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CHALLENGES AND PRIVILEGES, ENTANGLEMENT AND
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AMERICANS FROM HAWAI‘I

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CHALLENGES AND PRIVILEGES, ENTANGLEMENT AND APPROPRIATION:
RHETORICAL PRACTICES OF ASIAN AMERICANS FROM HAWAI‘I

By

Robyn Tasaka

A DISSERTATION
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulﬁllment of the requirements
for the degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Rhetoric and Writing

2009

 

ABSTRACT

CHALLENGES AND PRIVILEGES, ENTANGLEMENT AND APPROPRIATION:
RHETORICAL PRACTICES OF ASIAN AMERICANS FROM HAWAI‘I

By
Robyn Tasaka
Asian American rhetoric tends to focus on recovering undervalued traditions and
making a space for ourselves. The impetus for this subﬁeld is that without it, the
rhetorical practices of Asian Americans are ignored. Thus the focus of Asian American
rhetoric tends to be on its underdog status: what Asian Americans are overcoming. We
might also consider other aspects of our rhetorical practices.

In this project, I aim to contribute to Asian American rhetoric through my focus
on Hawai‘i club websites, which incorporate text and image into representations by and
of one group of Asian Americans. As Asian American rhetoric scholar Morris Young
has pointed out, Hawai‘i clubs, which are based on college campuses and have as
members primarily students from Hawai‘i attending college on the continent often
represent themselves in problematic ways. The trouble stems primarily from clubs’
representations of themselves as Hawaiian, despite most members being Asian
American. While this disconnect may appear unremarkable to a continental audience,
the differences between Asian Americans studying on the continent and indigenous
Hawaiians are profound.

Considering these problematic representations, I conduct textual and visual
analyses of club websites both generously and critically—taking into account how they
reﬂect members’ privileges as well as their adjustment to the continental context,

including new perceptions of their race and/or ethnicity and anxiety about losing their

place in Hawai‘i. I ﬁnd club members negotiating multiple audiences—speciﬁcally a I
Hawai‘i and a continental audience. Club websites also depict members’ movement
between cultures—from Hawai‘i to the continent, or from the colony to the metropole. I
then turn to club members themselves, assessing through interviews further insight into
the motivations behind representations on club websites. That is, why do club websites
represent themselves primarily through Hawaiian and Hawai‘i culture? Why not Asian
or Asian American culture?

This project works to complicate views of Asian Americans both within
composition and rhetoric and more broadly, helping to improve our understanding of
how Asian American rhetoric reﬂects both disadvantage and privilege and how the
negotiation of the diﬁ‘crent meanings of Asian American in Hawai‘i and on the

continent are reﬂected in rhetorical practices.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First, I would like to express my appreciation for the Rhetoric and Writing program at
Michigan State University. Being part of this program has been an invaluable
experience. I am grateful to the faculty, especially my committee members, Terese
Guinsatao Monberg, Malea Powell, Danielle Nicole DeVoss, Laura Julier, and Jeff
Grabill, for always believing in me more than I believed in myself. I am deeply grateful
for your continued encouragement and support over the past few years. I would not
have been able to accomplish what I have without you.

Second, I’d like to thank my classmates and ﬁ'iends at MSU. Being in class,
attending conferences, and just hanging out together, you all have been great
companions—supporting my work, supporting me, and being lots of fun on top of that!
I’d especially like to thank Angela Haas and Qwo-Li Driskill, who have been great
scholarly big siblings ever since that ﬁrst recruitment event. I also could not have
ﬁnished this dissertation without my writing group and others who have provided
invaluable feedback on very messy draﬂs and ideas all along the way: Stacey Pigg,
Donnie Johnson Sackey, Latoya Faulk, Collin Craig, Jim Ridolfo, Kendall Leon, and
Jennifer Lee Sano.

Third, I’d like to thank my parents, Gilbert and Evelyn Tasaka, for their
emotional and ﬁnancial support over the years. You’ve always encouraged me to do
well in school; my academic achievements are yours as well as mine.

Last but not least I’d like to thank my partner and best friend, Kealani Cook. I

couldn’t have taken on this Michigan adventure without you. I’m so grateful to have

iv

you to reassure me and to bounce ideas off of—especially late at night when you are

trying to sleep.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES ................................................................................ viii
LIST OF FIGURES ................................................................................ ix
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION .................................................................................. 1
Contributions to Asian American Rhetoric ............................................. 2
Club Members’ Privileges Within the Ethnic and Racial Context of Hawai‘i... . .6
Constructing Oneself as “Local” ................................................ 7
The Difﬁculty of Seeing Racism in Hawai‘i ................................. 10
Ethnicity, Social Class, and Private and Public Education ................ 15
Hawai‘i Clubs on Continental College and University Campuses ................. 18
Why Hawai‘i Clubs? ............................................................ 25
Club Websites Reﬂect Citizenship and Belonging in Multiple
Communities ...................................................................... 25
Methodology and Methods .............................................................. 29
The Affordances of Grounded Theory ........................................ 30
Website Selection ................................................................ 35
Participants and the Online Chat Interview ................................... 38
Parsing Data into Meaning-making Units .................................... 42
Conclusion ................................................................................. 46
CHAPTER 2
“IT’S TOO ASIANI”: FELT AND DESIRED DISTANCE FROM CONTINENTAL
ASIANS AND ASIAN AMERICANS ......................................................... 49
Limited Use of “Asian American” ..................................................... 51
Felt Distance from Asia and Asian America .......................................... 55
Case Example: Jason and Patrick: Staying “Local ” ................................ 61
Multicultural Imperatives in Hawai‘i and on the Continent ......................... 64
Case Example: Michelle: Becoming “American ” ................................... 66
Privileges: Language, Generation, and Majority Status ............................. 69
Case Example: Dan: Becoming Asian American I ................................... 75
Case Example: Lauren: Becoming Asian American [I ............................... 77
Are Participants Asian American? ..................................................... 79
Conclusion ....................................................... . .......................... 83
CHAPTER 3

“WE’RE MORE THAN HAPPY TO SHARE ALL WE KNOW”: THE VALUE OF
“LOCAL” AND “HAWAIIAN” IDENTITIES IN ACCOUNTING FOR CLUB

MEMBERS’ “DIFFERENCE” .................................................................. 9O
Marking Distance from Continental Asian Americans and Stereotypes of

Asians ...................................................................................... 94

Use of Pidgin Opposes Emasculation of Asian Males ..................... 95

Use of Pidgin Despite Limited Skill .......................................... 97

vi

Spam Separates Club Members from Continental Asian Americans... . .99

“Local” and Hawai‘i as Multicultural Ideals ........................................ 103
The Function of Privilege in the Representation of Devalued Cultures ......... 110
Reclaiming Devalued Practices .............................................. 113
How Privilege May Enable this Reclamation .............................. 118
Conclusion ................................................................................ 122
CHAPTER 4
“NO MATTER WHAT, BLACK PEOPLE ARE AMERICANS”: HIP HOP NATION
LANGUAGE AND “AMERICAN” AND PERSON OF COLOR IDENTITIES ...... 126
The Use of HHNL as a Reﬂection of the UCI Context and Website
Composition ............................................................................. 129
The Functions of HHNL ............................................................... 135
Marking “Americanness,” Opposing Constructions of Asians as
Foreigners ....................................................................... 136
Representing Masculinity, Opposing Constructions of Asian Males as
Effeminate ...................................................................... 140
Representing a Bond ........................................................... 143
Building Cross-Race Coalitions? ............................................ 145
Lack of engagement with African Americans ..................... 146
Differing experiences of social class and struggle ............... 148
Off-kilter uses of HHNL ............................................. 151
Conclusion ............................................................................... 156
CHAPTER 5
CONCLUSION .................................................................................. 158
The Impact of Adjustment on Self-Representation ................................. 162
Belonging and Self-Representation ................................................... 163
The Impact of Privilege on Self-Representation .................................... 164
Implications for Asian American Rhetoric ........................................... 171
Citizenship/Belonging in Multiple Communities .......................... 171
Hybridity and Power ........................................................... 172
Privilege and Devalued Practices ............................................ 174
Attention to Context ........................................................... 176
Implications for Pedagogy ............................................................. 177
Directions for Future Research ........................................................ 183
Conclusion ................................................................................ 1 87
APPENDICES
Appendix A: Background Information on Post-Secondary Institutions Included
in this Study .............................................................................. 190
Appendix B: Solicitation Email ........................................................ 191
Appendix C: “You Know You’re Hawaiian If...” Feature Reproduced from
Northwestern University Hawai‘i Club Website .................................... I92
WORKS CITED .................................................................................. 194

vii

LIST OF TABLES

Table 1: Background information on post-secondary institutions included in this
study .............................................................................................. 190

viii

LIST OF FIGURES
Images in this dissertation are presented in color.

Figure l: Lu‘au ﬂyer posted on University of Pennsylvania Hawai‘i club website. . . ...44

Figure 2: Screenshot of Wellesley College Hawai‘i club website .......................... 46
Figure 3: Photo of the Byodo-In Buddhist temple posted on the Northwestern

University Hawai‘i club website .................................................................. 56
Figure 4: Screenshot of the Northwestern University Hawai‘i club website .............. 57

ix

Chapter 1: Introduction

[D] oing Asian American rhetoric is an act always situated in a space of
linguistic, cultural, and transnational multiplicity and fraught with histories and
memories of asymmetrical relations of power and domination.

LuMing Mao and Morris Young, Representations: Doing Asian American Rhetoric

Since the 1970s, ethnic relations in Hawai ‘i have become increasingly structured
by the economic and political power and status wielded by Chinese Americans,
Whites, and Japanese Americans over other ethnic groups. In occupying their
privileged position, these groups intermarry with one another, send their
children to the same exclusive private schools, reside in the same aﬂluent
neighborhoods, and socialize with each other at the some private clubs.

Jonathan Okamura, Ethnicity and Inequality in Hawai ‘i
It is this background—my scholarly and geographic homes, the subﬁeld in which I see
my work and the context in which I grew up—that pushes me to consider the inﬂuences
of Asian American identity on rhetorical practices. LuMing Mao and Morris Young, in
their introduction to Representations, an anthology on Asian American rhetoric,
emphasize that this rhetoric, like others, is dependent on context. Mao and Young
identify language, culture, nation, history, memory, and disparities in power as aspects
of context particularly signiﬁcant to Asian American rhetoric.

