated potential as a political leader: “You have a loud voice. It’s great for rallies.” Weekend pamphleteering, volunteering, and organizing offered the potential of meeting a cool boyfriend—anyone “political or artistic ”—and the marching and sign waving burned calories. I built my biceps and lost five pounds in the first month of joining ASA, which I privately thought was a decent payoff. The more activism took over my life, the further I drifted from my deli-owning parents’ dreams of medical school, but then again, what did they understand about the Movement? 470 Stephanie Han I pledged mind and body to the Revolution, and joined every Asian student organization on campus, with a few exceptions: CBS (Chinese Bible Study) and KCH (Korean Christians for Hope). The former was Taiwanese only, specifically four students who knew each other from high school in Taiwan, and KCH, known for their excellent post-Sunday service lunch (I attended twice under the premise of joining in order to satisfy a craving for oxtail soup and kimchi) were adamant that members be fire-and-brimstone-screaming, Hallelujah-jumping Christians. Despite their proclivity to tolerate deviants in the name of good works, my self-described status as an agnostic-socialist-Taoist at that particular juncture made even the most Hopeful Korean Christian wince. I was a card-carrying member of KSA (Korean Students Association), MRGS (Mao’s Red Guard Squadron), and AMW (Asian Media Watch), which led boycotts against any item that carried an “Oriental” label. AWG (Asian Women’s Group), an organization dominated by overseas F.O.B. (fresh-off-the-boat) students from mainland China and Korea and a few Tokyo-pop Hello Kitty babes (the latter armed with melon flavored gum to ward off bad breath), was apolitical, and its primary focus was food. AWG was the only group I mentioned to my parents. I chaired the poster committee for AWG bake sales. “Maybe you’ll finally learn to cook,” said my mother approvingly. “Do you need me to send you another box of ramen?” Donna’s rousing battle calls to unchain ourselves from the sexist shackles of the beauty and fashion industries prompted a wardrobe overhaul and a medicine cabinet purge. I donned my nondescript black turtleneck and blue jeans with defiance and clarity. My single concession to capitalistic vanity was Dark n’ Foxy brand black eyeliner No. 2 Cleopatra Kohl. Would anyone notice a trace of eyeliner? I publicly applauded Donna’s talks on the hegemony of white beauty standards, but balked when she advocated that all ASA members cut their hair. She got a crew cut; it looked terrible. “Hollywood images have led the people to associate long-haired Asian women with bargirls. Long hair is a racial stereotype,” said Donna solemnly gazing at my waist-length hair. I’m not cutting it. Donna can fuck off. Rebelling from Rebellion? I had neither the desire, nor the will, to break away from Asian Sisters for Action. I’d had waist-length hair since I was eight years old, and...