Sociologist Jonathan Okamura describes signiﬁcant differences between ethnic
relations in the Hawai‘i and US continental contexts, particularly for individuals of
Chinese and Japanese ancestry. For members of these Asian American groups, the
Hawai‘i context is vastly different—especially in terms of the power disparities Mao
and Young highlight. Taken together then, Mao and Young, in asserting the
situatedness of Asian American rhetoric, and Okamura, in detailing the ethnic context

of Hawai‘i, gesture toward the value of studying the rhetoric of Asian Americans (in

particular those of Chinese and Japanese ancestry) from Hawai‘i in order to expand

 

understandings of Asian American rhetoric. Studying Asian American rhetoric in the
Hawai‘i context enables considerations of how this rhetoric reﬂects not only challenges,
but also privileges. Considering privileges as well as challenges ensures that we attend
to the use of Asian American rhetoric not only to oppose, but also to reify, dominant
discourses, holding us responsible for the privileges we exercise in certain situations.
My work in this dissertation focuses on Hawai‘i clubs, which are based on
college campuses and comprised primarily of students from Hawai‘i, largely of Asian
ancestry, attending college on the US. continent. On club websites, as on many
websites, Hawai‘i clubs and their members negotiate multiple audiences. The most
signiﬁcant audiences, based on analysis of club websites and interviews with members,
are the Hawai‘i (i.e. family and ﬁiends “back home”) and continental (i.e. their peers at
school) audiences. In representing themselves to these audiences, club members draw
on multiple aspects of their identities—“American,” “Local”/“Hawaiian,” person of
color, and Asian American. In representing themselves through these, club members
take care to maintain the “American” and “Local” identities most valued both on the
continent and in Hawai‘i by presenting themselves as ideal multicultural subjects,
embodying highly valued “difference” and “diversity” but in “safe” ways that do not
threaten the status quo—or their membership in “American” and “Local” communities.
Contributions to Asian American Rhetoric
This study contributes to the burgeoning subﬁeld of Asian American rhetoric,
considering what the construction of this rhetoric as a minority discourse elides. Asian
American rhetoric brings together Asian American studies and composition and rhetoric

in considering Asian Americans as rhetorical agents. Scholarship on Asian American

 

rhetoric contributes to the limited work on this group in composition and rhetoric and
limited conceptions of Asians and Asian Americans more broadly. Studying Asian
Americans is crucial in order to expand the ways we think about this group in
composition and rhetoric, where people of color are primarily discussed as basic writers
or English language learners. In Russel Durst’s chapter, for example, on research on
postsecondary composition from 1984 to 2003, the section on race and ethnicity is
dominated by texts that focus on students of color as disadvantaged (86). While calling
attention to the challenges people of color face is undeniably important, especially for
teachers who hope to address students’ needs, this existing body of work provides an
incredibly narrow view of what it means to be a person of color.

Scholarship in Asian American rhetoric has begun to address these limitations.
Mao and Young, for example, emphasize the diversity of Asian American rhetoric,
saying, “like any other ethnic rhetoric, [it] is infused with competing voices, internal
contradictions, and shifting alliances at every given discursive moment,” comprising
diverse national origins, for instance (9). Even when not speciﬁcally addressing
diversity, Mao and Young’s emphasis on context gestures toward it. Asian American
rhetoric, they say, is always geared toward its speciﬁc circumstance; that is, it is
“always situated in a space of linguistic, cultural, and transnational multiplicity and
fraught with histories and memories of asymmetrical relations of power and
domination” (Mao and Young 20-21).

The diverse and contextual nature of Asian American rhetorical practices (not
unlike other rhetorical practices) stems in part ﬁ'om its interaction with other cultures.

As Mac and Young say, “Asian American rhetoric can take on discursive features that

are suggestive of other rhetorical traditions and/or are being appropriated by the
dominant tradition” (21 ). They add, “It is these moments of entanglement that call for
further systematic investigations where boundaries of different cultures, traditions, and
identities conﬂate, and where acts of conﬂict and interdependency abound” (Mao and
Young 21). That is, Mao and Young encourage attention to these unavoidable
“entanglements” and blurred “boundaries” of Asian American rhetoric, insinuating that
this rhetoric should not only be an object of celebration, but also of interrogation.
Despite acknowledging the variation in Asian American rhetoric and
encouraging interrogation alongside celebration, however, Mao and Young’s focus on
Asian American rhetoric as a “minority discourse” counters, to some extent, their
efforts detailed above (5). They deﬁne Asian Americans as “on the margin of culture”
(Mao and Young 6). Asian American rhetoric, they say, enables members of this group
to “resist social and economic injustice and reassert their discursive agency and
authority in the dominant culture” (Mao and Young 3). Furthermore, they say, “The
emergence of Asian American rhetoric speaks to this desire to give voice to the
voiceless and to accord long-overdue legitimacy to those ways of speaking that have
long been the stuff that Asian Americans are made of” (Mao and Young 4). Asian
Americans are constructed as “voiceless” victims of “injustice” who must “reassert”
themselves. This assumes Asian Americans are not part of dominant culture and lack a
strong voice. These arguments make sense in the context of the continental US. They
are less appropriate, however, in Hawai‘i, where, despite exposure to dominant U.S.

constructions of Asians and Asian Americans through, for example, popular media, the

 

day-to-day lived experience of Asian Americans is quite different than on the continent.
This leads me to wonder:

0 Given that the Hawai‘i context is likely to construct an Asian American identity
that does not ﬁt the parameters often assumed in Asian American rhetoric, what
can the rhetorical practices of Asian Americans ﬁ'om Hawai‘i contribute to
scholarship in Asian American rhetoric?

o How do privileges of belonging to (1) an Asian American majority
and/or (2) a politically and socioeconomically dominant ethnic group
inﬂuence identity constructions of Asian Americans from Hawai‘i?

o How does the challenge of adjusting to the minority status of Asian
Americans on the continent inﬂuence the identity constructions of Asian
Americans from Hawai‘i?

o How do Asian Americans from Hawai‘i use cultural resources gained
through (1) generational status (i.e. engagement with US. pop culture
and English language ability) and (2) upbringing in Hawai‘i to represent
themselves?

While the signiﬁcance of context is emphasized in Asian American rhetoric
then, my study provides greater understanding as to how particular contexts inﬂuence
Asian American rhetorical practices. That is, how the Hawai‘i context—in which (1)
individuals of Asian ancesz make up the largest segment of the population, (2)
individuals of Chinese and Japanese ancestry hold socioeconomic and political power,

and (3) a “Local” Hawai‘i identity is most valued—inﬂuences club members’ identity

construction, in part, discouraging their use of Asian American and person of color
identity markers.

Focusing on the Hawai‘i context highlights the importance of attending not only
to how Asian Americans speak back to the dominant discourse, but how we exercise
our own power and privilege as well, supporting dominant discourses, for example, that
ultimately maintain our privilege in Hawai‘i. This is what the construction of Asian
American rhetoric as “minority discourse” elides. In this study of one group of Asian
Americans from Hawai‘i, I ﬁnd them speaking back to some dominant representations
by sustaining others. Attending to Asian Americans’ uses of power and privilege
alongside the challenges we face provides a fuller and more responsible picture of
rhetorical practices, never ignoring the challenges, but simultaneously holding ourselves
responsible for the privileges we do exercise.

Club Members ’ Privileges Within the Ethnic and Racial Context of Hawai ‘i
In order to better understand the affordances the Hawai‘i context offers Asian American
rhetoric, some understanding of this context, in particular in relation to race and
ethnicity, is needed. Ultimately, because of the numbers of those of Asian ancestry in
Hawai‘i along with the dominance of those of Chinese and Japanese ancestry, club
members have trouble relating to experiences of racism. As previously mentioned,
being Asian American in Hawai‘i is quite different than it is on the continent. Okamura
further explains:

In Hawai‘i, Whiteness has been decentered by local identity and culture,

particularly since the reconstruction of local identity in the 1970s. White is not

the “unmarked category against which difference is constructed” (Lipsitz 1998:

1) and that serves as the unquestioned normative standard by which non-Whites

are evaluated, as it does in the continental United States. (Ethnicity 128-29)
That is, while on the continent, the invisible norm is white, with all other “difference”
needing to be accounted for, in Hawai‘i, “Local,” which generally refers to those
“from” Hawai‘i and includes most individuals of Asian ancestry,l is the norm. So while
Asians on the continent are often conspicuous, the same is not true in Hawai‘i.

In addition, in Hawai‘i, Chinese and Japanese Americans are politically and
socioeconomically dominant, as seen in the epigraph from Okamura. This means that
individuals from these backgrounds have grown up seeing role models of their
ethnicity. Among public school teachers, for example, the largest group (38%) is
Japanese American, a statistic Okamura says “has probably been the case since the
19608” (Ethnicity 66). As a result Japanese American school children in Hawai‘i grow
up seeing people of their ethnicity well represented in respectable roles. Hawai‘i’s
ethnic and racial demographics and culture provide a unique context in which to
consider Asian American identity as Asian Americans from Hawai‘i will likely see
themselves differently—at the center of things, to paraphrase Mike Rose—than those on
the continent do (178).

Constructing Oneself as “Local ”

In addition, in Hawai‘i, those of Asian ancestry may not think of themselves as Asian
American since “Local” identity is seen as just as or more important than race or
ethnicity. To explain, the identity marker “Local,” as in many other parts of the world,

indicates someone who is ﬁom a particular place. In Hawai‘i, however, “Local” takes

 

l Okamura claims that “Local” is also used to exclude recent immigrants ﬁom Asia and the
Paciﬁc (Ethnicity 127).

 

on greater meaning. As Young says, “Locals” “see themselves as distinctly different
from the mainlan ” (“Native Claims” 92). According to Okamura, “local tends to be
privileged, although not necessarily empowered, over nonlocal categories, including
Haoles [whites], Aﬁican Americans, Asian and Paciﬁc Islander immigrants, tourists,
the military, and foreign investors” (Ethnicity 122). This is because “Locals” are
constructed as belonging in Hawai‘i, as having a claim to Hawai‘i that members of
these other groups do not. In addition, “Local” is seen as opposed to and marking values
different from those of these other groups.

The term “Local” has a complicated history,2 but in order to understand how it
functions for club members in this study, what is most important is a sense of popular
perceptions of the term, particularly in relation to the more typical racial and ethnic
identity markers applied on the continent. According to Mari Matsuda, a critical race
scholar who grew up in Hawai‘i, “Sometimes when Hawaii Japanese go to school on
the mainland, they run into the Asian-American movement, and they are confused
because they do not think of themselves as ‘Asian.’ They think of themselves as ‘local’”
(187). While we are familiar with the term “Asian American” and know that it is how
we are identiﬁed, for example, on the US. Census, Okamura explains that this label is
not very useful in Hawai‘i as different Asian ethnic groups “constitute major or at least
signiﬁcant segments of island society” and the experiences of “Local” Filipinos differ
greatly from that of Japanese Americans which bears little resemblance to the
experience of Korean Americans (Ethnicity 17). While continental Asian American

communities are also quite diverse, the umbrella term “Asian American” seems to ﬁll a

 

2 Okamura details changes in the meaning of “Local” overtime on pages 113-123 of Ethnicity
and Inequality.

 

greater need on the US. continent, to write this group in a context where whites are the
majority.

I want to pause for a second here to make clear that, while, throughout the
dissertation, I refer to the US. “continent” and to experiences of Asian Americans from
Hawai‘i on the “continent,” I realize that the continent is large and that experiences will
differ, for example, from Irvine, California to South Bend, Indiana to Wellesley,
Massachusetts. I realize that Asian and Asian American populations vary across the r
continental US, from Chinatowns to college towns to rural areas. I understand that A
Asians and Asian Americans are perceived very differently in these different contexts—
as international students or adoptees, as gang members or technology workers. Yet the
variation of Asian American experience in different continental contexts is not the focus
of my research. I maintain that no matter the speciﬁc continental context Asian
Americans from Hawai‘i enter, there are key differences from the Hawai‘i context that
we all face.

While those from Hawai‘i understand we are Asian American, for example,
upon moving to the continent, we live this categorization for the ﬁrst time—being seen
as Asian American (or Asian) rather than as “Local,” Japanese, or Chinese and being
read through that lens. The term “Local” is also intertwined with perceptions of Hawai‘i
as multicultural utopia. That is, to identify as “Local” (a Hawai‘i label) is to identify
with “Local” values, including the popular perception of Hawai‘i as multicultural
utopia. To become Asian American (a continental label) means seeing race as those on
the continent do—taking race too seriously, according to popular views in Hawai‘i. As I

explain elsewhere, “Making jokes about race is seen as characteristic of local identity,

while non-locals, especially those from the US. mainland, are viewed as being too
uptight when it comes to ethnic humor” (Tasaka 156). This shift from “Local” to Asian
American then marks a signiﬁcant shift in worldview.
The Diﬂiculty of Seeing Racism in Hawai ‘i
While the “Local” label is valuable for naming the experience of individuals of Asian
ancestry from Hawai‘i (rather than from the continental US. or from Asia), claims to
“Local” identity might also be viewed through recent critiques. According to Native
Hawaiian scholar and activist Haunani-Kay Trask, the term “Local” is used by Asian
settlers to support claims to land and political control of Hawai‘i, positioning them,
unlike whites, as having as much right as indigenous Hawaiians to these (“Settlers” 4).
Patricia Halagao’s work supports Trask’s assertion of the dubious value of “Local” to
settlers, as among Halagao’s University of Hawai‘i students, she ﬁnds, “The local
middle-class Japanese students emphasized the local identity over ethnic differences.
Instead of acknowledging inequities between ethnic groups, they turned to
commonalities and referred to everyone as ‘being just local’. This was similar to the
studies of White students who perceived ‘everyone being American’” rather than being
attentive to ethnic and racial inequalities (Halagao 46). In other words, while the term
“Local,” like “American,” often appears to be used to promote unity and multicultural
ideals, it covers over history and hides material differences.

According to Candace Fujikane, who teaches English and cultural studies at the
University of Hawai‘i, the term “Local” gained popularity in the 19603 and 1970s in
demonstrations to prevent evictions of “Local” residents by outside developers

(“Reimagining” 45). In its function over the years, the term bears some similarities to

10

“Asian American.” Both labels, for example, served to unify a group: “Asian
American” brought individuals of different Asian ethnicities to see themselves as
similar (Wei 1) and “Local” was ﬁrst used during “the Massie trial of 1931, when
Hawai‘i-bom residents of Hawai‘i were allied in opposition to continental power
represented by military servicemen” (Fujikane, “Reirnagining” 45).3 The 19603 and
1970s were also key moments for both terms, as this is when “Asian American”
emerged and when “Local” gained popularity. And today, there are concerns that the
terms have become meaningless. Steve Louie, for example, wonies that what began as
the Asian American movement is now only “AzN PrYde,” which has “more ‘us’ or ‘us-
ﬁrst’ consciousness” (Louie and Omatsu xvi). Fujikane says, “Increasingly, the local
seems to serve less as a catalyst for change than as a device for maintaining racial
hierarchies in Hawai‘i” (“Reimagining” 45).

The problem with claims to “Local” identity in particular, however, is its
deployment against Native Hawaiians. While similar to Louie’s concerns with “AzN
PrYde,” the political and socioeconomic dominance of Chinese and Japanese in Hawai‘i
adds weight to this turn that perhaps “Asian American” has also taken. Given the power
of Chinese and Japanese in Hawai‘i, this deployment of the “Local” against Native
Hawaiians is the status quo, coloring dominant views in Hawai‘i, for example, of the

Hawaiian sovereignty movement as “a dangerous threat to ethnic harmony” (Okamura,

“Illusion” 283).

 

3 The Massie trial refers to a case when ﬁve “Local” men (“two Native Hawaiians, two
Japanese Americans, and a Chinese-Hawaiian”) were accused of raping a white woman whose
husband was in the US. Navy (Okamura, Ethnicity 113). According to historian John Rosa,
“the case itself and subsequent narratives of it ‘have consistently served as a means to express
local identity’” (qtd. in Okamura, Ethnicity 113).

ll

The inequalities between those of Asian ancestry and Hawaiians in Hawai‘i, in
which Asian Americans, as “settlers” who “are complicit in US. colonial practices and
beneﬁt from the American theft of Native lands,” provide a way to consider Asian
Americans as, not the victims of institutional racism, but instead its beneﬁciaries
(Fujikane, “Sweeping” 164). Those of Asian ancestry in Hawai‘i have faced many
struggles; in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century, immigrants from China,
Japan, Korea, and the Philippines were brought to Hawai‘i by American planters to do
backbreaking work on the plantations (Takaki 135-36). They were subject to “numerous
restrictions [that] governed work, housing, and social life and were enforced through
ﬁnes, docking of time and wages, imprisonment, and corporal punishment” (Okihiro
34). Through the formation of multi-ethnic labor unions beginning in 1920, Asians in
Hawai‘i began to gain political power (Tasaka 155). No matter the struggles Asians
have faced, however, according to T rask, their rights to Hawai‘i are not the same as
those of Native Hawaiians (“Settlers” 6). This context shows the limits of constructing
Asian American rhetoric as a minority discourse. The Hawai‘i context for Asian
American rhetoric tweaks this “minority” construction, considering the ways club
members are and are not disadvantaged minorities, and, drawing on Mac and Young,
how power differentials, both those that privilege and disadvantage them, inﬂuence
their rhetorical practices.

The emphasis on “Local” culture and identity, for example, makes it difﬁcult to
see racism in Hawai‘i. Multiculturalism can be seen everywhere in the islands—ﬁom
meals to classrooms and even within families. This likely encourages the situation

Okamura describes, in which “the great majority of island residents supports the

12

Hawai‘i multicultural model or the general belief in the positive nature of island ethnic
relations” (Ethnicity 15). That is, residents of Hawai‘i tend to see the islands as a
multicultural utopia, a model for the US. continent. As I have explained elsewhere, the
rose-tinted celebration of multiculturalism in “Local” culture has been critiqued by
scholars like Darlene Rodrigues, who argue that this “can make it more difficult to
bring up the racial injustices one does experience” (Tasaka 156). Halagao offers a
similar explanation for the widespread denial of racism in Hawai‘i, speculating in the
context of her University of Hawai‘i classroom, “Students of colour may not realise
they hold racial privilege because they are conditioned to believe only Whites hold
privilege or that Whiteness equals oppression (Howard, 1999)” (Halagao 47). Similar to
Mac and Young’s emphasis on Asian American rhetoric as “minority discourse,” the
belief that only whites hold privilege does not ﬁrlly account for the Hawai‘i context.
Seeing Asian American rhetoric as “minority discourse” only tells part of the story.
Dominant racial hierarchies that position whites opposite people of color do not ask us
to consider how we may be privileged in other ways. This may be true in some
continental contexts as well as the Hawai‘i context. In Hawai‘i speciﬁcally, however, in
combination with conceptions of the “Local,” constructions of only whites as privileged
enable individuals of Asian ancestry, some of whom are quite privileged in terms of
ethnicity and social class, to overlook inequalities, focused only on their challenges at
the expense of others’.

In the context of this study, these critiques of the “Local” indicate that while the
identity marker is valuable for indicating signiﬁcant differences between Asians in

Hawai‘i and those from the US. continent or ﬁom Asia—differences on which my

13

study is largely based, the insistence on “Local” identity may also indicate a desire to
cling to the political and socioeconomic power some Asian ethnic groups hold in
Hawai‘i, gained at the expense of Native Hawaiians. While this may be intended to ease
their adjustment to the continent, it is an example of a rhetorical practice that evidences
the privileges and power used by some Asian Americans against indigenous Hawaiians.
While “Local” identity may in some sense “accurately” represent Asian American lives
in Hawai‘i, it also maintains the privileges we enjoy there, but not on the continent.
“Local” identity and critiques of it are key in my analysis of how club members choose
to represent themselves with Asian/Asian American, “Local” Hawai‘i, and indigenous
Hawaiian culture. They obviously see value in “Local” culture for representing
themselves, but critiques of the way the “Local” is deployed gesture toward
asymmetries of power at work.

Despite critiques of the “Local” detailed above, however, I continue to use the
term as it reﬂects the self-perceptions of Asian Americans from Hawai‘i better than the
recently proposed “settler” does (Trask, “Settlers”; Fujikane, “Introduction”). This is
key as my focus is on how Asian Americans from Hawai‘i perceive and represent
themselves. It makes little sense to say that Asian Americans from Hawai‘i represent
themselves as “settlers” through references to Hawai‘i’s food and multiculturalism.
Asian Americans from Hawai‘i rarely represent themselves as settlers; this is the
problem that scholars like Trask and Fujikane identify. In addition, despite its problems,
“Local” continues to be a valuable term for differentiating Asian Americans ﬁ'om
Hawai‘i from those from the continent or from Asia. While Trask critiques this

“special” construction, which gives “Locals” a claim that continental Asian Americans

14

lack, I maintain that there are signiﬁcant differences between the Asian American
experience in Hawai‘i and on the continent. This is a primary premise of my project and
“Local” helps to emphasize that, not to provide “Local” Asians a sense of belonging in
Hawai‘i, but to reﬂect the sense of belonging they do have. I use quotation marks then
around the word “Local” in order to call attention to the inaccuracies of popular claims
to “Local” identity given existing critiques. In this way, I aim to draw on the value of
the term for reﬂecting the views and lived experiences of Asian Americans from
Hawai‘i while acknowledging its problems. I also capitalize “Local” in order to indicate
its use as a speciﬁc identity marker for those who have spent a signiﬁcant portion of
their life (and were most often born and raised) in Hawai‘i.

On a related vocabulary note, while “Local” is inclusive of Native Hawaiians, it
is important to understand that the term “Hawaiian” is not parallel to a term like

“Texan” (meaning someone from Texas), but is reserved for those who have at least one

ancestor who lived in Hawai‘i prior to 17784 (Hawaii State Constitution, in Young), in
contrast to other “Locals” who are descended from immigrants to Hawai‘i. Throughout
the dissertation, I use “Hawaiian,” “indigenous” and “Native Hawaiian” as synonyms.
Ethnicity, Social Class, and Private and Public Education

I have described the majority status of Asian Americans in Hawai‘i and the political and
socioeconomic dominance of those of Chinese and Japanese ancestry. When I speak of
club members as privileged, I refer to other characteristics as well. In particular,
participants and other club members can also be seen as privileged in terms of

education, based on the high schools they have attended. All but one participant is a

 

4 1778 is “the commonly recognized date of Western contact” (Young, “Native Claims” 86).
l 5

graduate of a private high school; four are alumni of Punahou School, which also
graduated Barack Obama and America Online CEO Steve Case. The one participant
who graduated ﬂour a public high school attended what Okamura characterizes as “one
of the academically better public schools” with “among the lowest dropout rates” (5%
in contrast to 29% at the high school with the highest drop out rate) (Ethnicity 39, 69).
As touched on above, club members are also privileged in terms of their matriculation,
not only at postsecondary institutions on the continent, but often competitive ones at
that. As Okamura says, these educations come at “considerable ﬁnancial cost”
(Ethnicity 39).

As all but one of my participants is a graduate of a private high school in
Hawai‘i and Okamura says that graduates of these schools are highly likely to attend
college on the continent (Ethnicity 73), I would also like to provide some context for the
public/private divide in Hawai‘i. As Okamura tells it, in Hawai‘i private schools
provide an escape, for those who can afford it, from Hawai‘i’s under-funded public
school system (Ethnicity 71). While nationally, annual spending per student has
increased, in Hawai‘i, it has decreased (Okamura, Ethnicity 66). There are many private
schools in Hawai‘i, but those generally seen as most prestigious are Punahou School
and ‘Iolani School (from which; four and three participants graduated respectively). The
status of these schools can be seen in their famous alumni; in addition to those from
Punahou previously mentioned, ‘Iolani graduated Honolulu mayor Muﬁ Hanneman and
Sun Yat-sen, a key political leader in China in the early twentieth century. Both schools
then have educated men who eventually came to be quite powerful—whether in

Hawai‘i or more broadly. The cost of attending these schools also ensures that students

16

are in large part limited to the well off; Punahou School’s tuition for the 2006-2007
academic year was $14,725 (Okamura, Ethnicity 72).

Private schools in Hawai‘i, more than public schools, are seen as preparing
students for “entry to a prestigious college” (Okamura, Ethnicity 57). According to
Okamura, “At the better private high schools, the entire graduating class continues on to
college, the great majority of them in the continental United States, including the most
academically renown[ed] higher education institutions in the nation” (Ethnicity 73). In
1998, for example, 87% of Punahou graduates enrolled at postsecondary institutions on
the continent, while this was the case for only 5% of the graduates at a public high
school that serves primarily students from less politically and socioeconomically
powerful ethnic backgrounds (Okamura, Ethnicity 39).

Understanding club members’ privileges provides a ﬂame for reading their use
of devalued images and practices (e. g. exoticized Asia, “quaint” Hawai‘i, Pidgin, Hip
Hop Nation Language), that is, for understanding to what extent the show of pride in
these images and practices should be seen as reclamation in deﬁance of dominant
standards and to what extent resulting from the privilege of those whose central
position—based on standardized language ability, academic achievement, and ﬁnancial
power—is unquestioned. Given the context of Hawai‘i, club websites provide a context
for considering site authors and other club members, one group comprised largely of
Asian Americans, as both challenged (as members of an ethnic minority group on the
continent) and privileged (as often late- generation native English speakers from ethnic

groups dominant in Hawai‘i).

l7

Hawai ‘i Clubs on Continental College and University Campuses
I turn now to Hawai‘i club websites as a site for studying the rhetorical constructions of
Asian Americans from Hawai‘i. The Hawai‘i clubs I focus on are based on college
campuses and have as members primarily students from Hawai‘i attending college on
the continent. For the most part, club websites say the purpose of their clubs is to
provide a home away from home for students from Hawai‘i and to spread Hawai‘i
culture. In this way, they are similar to international students’ organizations or other
student of color clubs, which address the unique challenges these students face on
college campuses.

Hawai‘i club members are primarily, but not all, of Asian ancestry. On the
University of California, Irvine Hawai‘i club website, for instance, of the eleven club
ofﬁcers and members for whom information about ethnic background is provided seven
(63%) identify as having Asian ancestry.5 On the University of Pennsylvania Hawai‘i
club website, of the eight ofﬁcers listed, all have Asian (Japanese, Chinese, and Korean)
surnames. While this data perhaps problematically conﬂates ethnic/racial self-
identiﬁcation with the patrilineal identiﬁcation practices by which most of us get our
surnames, it provides a sense of the Asian American population in Hawai‘i club. It also
aligns with all participants’ descriptions of their clubs as “mainly” or “mostly”
comprised of members of Asian ancestry. In presenting data on the racial make-up of
clubs, I want to acknowledge that while club members are not all of Asian ancestry, a
large number of them are. Though this count may not be perfectly accurate, it provides

an idea of the number of those of Asian ancestry, thus supporting my reading of (1) club

 

5 . . . . . .
The other four describe themselves as Hawauan, white, or Mexrcan and white.

18

members as negotiating perceptions of their Asian appearance in Hawai‘i and on the
continent and (2) club websites as Asian American rhetoric. While I do not want to
erase or ignore those members who are not of Asian ancestry, in reading these websites
as examples of Asian American rhetoric, my focus is on how club members, who are
largely of Asian ancestry, negotiate perceptions of their Asian appearance in Hawai‘i
and on the continent.

While Hawai‘i club populations are largely Asian American, however, one
participant, Lauren,6 sees them as quite different than other Asian American student
organizations, speciﬁcally groups like the Hong Kong Student Association and Korean
Student Association. She says of the Hawai‘i club:

We’re the only group in APSC [Asia Paciﬁc Student Coalition, an umbrella

organization that Hawai‘i club, Hong Kong Student Association, Korean

Student Association, and other clubs belong to] that isn’t completely based on

race, but on geography. ive been able to just make that bridge, overlook the fact

that we represent this “asian” group, even though our common bond is simply
where we’re from. i think for the most part we look at it and chuckle.7
Lauren contrasts the Hawai‘i club she belongs to with these other clubs, saying that
these others put a greater emphasis on race. Along with her statement, other data also
encourage me to see key diﬂ‘erences between Hawai‘i clubs and other, in particular

Asian American, college student organizations.

 

6 Participants are identiﬁed by pseudonym throughout the dissertation.

As interviews were conducted via internet chat, participants often followed the conventions of
the genre, limiting capitalization and punctuation, for instance, and typing for speed rather than
spelling accuracy. I have reproduced participants’ responses as they gave them, inserting
punctuation and correct spellings when necessary to aid readers’ comprehension.

l9

Hawai‘i clubs seem to differ from other Asian American campus organizations
in part based on the history of their formation. Young found that many Hawai‘i clubs

originated in the 1990s (“Native Claims” 98), and while the start dates of the clubs

included in my study range from the 19705 to 2000,8 Hawai‘i clubs generally do seem
to have started later than the campus organizations, formed in the 1970s, that grew out
of the Asian American movement. In Steve Louie and Glenn Omatsu’s Asian
Americans: The Movement and the Moment, for example, several contributors who
participated in the Asian American movement describe their role in founding campus
organizations like the Asian Students Union at San Francisco State University (43) and
Kababayan (a Pilipino American student group) at University of California, Irvine
(UCI) (53). The impact of these roots can be seen in current club activities. Tomo No
Kai, for example, a J apanese/J apanese American club at UCI also was formed in the
19708 and one of its annual activities is a trip to Manzanar, a camp where Japanese
Americans were interned during World War I] (“About Us,” UCI). This activity reﬂects
the inﬂuence of the Asian American movement, which saw Japanese American
internment as a key issue (Louie and Omatsu 43).

Hawai‘i clubs, with later roots, seem to have a different origin. Young reads the
19905 founding dates many Hawai‘i clubs claim in relation to the hundred-year
anniversary of the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy, “which put Hawai‘i and

Hawaiian culture in the spotlight (not only nationally, but in the local consciousness as

 

8 Of the club websites included in this study, the following information about their origin is
provided. According to the University of Oregon website, their 2007 lu‘au was their 32"d
annual, indicating that their ﬁrst lu‘au took place around 1975. According to the UCI site, their
club started in 1985. The Northwestern club says its 2009 lu‘au was its 23rd, indicating that
their ﬁrst took place around 1986. Notre Dame had a Hawai‘i club from 1951 to 1966, but they
say the club went dormant and reappeared in 198.1. The Menlo club puts its origin in 1990 and
the Wellesley club in 2000.

20

well) and the explosion of the World Wide Web [which] made connections among
displaced Locals easier” (“Native Claims” 98). While some Hawai‘i clubs may have
roots in the Asian American movement, I read their formation also in the context of
19903 multiculturalism. I ﬁnd it similar to the Mehndi night that the South Asian
students club at Smith College organizes, which Sunaina Maira discusses. While Maira
does not discuss the formation of the club itself, she places the origins of the event in
the 19908 (230). According to Maira, one reason Mehndi night is successﬁrl is because
“it plays an important role in the multicultural economy of the liberal arts college”
(230). She further explains:
The organizers are strategic about marketing the event to meet the institution’s
multicultural agenda, using it to fulﬁll the resident life policy on “diversity”
programming requirements. Clearly, these women understand that
multiculturalism in higher education is about the negotiation of resources and
the performance of a certain liberal politics of cultural difference, and they have
staged the reappropriation of Indo-chic to their own (material) beneﬁt. (Maira
231)
While neither participants nor Hawai‘i club websites explicitly discuss the role of their
club within university multicultural programming, they can be read as fulﬁlling this
same purpose that Maira describes for Mehndi night. She says “part of the big draw [of
the event] is cheap Indian food and Indian dance performances, so participants at the
event can consume ‘Indian culture’ visually and orally” (Maira 230). The parallels of
this event to the annual lu‘au most Hawai‘i clubs host, where hula is performed and

Hawaiian and “Local” food served, are evident.

21

In other ways too, Hawai‘i clubs can be seen operating in service of colleges’
and universities’ “multicultural agendas.” Many institutions, for example, take pride in
the “diversity” of their student population, publicizing the demographics of students’
racial backgrounds and home states in their recruiting materials. Some Hawai‘i clubs
play a role in this recruitment as well. At the University of Pennsylvania, according to
Lauren, the Hawai‘i club helps recruit students from Hawai‘i. The club is provided with
a list of accepted students’ names and phone numbers and members call each student
“personally to ask if they have questions and encourage them to come.” Given
Hawai‘i’s racial demographics, these institutions are likely eager to recruit these
students in order to boost the number of students of color and Hawai‘i clubs help them
fulﬁll this purpose, albeit in a small way.

In contrast to other Asian American student organizations, Hawai‘i clubs also
seem more focused on performance, which also aligns them with the multicultural goals
of colleges and universities as performances provide visible and consumable signs of
difference. While groups like Kababayan and Tomo No Kai also host events where they
perform for outsiders, these are less central than the lu‘au is for many Hawai‘i clubs.
Tomo No Kai, for example, lists what is likely a performance-based event, Cultural
Night, where they “celebrate the beauty of Japanese culture” among other key events,
including a basketball tournament, the Manzanar trip, and another event related to
Japanese American internment (“Welcomel”). In contrast, for the UCI Hawai‘i club,
“The biggest cultural event for our club is our annual Lu‘au” (“About Us,” Na ‘0pio).
The focus on this event is also indicated in their website design; of the items listed in

the navigation, “Lu‘au” is highlighted in a different color so that it stands out from the

22

others (“About Us,” Na ‘0pio). Participants also describe lu‘au as the major event of
their Hawai‘i clubs.

On a related note, Hawai‘i clubs and other Asian American student
organizations view the role of education in their clubs differently. I see this as closely
tied to the idea of performance, as in their annual lu‘au, Hawai‘i clubs often claim to be
not only performing for, but also educating outsiders. Where Hawai‘i clubs focus on
educating outsiders, however, other Asian American organizations also educate
themselves, perhaps evidencing a more reﬂective attitude. Tomo No Kai and
Kababayan, for example, see the education of their members as part of their clubs’
project. Tomo No Kai, for example, aims to edify its members through the trip to
Manzanar (“About Us,” UCI). Kababayan sponsors study hours for club members and
describes academics as a main focus of the club (“About Us,” Kababayan). While
Hawai‘i club members, like most college students, devote much time to academics, they
see this as outside the purpose of the club. One UCI Hawai‘i club member, for example,
writes in a newsletter posted on the club website, “[The Hawai‘i club’s] Camping trip,
ski trip, and Vegas trip are all deﬁnitely worth going to even if you have 3 midterms
during the week after (just study lots in advance)” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 17 October).
Thus, academics are seen as something that must be taken care of so that one has the
time to participate in Hawai‘i club social activities.

Considering these clubs in relation to the Asian American movement, the focus
on education in Tomo No Kai and Kababayan perhaps comes ﬁom the sense that their
history has been kept from them. Louie and others active in the Asian American

movement, for example, describe starting Asian American history classes or study

23

groups on various college campuses in order to address this issue (Louie and Omatsu
xxi). The different approach of Hawai‘i club members perhaps is a reﬂection of their
education in Hawai‘i; that is, they are less likely to feel their history has been kept from
them given the dominant role of Asian Americans in general and Japanese and Chinese
in particular in Hawai‘i. Hawai‘i club members will have learned the history of Hawai‘i
in school, for instance, and had at least Japanese and Chinese celebrations like Girls’
Day, Boys’ Day, and Chinese New Year acknowledged at school and even incorporated
into the curriculum. As a result, perhaps Hawai‘i club members feel they already know
“their” history—whether Hawai‘i, “Local,” and/or Asian/Asian American. They feel
their job is to teach what they know rather than to further examine it themselves.

In addition, the use of the term “club,” which all Hawai‘i clubs use, also points
to a difference from other Asian American organizations. “Club” carries a more social
connotation in contrast to terms like “union,” “alliance,” or “caucus.” These other terms
provide more of a sense of uniting in order to take some kind of political action.

Hawai‘i clubs then appear to be similar to Asian American student
organizations, international student organizations, and other clubs for students of color
in their support for club members who face unique challenges on campus. They differ
from these other organizations, however, in that they tend to be more focused on the

social and on performance and do not build education and reﬂection into their clubs’

purpose-
Why Hawai ‘i Clubs?

Hawai‘i clubs provide a case for considering the inﬂuence of the racial and ethnic

context of Hawai‘i on Asian American rhetorical practices. On club websites, Hawai‘i

24

clubs and their members negotiate multiple audiences and cultures. The most common

target audiences mentioned by participants are current and prospective members.9 Yet
all express concerns with how club websites will be read by continental audiences in
other parts of the interview. This is especially notable as this continental audience is the
only audience that is mentioned by all participants. That is, while Hawai‘i Outsiders are
not identiﬁed by any participant as a target audience, all participants ultimately express
concerns with this group’s perceptions.

Hawai‘i club websites then reﬂect the self-representation of club members to
both continental and Hawai‘i audiences. They also reﬂect the identity constructions of
club members who are ﬁ'om Hawai‘i, but have recently relocated to the continent. As a
result, on Hawai‘i club websites, constructions of Asian Americans in Hawai‘i and on
the continent come together, evidencing the negotiation of these constructions vis-a-vis
one another. In this way, club websites, as a place where continental and Hawai‘i
contexts and audiences meet, provide an ideal site for observing the inﬂuences of the
Hawai‘i context and its privileges and challenges on Asian American rhetoric.

Club Websites Reﬂect Citizenship and Belonging in Multiple Communities

Key in existing Asian American rhetoric scholarship is the theme of “citizenship,” or
relation to mainstream America. In Young’s Minor Re/ Visions, for example, he
considers the relationship between citizenship and literacy for Asian Americans. He
reads two literary works by Hawai‘i authors as “narrative re/visions of citizenship

written in response to the anxieties about race, class, and language generated by

 

9 Four participants each mention current and prospective members. Three participants
mentioned partner organizations and two mention parents of members. The total adds up to
more than nine because some participants mentioned multiple audiences.

25

attitudes created by the plantation and the English Standard school” (Minor Re/Visions

134).10 That is, the protagonists in these texts, in part because of their language use (i.e.
use of Pidgin or Hawai‘i Creole English), are perceived as distant ﬁ'om “American”
culture, yet they also “use language and literacy to re/vision their own places in their
own stories,” or to negotiate that distance (Young, Minor Re/Visions 134).

Mac and Young also describe, as part of the purpose of Asian American studies,
“the writing of Asian Americans into the national American narrative,” which similarly
functions to mark citizenship. They see Asian American literary authors, for instance,
“expand[ing] the boundaries of what are deﬁned as American cultural texts and of who
can write those texts” (Mao and Young 8-9). Mao and Young say there is a “tension or
contradiction” in “translating and transforming our experiences into the larger American
imaginary” (21). Yet marking our “Americanness” is in many ways valuable, given
constructions of Asians in the US. as perpetual foreigners (Lee and Zhou 10). Concerns
with representation and identity are similarly key in Asian American rhetoric, emerging
out of “the over-determination of racial, ethnic, and cultural categories” (Mao and
Young 16). That is, because race, ethnicity, and culture are assumed to count for so
much, Asian American rhetoricians must take as a primary concern the preconceived
notions others have of us as Asian and Asian American.

For Hawai‘i club members, however, the need to mark themselves as

“American” works differently than it does for other Asian Americans, including those

 

10 As I explain in “Rhetoric of the Asian American Self”:
From 1924 until 1948, Hawai‘i’s public school system was divided into English Standard
and non-English Standard schools, with students technically divided by English ability, but
in reality, segregated by race. The system was designed to allay the concerns of “Americans
[who] know that their impressionable children, literally surrounded throughout the school-
day and at playtime by these swarms of Orientals, will unconsciously pick up and adopt '
Oriental manners and mannerisms” (quoted in Young[, Re/ Visions] 116). (T asaka 155)

26

in the Hawai‘i context that Young describes. In Young’s analysis, Hawai‘i’s early
twentieth-century education system, which privileged whites over Asians, plays a
signiﬁcant role. He cites a 19208 youth of “the white privileged class” who says, “It’s
all settled then; we, the Punahou [School] boys, will be the lunas [managers] and the
McKinley [High School] fellows will carry the [sugar]cane” (Takaki, Strangers 172,
qtd in Young 119). But what of today’s Asian American graduates of Punahou? In
contrast with the Asian Americans in Young’s examples, it is unlikely that Asian
American graduates of elite private schools face the same issues of citizenship—at least
within the Hawai‘i context. The desire to mark oneself as “American” is signiﬁcantly
strengthened, however, by club members’ shift to the continent, as they move from a
place with a large Asian American population to one where individuals of Asian
heritage comprise a much smaller percentage of the population. Thus, part of club
members’ adjustment to the continent entails reconstructing their identities in relation to
the different ways they are perceived on the continent and in Hawai‘i so they can have a
sense of belonging in both locations.

Club members negotiate not only “Americanness,” however, but also
membership in other communities, for example, a “Local” Hawai‘i community. On
their websites, club members carefully walk the line between membership in a “Local”
community and claims to “Hawaiianness.” While they evidence a concern with marking
their belonging in the US. then, club members are also careful to signify their identities
relative other communities as well—marking themselves as insiders or outsiders so as
to account for their “difference” without jeopardizing the “American” and “Local”

identities that are most highly valued in Hawai‘i and on the continent.

27

As a result of these multiple negotiations, in the context of this study, I ﬁnd
“citizenship” less useful than “belonging.” Part of my opposition to “citizenship” has to
do with its legal connotations; the vast majority of participants and club members are
born US. citizens and, more importantly, my concern is not with legal markers, but
with perceptions. That is, the communities that club members aim to present themselves
as affiliated with (or not). I deﬁne belonging as refening to one’s being seen within a
certain community based on one’s identity. One can be seen as being “American” then
and thus belonging with other “Americans” or belonging—having the right to be, or
expected to be—in the US. One can be seen as “Local” and thus belonging with other
“Locals” or belonging in Hawai‘i. I see belonging as in many ways similar to
citizenship; perhaps a key difference is that while one generally is a citizen of only one
nation (something like “dual citizenship” being the exception rather than the rule) one
can—and often does—belong to many communities. Club members’ negotiation of
multiple communities is key and “belonging” enables exploring that negotiation.

On club websites, for example, members reﬂect their belonging in different
communities with several available identity markers. In negotiating these identity
markers, club websites evidence care in using those that pose greater risks (i.e. person
of color, Asian American, “Hawaiian”) and holding on to those that are most valuable
(i.e. “Local,” “American”) in their self-portrayal to Hawai‘i and/or continental
audiences. That is, club members are in some sense privileged in that they have access
to all of these identity markers and cultural resources—that is, they are US. citizens,
engaged with US. popular culture, native speakers of English, recipients of prestigious

educations, and have access to “Local” and Hawai‘i culture as well as Asian and Asian

28

American culture. Yet their access to these resources means they have much to lose and
must operate carefully in order to hold on to these identities. In negotiating these
identity markers, those most valuable to club members are “American” and “Local”
identities as both are viable and valuable on the continent and in Hawai‘i.

Ultimately, club websites reﬂect members’ negotiation of Hawai‘i and
continental audiences. To a Hawai‘i audience, it is beneﬁcial for club members to’

9, ‘6

construct themselves as “American” and “Local. American” connotes ﬁnancial
success and worldliness. While club members value this, however, holding on to the
“Local” is also important because it represents home and their roots. We might say that
this desire to hold on to “Local” identity also reﬂects the signiﬁcance of “Local” culture
and being “Local” for who club members are. Portraying themselves as people of color
or Asian Americans has limited value because these are seen as “political” markers that
signify race-based associations, which have been problematized as threats to
multiculturalism both in Hawai‘i and on the continent.

Methodology and Methods
This study is framed in large part by my own experiences, which, in relation to club
members’ are similar in some, but not all, ways. On one hand, as students from Hawai‘i
attending school on the continent, we have much in common. I understand what it
means to be from Hawai‘i and what it means to leave. I understand how one may have
little appreciation for the islands while living there and how this can change after
moving away. I understand both the positive reactions and the misunderstandings when

reporting on the continent that one is from Hawai‘i. I know what it is like to migrate

from an area with a large Asian American population to one that is more than 80%

29

white. In addition, like many of my participants and other club members, I am not
Hawaiian, but of Chinese and Japanese ancestry. And while I attended a public high
school, it is the same one that one of my participants attended, categorized by Okamura
as “one of the academically better public schools” (Ethnicity 39, 69).

In other ways, however, club members and I are positioned quite differently. I
spent only one year of my undergraduate career on the continent for a variety of
reasons, but partially due to ﬁnances. As a result, I have never belonged to a Hawai‘i
club. In addition, unlike most club members, I did not spend an extended amount of
time on the continent until I began doctoral work; based on age and the graduate school
context, I had less need for the support of something like a Hawai‘i club. As part of a
relatively small graduate program, I was not lost in a sea of 30,000 as I imagine some
freshmen can be. And still, in Michigan, I ﬁnd myself in an unofﬁcial Hawai‘i club of
sorts: a small group of graduate students, faculty, and others with ties to Hawai‘i and
the Paciﬁc. Like the Hawai‘i club members in this study, we share Spam musubi and
other “Local” food with each other. We spend holidays together when unable to travel
home. I understand the desire to be with others from Hawai‘i and even the desire to
perform that identity for outsiders.

The A ﬂordances of Grounded Theory

Being an insider, in those ways in which I am, brings certain challenges. Grounded
theory, however, helps me to view my personal connection as an advantage, albeit one I
must work with carefully. Grounded theory enables me to draw on my experiences and
insider knowledge as a Japanese and Chinese American from Hawai‘i who, like club

members, has migrated to the continent for higher education. At the same time, I need

30

to question my own perspectives; I need “not to take [my] own categories for granted
but interrogate them as much as [I] do the categories provided by
participants/informants” (Clarke 141). I should not assume that because of our
similarities, participants will feel and see things the way I do.

While qualitative research may seem to lack objectivity in contrast with
quantitative research, grounded theory turns this into a strength. Juliet Corbin and
Anselm Strauss encourage researchers to see themselves “as a research instrument”
with an undeniable effect on research ﬁndings (13). That is, grounded theory
encourages drawing on personal experience but also reﬂecting on how one’s
experiences and position inﬂuence analysis. Throughout the research process, I
considered, for example, my positionality relative to club members—in terms of age,
ethnicity, social class, education. According to Corbin and Strauss, “we must be self-
reﬂective about how we inﬂuence the research process and, in turn, how it inﬂuences -
us” (11). Questioning my own motives in this way is valuable in any kind of research, ‘
but especially in a project so close to my own life experiences.

Grounded theory guides my research questions, in particular my attention to
club members’ privileges and challenges, which developed out of the club websites
themselves as well as literature on Asian American rhetoric and race in Hawai‘i. My
research questions were relatively open-ended. I expected that the unique ethnic/racial -_
context of Hawai‘i might inﬂect the rhetorical practices of Asian Americans. I expected
that factors like majority and minority status and political and socioeconomic position
were key aspects of the ethnic/racial context that would inﬂuence rhetorical practices, in

particular self-representational ones. And Young’s work pointed toward Hawai‘i club

31

membcrs’ self-representation as Hawaiian, leading me to attend to club members’ self-
representation in terms of racialized cultures. Grounded theory, however, enabled me to
stay open to other factors raised in the data. Rather than focusing narrowly on only, for
example, race or gender, grounded theory enables researchers to consider experiences in
more multidimensional ways. Adele Clarke, in Situational Analysis, agrees that
grounded theory “enhances our capacities to do incisive studies of differences of
perspedive, of highly complex situations of action and positionality, of the
heterogeneous discourses in which we are all constantly awash, and of the situated
knowledges of life itself thereby produced” (xxiii). It is because of the complexities of
the contexts (both Hawai‘i and continental) of Hawai‘i clubs and their members (as in
some ways privileged and in other ways not) that grounded theory was especially
valuable for considering Hawai‘i club websites.

Grounded theory also guided my “simultaneous collection and analysis of data,”
encouraging me to be attentive to where Hawai‘i club websites and participants directed
me, “to remain attuned to [. . .] subjects’ views of their realities, rather than assume that
we share the same views and worlds” (Charmaz 510, 515). In an effort to accomplish
this, I applied codes to the website data. According to Corbin and Strauss, coding means
“taking raw data and raising it to a conceptual level” (66). I used codes in order to see
the data in a different way, to see what came up repeatedly, for example. My codes
were grounded in both the data and existing literature. Based on Young’s discussion of
club members’ self-representation as Hawaiian, for example, and my own observation
of the prevalence of Hawaiian and “Local” culture on club websites, I attended to the

various cultures referenced on club websites. Young also wondered why clubs perform

32

hula and not Chinese lion dances or Japanese bon dances. Thus, when I came across an
image of a Buddhist temple on the Northwestern site, I took note as, in representing
themselves with Asian culture, this seemed somewhat at odds with Young’s description.
I later found that other club websites as well occasionally referenced Asian/Asian
American culture. By coding these, I was able to pull them together and consider
references to Asian and Asian American culture as a category, considering how this
culture was represented and discussed. Scholarship that discussed perceptions of Asian
Americans as foreigners encouraged me to attend to the ways club websites invoked
what I labeled “College/Continental” culture, that is, references to “typical” college
activities like attending football games or continental locations like the names of cities.
Thus, based on existing literature and data, I coded club websites’ references to
Hawaiian/“Local,” Asian/Asian American, and College/Continental culture.

Coding club websites according to the cultures referenced provided me a sense
of the frequency with which they invoked various cultures as well as how they did this.
I then looked to interview data and scholarly literature to explain these references on
club websites—what did participants and the published literature say about these
different cultm-es and the ways they might be used? Several participants, for example,
commented, often disparagingly, on Asian/Asian American and other single-
race/ethnicity “cliques” on the continent, pointing to one explanation for the emphasis
on “Local” culture rather than race on club websites.

Corbin and Strauss similarly emphasize that the core concepts of research
should emerge ﬁ'om the data (160). Thus, my concept of adjustment reﬂects club

website discussions of the difference between Hawai‘i and continental contexts. The

33

concept of belonging comes from participants’ discussions of single-race/ethnicity
“cliques” on the continent and their felt distance from continental Asian Americans.
The concept of privilege arises from considerations of club members’ embrace of
Hawaiian and “Local” culture in particular, especially in light of participants’
discussions of Hawai‘i’s inferiority. That is, this concept arose from my attempt to
make sense of these two seemingly contradictory pieces of data.

Ultimately I approached data analysis with an eye toward what was important to
participants and other club members. In grounding my analysis in this way, I aim to tell
a story that comes, not from my imposition on the data, but from the interaction
between myself as a researcher and the information shared by participants and on
websites. As Corbin and Strauss say, in data analysis, the researcher should “put[. . .]
aside preconceived notions about what the researcher expects to ﬁnd in the research,
and let[. . .] the data and interpretation of it guide analysis” as much as possible (160).

In creating space for and keeping me attentive to complexities, grounded theory
enables work that “reject[s] as inadequate the too pat simpliﬁcations common in narrow
versions of identity politics, the kinds of gratuitous and hence patronizing empathy that
can essentialize and/or revictimize” (Clarke 76). It enables me to recognize and explore
the ways Hawai‘i club members are constrained and challenged, but also the ways they
are privileged and perhaps constrain others. I do not intend either to glorify or condemn
clubs and their members, but to take into consideration as much of their complexity as I
am able. While no methodology can do everything, grounded theory helps me to carry

out this project in a responsible manner by keeping me aware of the perspectives that I

34

am missing. While grounded theory cannot tell me the answer, it reminds me that I am
only ﬁnding one answer.

Website Selection

As my goal is to investigate and better understand Asian American rhetoric in terms of
identity construction and self-representation, my data includes Hawai‘i club websites
and interviews with club members. My goal in looking at clubwebsites was to study
how clubs and club members marked their affiliations with various cultures, speciﬁcally
indigenous Hawaiian culture, as the relationship between primarily non-Native club
members and indigenous Hawaiians presented one key arena for considering club
members’ privileges. l elected to focus on nine Hawai‘i club websites. These were
selected from the initial 24 sites returned via a web search for “Hawaii clubs”
(excluding unrelated sites like those for the Hawaii Yacht Club and Hawai‘i nightclubs
as well as regionally-, rather than university-, based Hawai‘i clubs like those in San
Diego and North Carolina).

I focused on university-based Hawai‘i clubs because they are primarily comprised
of young adults who have grown up in Hawai‘i and have recently migrated to the
continent for the ﬁrst time. The North Carolina (regional) Haw'ai‘i club, in contrast, says
of its members, “Most of us were previous residents of Hawai°i or have family
connections there; some just love Hawai‘i” (Ka Pu ‘uwai). While to some degree this
describes the membership of university-based Hawai‘i clubs as well, despite the
diversity of university-based club members’ eXperiences, the college context provides a
certain degree of uniformity. In contrast, for example, given the age range of members

of regionally-based clubs, members may include members of the armed services

35

formerly stationed in Hawai‘i, who Okamura says are somewhat isolated from Hawai‘i
life more broadly (Ethnicity 25), or others who are perhaps not ﬁ'om Hawai‘i but had
lived part of their adult life there. As my focus is on the inﬂuence of the Hawai‘i
context for the identity construction and representation of Asian Americans, I limited
my sample to university-based Hawai‘i clubs as they provide a population that has spent
their formative years in Hawai‘i. My focus on university-based Hawai‘i clubs also
reﬂects the prominence of these relative to regional clubs. My web search, as I have
indicated turned up only a few regional clubs but 24 university-based clubs.

Of these 24 websites, I included in this study those that had been updated since
2006, reasoning that sites that had been revised in the past two to three years were more
likely to reﬂect decisions made by current members, rather than alumni. The nine
selected sites represent Hawai‘i clubs at University of California, Irvine; Menlo
College; Northwestern University; University of Notre Dame; University of Oregon;
University of Pennsylvania; Stanford University, University of Washington; and
Wellesley College. The websites reﬂect geographic diversity, corresponding. to schools
in California, Washington state, the East coast, and the Midwest. Both public and
private institutions as well as schools of varying size are represented. (Further
information about the location and demographics of these institutions is provided in
Appendix A.) This sample does not necessarily, however, reﬂect Hawai‘i clubs as a
whole.

Another limitation of this study is that these websites are becoming outmoded.
Though I chose to focus on websites that had been updated most recently, several

participants commented that their club’s website was out of date. One participant also

36

mentioned that her club is moving away from this type of website format, as social
networking sites like Facebook, which current and potential members already use, are
more useful for publicizing events and other communicative needs. It remains to be
seen how representations will change as the clubs shift to other genres like Facebook
and Google groups. While I have not closely examined Hawai‘i club F acebook and
Google groups, my initial impression is that these are more narrowly aimed at current
and prospective club members, while the websites, though most participants claim they
target these same audiences, clearly take into account more general (in particular,
continental) audiences. The Facebook and Google group formats encourage this as they
target narrower communities. While the University of California, Irvine (U CI) Google
group is public, for example, without images, there is little draw for non-members. In
addition, the narrowed community is a well-known and appreciated aspect of Facebook;
Facebook’s use of “networks” enables users to communicate only within a limited
population, unlike MySpace and other “public” websites. As danah boyd says, “Parents
weren’t nearly as terriﬁed of Facebook [as they were of MySpace] because it seemed
‘safe’ thanks to the network-driven structure.” While these networks can be quite
large—the Michigan State University one, for example; potentially includes all living
alumni—they are more limited than the audience of a completely public website. These
networks enable users to limit who sees what they post. The UCI Hawai‘i club has
taken advantage of this feature, making their Facebook group “closed,” meaning
“Members must be invited or approved by an admin[istrator]” of the group. Thus the
club websites, in contrast to their Facebook and Google groups, provide a better

opportunity for observing how club members negotiate multiple audiences, a key

37

concern given my focus on their identity constructions in response to both the Hawai‘i
and continental contexts.

Participants and the Online Chat Interview

While club websites enabled me to see how club members represented themselves, they
could not tell me why or how these representations reﬂect the inﬂuence of the Hawai‘i
and/or continental contexts on club members’ self-perceptions. Thus, through
interviews with club members, I aimed to get a sense of club members’ backgrounds,
self-perceptions, views of their environments, perceptions of website excerpts, and
thoughts about their audiences in order to gain an understanding of how these impacted
website representations. Participants were solicited through information provided on the
nine selected club websites. On some websites, members’ email addresses were
provided. On other websites, email addresses were listed only for club ofﬁcers. On still
other websites, no email addresses were given, but members’ names were. I sent the
solicitation email (reproduced in Appendix B) to every address provided. If no email
addresses were provided, I searched for this information on university websites. I sent
the email out in December 2008 (around the end of the fall term for most institutions)
and re-sent it again in January 2009 to members I had not heard back from.

I pursued interviews with each person who responded to my solicitation and was
able to interview nine participants from four institutions (Northwestern University,
University of Notre Dame, University of Pennsylvania, and University of Washington).
First through fourth year students were represented. Five participants were female and
four were male. A few participants were club ofﬁcers who had direct input in their

club’s website while others said they primarily belonged to their club in name only (i.e.

38

they were on the roster or email list) and had not participated in many activities. All
participants are of Asian ancestry. Three are Japanese. One is Chinese and one Korean.
Three are of mixed ethnicity (one is Japanese and Chinese and two are Okinawan in
addition). One is mixed race (Japanese and whiteI 1). Two participants (Jason, who is
Chinese, and Michelle, who is Korean) speak languages other than English at home
(Cantonese and Korean respectively). All but one participant lived their entire lives in
Hawai‘i before moving for college; Michelle is the exception, having lived in Korea for
the ﬁrst couple of years of her life.

Interviews were scheduled over email. Participants were provided with the
materials (consent form and interview supplement) they would need for the interview
and a time was arranged to “meet” via online chat. The consent form was reviewed with
participants through online chat. Participants electronically signed and submitted
consent forms via email before beginning the question and answer portion of the
interview.

In my initial contact with potential participants, I highlighted my similarities
with them, reporting that I was from Hawai‘i and had “spent several years living on the
continent.” In introducing myself in the initial email, I also indicated my high school
alrna mater and year, using this practice, ubiquitous in Hawai‘i, to mark my roots there
(Lum 11). Participants may' also have deduced from my surname that I am of Japanese
ancestry, which may have encouraged participants of Japanese ancestry to feel we

shared some similarities. In the interview itself, I aimed to interact with participants as

 

11 While this participant did provide details of her European ethnicities, I do not include them
here in order to protect the participant’s anonymity and because this is not relevant to the focus
of my study.

39

‘9

equals by, for example, using somewhat informal language as is characteristic in the
chat environment and acknowledging that while I understood that they could read the
consent form independently, we were required to review it together.

Interviews were conducted via online chat. As the target participants were
college students in the US. it was not believed that the chat environment would be a
hindrance either in terms of participant access or comfort with the interface. In addition,
as participants were living all over the US, face-to-face interviews in each locale were
not feasible. Participants were able to use the chat program of their choice.

Conducting interviews via online chat enabled me to gain valuable insights on V
the backgrounds, opinions, and self-perceptions of Hawai‘i club members attending
school in diverse parts of the US, but the online environment did pose some
challenges. One was the lack of visual cues; that is, after posing a question, I was
sometimes unsure whether participants were in the process of composing an answer or
needed me to clarify my question. In addition, while online chat is ubiquitous among
college students in the US. I still wonder whether participants would have shared more
in verbal interviews than they did in the chat environment. Despite facility with typing,
speaking may still be easier, enabling one to communicate more information with less
effort. In addition, as scholars of online communication have noted, tone is difﬁcult to
convey in text-only environments (Stone 37). This made it difﬁcult to judge elements
like participants’ unstated opinions on my questions.

Face-to-face interviews, in contrast with those conducted in chat environments,
may also facilitate a stronger rapport between interviewer and interviewee. In previous

experiences with face-to-face interviews, I had noticed that my gestures (e.g. nodding)

4O

and facial expressions could show interviewees that I related to their experiences. In the
chat environment, I made an effort to show my understanding through text, yet
interviewees and I still may not have been able to connect to the same degree that we
might have in a face-to-face interaction.

While the chat context had some shortcomings, however, it may also have
encouraged participants to disclose. One of my participants, Dan, for example, admitted
that his club sometimes did things in the moment that were probably not very wise
when one took the time to think about it. He described a photo from another club’s
website as “deﬁnitely mocking polynesian culture, but it’s also something we’ve done
in the past as a joke for our luaus. I believe we have some pic[ture]s similar to this, and
I’d probably end up putting it on the website, but I realize that it could easily be seen as
disrespectful.” Dan further explains:

[A]t [the club’s annual] luau, there is a predominant “collective” mentality; all

the club members spend a good amount of the semester cooking, decorating,

practicing hula, ﬂyering; it really becomes an “us” thing, and deﬁnitely,
something that might seem like a good idea at the time could be seen as
offensive later. I’m conscious of when people unintentionally disrespect asian
culture, I wouldn’t want to do the same [to] polynesian culture.
This statement, as it portrays Dan and his club in a rather negative light, surprised me
and led me to consider how the relatively distant nature of the chat environment might
have encouraged him to share information he would have been less comfortable sharing
face-to-face. As Barbara Monroe says, “CMC [computer-mediated communication] can

too easily become the site for [:. . .] intimate disclosure,” presumably because these

41

environments sometimes give users the sense that they are not interacting with real
people (77). As a result, conducting interviews via online chat may have enabled me to
gain information I would not have had access to in a face-to-face environment.
Ultimately conducting interviews via online chat had both beneﬁts and shortcomings,
but allowed me to do the work I needed within existing constraints.

Parsing Data into Meaning-making Units

In analyzing data, my goal was to uncover key themes by considering the inﬂuences of
club members’ privileges and challenges on their use of various cultural resources to
represent themselves on club websites. I divided data into manageable, meaning-making
pieces using Gregory Colomb and Joseph Williams’ concept of the discourse unit (d-
unit). D-units enabled me to create manageable units to facilitate analysis, while staying
grounded in the data. Colomb and Williams propose the d-unit in order to better reﬂect
how readers experience texts. “[W]e have become increasingly certain,” they say, “that
we understand individual sentences not in isolation, one by one, but rather by
interpreting them in context” (Colomb and Williams 87). This context entails a great
many things, yet we have trouble talking about context even at its most basic level:
“that land beyond the sentence where the familiar terminology of subject and verb, noun
and adjective, predicate and complement give way to the almost useless generalities of
topic sentence and paragraph, of beginning, middle, and end” (Colomb and Williams
88). Thus, Colomb and Williams propose the d-unit as a unit of analysis that better
maintains readers’ experience of the context or “coherence” within a text. As meaning-
making units that cohere within themselves, d-units enable me to balance the need to

parse data for analysis, while maintaining a semblance of the context in which it is

42

grounded and thus still experiencing the text as coherent and contextual as other website
audiences do. This is especially important as I am concerned with how club members’
represent themselves to these audiences. In parsing data into d-units then I often started
with the units (e. g. paragraphs) site authors themselves had delineated, only deviating
ﬁ'om these when one paragraph, for example, dealt with multiple issues. This enabled
me to balance club members’ own delineations of meaning with the need to make data
manageable. D-units are large enough to make meaning, but small enough to be
focused, enabling me to see segments of data in which various cultures (e. g.
Asian/Asian American, Hawaiian, “Local”) are invoked.

According to Colomb and Williams, d-units are comprised of Issue and

Discussion of this issue. A paragraph in which the ﬁrst few sentences introduce an Issue

and the remainder discusses this issue, for example, is a d-unit.l2 Images can also
function as Issue, Discussion, or both. In the lu‘au ﬂyer posted on the University of
Pennsylvania Hawai‘i club website (Figure l), for example, I read the lu‘au as the Issue
while the other information provided on the ﬂyer, including the location on campus
(Houston Hall), funding from the Students Activities Council (SAC), color scheme,
palm trees, and statue of King Kamehameha with cape, spear, and helmet, functions as
Discussion, expanding on the Issue. That is, the Discussion tells us, in part, that the
lu‘au is affiliated with the university and with a regal, exotic, tropical, picturesque, and

perhaps violent or war-making 'Hawai‘i. D-units enable me to attend to club members’

 

'2 Colomb and Williams make clear that while the Issue bears some resemblance to the
traditional topic sentence, one signiﬁcant way they differ is that the Issue may consist of more
than a single sentence (108). In addition, while a traditional topic sentence is required to both
(I) introduce the issue and (2) communicate the main point of the paragraph, the Issue must
only accomplish the ﬁrst task, while the main point may be stated at the end of the d-unit
(Colomb and Williams 109).

43

own ways of making meaning, for example, their decision to represent the lu‘au with

these colors, images, and the theme “One Love.”

 

Figure 1: Lu‘au ﬂyer posted on University of Pennsylvania Hawai‘i club website

D-tmits can also be nested so that while a single paragraph ﬁmctions as a d-unit,
along with surrounding paragraphs, it may also function as the Discussion of a larger
Issue, thus also being part of a larger d-unit (Colomb and Williams 104). In the context
of club websites, for example, an entire website is a d-unit in that it comprises
information that functions as a Discussion of the club (the Issue). Yet each page of the
website is also a d-unit. On the homepage of the Wellesley College Hawai‘i club
website (Figure 2), for example, I would again read the club as the Issue while all the
other elements on the page function as Discussion, relating the purpose of the club, for

instance. D-units are also, however, nested within this single page. 1 read the title of the

44

page (“Hui 0 Hawaii: Wellesley College Hawaii Club”) and the ﬂoral images alongside
it, for example, as a d-unit that gives readers an overview of the website. I read the “e
komo mai” text, the photo below it, and the paragraph alongside the photo as another d-
unit, which provides additional introductory information about the purpose of this
website. With the purpose of having manageable, meaning-making chunks, I analyzed
data at the level of the smallest d-unit. That is, while I could read this entire page as a d-
unit, I instead analyzed data at the level of the smallest d-units within it, that is, the
smaller d-units detailed above (i.e. the title and ﬂoral images as one d-unit; the main
text of the page, including “e komo mai,” the photo, and paragraph as another).

D—units enabled me to divide data into manageable and coherent chunks that
could then be coded for the language(s) used and cultures (e. g. Asian/Asian American,
“Hawaiian”/“Local”) invoked. This in turn helped me see patterns in the cultures and
languages used on club websites to represent clubs and their members. Analyzing data
at the level of the d-unit also, to some degree, enabled me to follow club websites’ and

club members’ own ways of making meaning.

45

 

 

Figure 2. Screenshot of Wellesley College Hawai‘ 1 club website

Conclusion
In this chapter I have aimed to provide sufﬁcient background on my study, including
my methodology and methods, the context of Hawai‘i clubs and Asian Americans in
Hawai‘i, and key themes, in order to support the discussion of website and interview
data that follows. While Hawai‘i club websites are only one of many contexts in which
Asian American rhetoric might be studied, they provide a key area for research because
of the dominant role of Asian Americans in Hawai‘i, which requires consideration of
both privileges and challenges of Asian American identity. Through detailing the use of
various cultural resources on club websites in light of club members’ privileges and
challenges, I argue that, as individuals at the crossroads of many cultures, club members
carefully walk the lines of these memberships, claiming what they are sure they can in

46

order to improve others’ views of them (e. g. as ﬁiendly, special, “typical” American
college students), but careful not to overstep their bounds, less they risk losing this
sense of belonging, particularly as “Local” and “American,” those identities most
valued both on the continent and in Hawai‘i.

In Chapter 2, 1 account for this in terms of the limited references to Asian and
Asian American culture on club websites, framing this in terms of participants’ felt
distance from continental Asian Americans, but also their desire to separate themselves
from groups they perceive as more politicized: those deﬁned by “race” (as opposed to
“culture”) and who have experienced struggle. In Chapter 3, I argue that club members,
in representing “Local” and Hawaiian culture on their websites, carefully police
boundaries of what they can claim as “theirs” (i.e. “Local” but not Hawaiian culture)
and present “Local”/Hawaiian culture in a non-threatening way: translating, educating,
and focusing on entertainment and food rather than values that might challenge their
continental peers. In Chapter 4, I discuss the use of Hip Hop Nation Language (HHNL)
on one Hawai‘i club website, arguing that club members stick to forms of HHN L that
have been appropriated by the mainstream media in order to present themselves as
“American,” but not necessarily aligned with or sharing commonalities with the African
American community with which hip hop is strongly afﬁliated. In this way, club
members are able to take on only the connotations of hip hop favored by the
mainstream media (e. g. hip, hypermasculine) rather than less favorably viewed
connotations (e. g. racial unity). In Chapter 5, I bring the previous chapters together,
pointing toward broader implications for Asian American rhetoric and pedagogy.

Ultimately, club members draw on the various cultural resources detailed in these

47

chapters in order to present themselves as ideal multicultural subjects, embodying
highly valued “difference” and “diversity” but in “safe” ways that do not threaten the

status quo—or their membership in “American” and “Local” communities.

48

Chapter 2

“It’s Too Asianl”: Felt and Desired Distance ﬁom Continental Asians and Asian
Americans

In his discussion of Hawai‘i clubs in the 2004 College English article “Native Claims:
Cultural Citizenship, Ethnic Expressions, and the Rhetorics of ‘Hawaiianness,’” Morris
Young focuses on the problematic ways they conﬂate indigenous Hawaiian and “Local”
Hawai‘i identities on their websites, ultimately marking primarily non-Native members
with indigenous Hawaiian language and imagery (96). He describes the way, for
example, one club “integrates Native Hawaiian language in its welcome (as well as in
the club’s name[)]” and the way another refers to members as “Hawaiian,” a term that

in Hawai‘i, as discussed in Chapter 1, is reserved for indigenous Hawaiians (Young,
“Native Claims” 96-97). Young questions the emphasis on club websites of Hawaiian
culture and raises other possibilities, asking, “Why [do clubs perform] hula and not a
Japanese Bon dance or a Chinese lion dance?” (“Native Claims” 98). He proposes these
as “Local” traditions, but they are also, of course, Asian, brought to Hawai‘i by
Japanese and Chinese immigrants in the early-twentieth century and incorporated into
HaWai‘i’s culture. While quite clearly part of “Local” culture, as in Hawai‘i bon dances
are attended not only by those of Japanese ancestry and Chinese lion dances are
performed at the grand opening of many businesses, no matter the ethnic background of
their proprietors, these also function as markers of Asian culture. That is, references to

J“pallese bon dance or Chinese lion dance on club websites would serve to mark clubs

as ASian.
Aligned with Young’s critique, I also ﬁnd club websites focusing predominantly

0 ’ . .. . - . ,9 '
n 11ldrgenous Hawaiian culture in addition to “Local, although not necessarily

49

Asian/Asian American, culture and similarly wondered why, given the large number of
members of Asian heritage, references to Asian and Asian American culture are so
limited. We might view this positively: club members are recognizing Hawaiian culture
and dedicated to sharing it with their continental peers. Like Young, however, I also
wonder, “What does it mean for Hawai‘i students, often non-Native Locals, to represent
Native Hawaiian culture?” (“Native Claims” 95). In other words, why do non-Native
“Locals” represent themselves in this way? I approach this question in this chapter by
exploring why club members do not represent themselves with Asian/Asian American
culture. I argue that the limited references to Asian/Asian'American culture on Hawai‘i
club websites reﬂect club members’ understanding of the differences between their
experiences and those of continental Asian Americans, but also a desire to separate
themselves hear what they perceive as single-race/ethnicity groups that are popularly
problematized as overly political, self-segregating, and unnecessarily militant.

I begin this chapter by providing an account of the limited references to Asian
and Asian American culture on club websites and in participant interviews. I then
Consider these limited references through participants’ felt distance ﬁ'om continental
ASian Americans, multicultural ideals both in Hawai‘i and on the continent, and the
privﬂeges club members have enjoyed, based in large part on their upbringing in
HaWai‘i. This analysis is interspersed with case studies focusing on individual
participants, which illuminate how these various pressures are navigated differently by
individual club members based on their speciﬁc contexts.

Before going any further, I want to reiterate that not all club members are of

Asian ancestry. Many—perhaps even most——however, are. All my participants, for

50

example, are of Asian ancestry, including one who is mixed race. Club members of
Asian ancestry may be more highly represented as participants in this study than in
Hawai‘i clubs in general, however, as the title of my project, which was provided to
potential participants on consent forms, identiﬁed my focus on Asian Americans.
Participants also identify their clubs (those at the University of Notre Dame,
Northwestern University, the University of Pennsylvania, and the University of
Washington), however, as having members of primarily Asian, Japanese, and/or
Chinese heritage. One participant, Chris, for example, who is a member of the
University of Washington club, speciﬁcally says that his club has “a handful of
[indigenous] hawaiians” along with “a lot of [. . .] japanese. almost all [. . .] asian[s], and
[. . .] like 5 white people.” Ethnic studies scholar Jonathan Okamura also speaks to the
likelihood that club members have Asian heritage, as he identiﬁes Chinese Americans,
Japanese Americans, and Whites as those Hawai‘i residents who most often attend
college on the continent (Ethnicity 3). Despite the large number of members of Asian
ancestry, however, as previously stated, club websites do not often make reference to
Asian and/or Asian American culture. Only about 50 d-units reference Asia/Asian
America on the nine websites combined, in contrast to the uncountable references to
indigenous Hawaiian and “Local” culture.

Limited Use of “Asian American ”
The limited reference to Asian American culture can be seen speciﬁcally in the
infrequency with which the term “Asian American” itself appears on club websites:
“Asian American” is only used in reference to the ofﬁcial titles of institutional units.

Several members of the UCI club, for example, introduce themselves as Asian

51

 

American studies majors. They do not elaborate much on what this means; one
immediately goes on to say he is hoping to get his teaching certiﬁcate in the future.
Another follows the sharing of her major with “yea, yea Asians represent!” and a third
follows it by saying she “doesn’t like sushi even though I’m Japanese.” Alex,” the
Asian American studies major who encourages Asians to “represent,” perhaps speaks to
a need for unity against racism, particularly as she invokes this phrase associated with
hip hop and African Americans. Her statement may also, however, reﬂect the brand of
“AzN PrYde” that Steve Louie critiques as having “no rhythm and [. . .] no soul—it
doesn’t reach out. There’s more ‘us’ or ‘us-ﬁrst’ consciousness in Asian communities
than at any time in our American history” (xvi). As Alex makes no other references to
Asian America, it is difﬁcult to say for sure how she wants her academic major to be
read; that is, whether she intends to point toward the experiences of racism that “Asian
American” originally highlighted.l4 Nicole, the Asian American studies major who
expresses distaste for sushi, though she is not from Hawai‘i, intrigues me with her
juxtaposition of academic major and food preferences in the same sentence. Like club
members more generally, she too seems to be trying to differentiate herself from other
Asians or other Japanese, or perhaps disrupt stereotypes of these groups.
The term “Asian American” is also used on the Northwestern University and

University of Notre Dame club websites in reference to institutional units. The

—¥

'3 While interview participants are identiﬁed by pseudonyms, real ﬁrst names are used for club
nzembers when this information is made publicly available on club websites.

As William Wei says in The Asian American Movement, “Not until the civil rights movement
0f the 1960s exposed the pervasive problem of racism in US. society and raised questions about
eJ'Kactly how democratic the nation’s political system in fact was did members of the various
ASian ethnic groups begin to think of themselves, and to act politically together, as Asian

Arnericans” (l).

52

Northwestern site uses the term in explaining club ofﬁcers’ interaction with other
campus groups. One of the duties of the club’s co-presidents, according to the site, is to
“serve as liaisons between the NU [Northwestern University] Hawaii Club and the
Ofﬁce of Asian and Asian American Student Services.” The University of Notre Dame
club also explains its afﬁliations with Asian American groups on campus, describing a
campus event called Asian Allure as follows:

Each year, the Asian American Association of Notre Dame produces a Fall

performance showcasing the Asian-American cultural clubs on campus. Hawaii

Club has participates [sic] by offering a number of polynesian [sic] dances

ranging from Hula Kahiko and Hula Auana to Tahitian. For more information,

visit the Asian American Association website.
On these websites, as can be seen, “Asian American” is also used only in the ofﬁcial
names of university organizations.

Interviewees, all of whom are of Asian ancestry and from Hawai‘i, also make
little use of “Asian American.” In response to the question, “What is your racial and/or
ethnic background?” only one participant initially responds with “Asian” and he
speciﬁes his ethnic heritage as well.ls He and two other participants also use the term
“Asian” in response to the subsequent questions, “Is this how you always describe your
race/ethnicity? Have there been times in your life when you described it differently?”
The majority of participants, however, do not use “Asian” or “Asian American” at all.

In addition, those who do use “Asian”—and never “Asian American,” seem to do so not

\_

5
I purposely left this question rather broad in order to allow participants to represent
themselves by race and/or ethnicity as they saw ﬁt.

53

 

to indicate an experience of racism, which this term can convey (Wei 1, Iijima 7), but to
make their heritage more easily understood.

Amy, for example, says she typically describes herself as “hapa, and then people
are like huh? then i say i’m half white [and] half asian and if they want speciﬁcs[, then]
i name” the ethnicities. She adds, “sometimes i’ll say half japanese [and] half white
because the japanese part is interesting to people (cuz everyone up here [in the
continental US] is a mixture of white) so my white mix isn’t special.” In other words,
Amy prefers to identify herself as hapa, but since this term is unfamiliar to many, she
often has to explain by saying that she is “half white [and] half asian.” Yet sometimes,
“Asian” is not speciﬁc enough to be “interesting to people” or to give them the answer
they are looking for and she says “Japanese” instead. To summarize, Amy does not use
the term “Asian American” and her use of “Asian” seems to be primarily about making
her heritage understandable to others rather than invoking the experience of racism that
“Asian American” can invoke.

Another participant, Patrick, says, “on the mainland, unless I’m talking to other
asian people, [saying that I am] asian/paciﬁc islander seems to be sufficient [. . .] only
when i talk to asiany [sic] people do i get asked about my ethnicity. otherwise i assume,
it’s just assumed irn asian and that’s it.” That is, Patrick ﬁnds that “asian/paciﬁc
islander” is enough to account for his visible difference. He too uses “Asian” (but not
“Asian American”) simply to satisfactorily answer others’ inquiries.

A third participant, Cara, answers my ﬁrst question by saying she is “Japanese.”
In response to the second question, however, she says she sometimes describes herself

as “japanese-american...when questioned this way for demographics and sometimes just

54

asian if it’s a broad situation.” Cara ﬁrrther explains, “sometimes just being categorized
as ‘asian’ says a lot.” For example, in regards to “taking off my shoes when i enter
some non-asian household...being asian serves as an explanation or reason” if someone
asks why she does this. Overall, participants’ limited use of “Asian” is not about
marking an experience of racism but making their phenotype or cultural practices
comprehensible to others.

Participants’ use of “Asian” and avoidance of “Asian American,” together with
the limited use of “Asian American” on club websites points toward the employment of
these terms primarily as neutral labels. That is, on websites, “Asian American” is used
only in reference to official titles of university units. Participants do not use “Asian
American” and employ “Asian” to account for their phenotype and cultural practices
rather than to mark an experience of racism. Ultimately, club members do not seem to
ﬁnd “Asian American” to be of much use. In the remainder of this chapter, I consider
several reasons for this limited use of “Asian American,” including club members’ felt
distance from continental Asian Americans, multicultural ideals both in Hawai‘i and on
the continent, and club members’ privileges.

Felt Distance from Asia and Asian America

The limited references to Asia and Asian America on club websites, along with
participants’ discussions of these references and their experiences on the continent,
show participants’ (and perhaps other club members’) felt distance ﬁ'om Asia and
continental Asian Americans. One of the ways I assessed participants’ opinions on
marking the club with Asian and/or Asian American culture was through the image of

the Byodo-In Buddhist temple, which is located on the island of O‘ahu (Figure 3). This

55

image was one of
several featured
photos that cycled
through a spot
located directly under
the Northwestern

University club’s

 

name on their

Figure 3: Photo of the Byodo-In Buddhist temple posted on
website (Figure 4). I the Northwestern University Hawai‘i club website

asked participants their opinions on whether an image like this should be used on their
club website. One of my participants, Lauren, a junior at the time of the interview, says
of the image, “i feel embarrassed, but I don’t know what/where that is. [Is it in] manoa?
[Or] nuuanu?” She says she “deﬁnitely” would not use the photo on her club’s website,
explaining that it is “not relevant to neither hawaii kids nor mainland kids. it’s pretty.
but it looks like it could be any place in asia.” She continues:
I think even the association of hawaii with asia can trip people up sometimes. it
just so happens that most kids from hawaii are asian. and we got coined into
APSC [the Asian Paciﬁc Student Coalition at the University of Pennsylvania].
we’re the only group in APSC that isn’t completely based on race [like the
Japanese Student Association, Hong Kong Student Association, and Korean
Student Association], but on geography. ive been able to just make that bridge,
overlook the fact that we represent this “asian” group, even though our common

bond [in the Hawai‘i club] is simply where we’re from. i think for the most part

56

we look at it and chuckle. I guess ﬁom APSC’s perspective [the Hawai‘i club is
an Asian group]. At times they can be pretty gung-ho about the representation of
minority groups on campus. but ﬁ'om [the perspective of] SAC [the Student
Activities Council, which supports all undergraduate organizations], and most

ppl [people] on campus they see us as Hawaiian,16 not Asian.

 

 

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< r E : E . :7 Imp.llgtoumnommesrem.edu/mwalklubl i v ‘ - v .7 Dvodo—In Q’
~m’ w PM W' I.) “If W’ w W- “W m Mum-nun him ,

     

.MMH ._ - . . _ . .
Figure 4: Screenshot of the Northwestern University Hawai‘i club website

 

16 Lauren uses “Hawaiian” throughout her interview to refer to people ﬁ'om Hawai‘i, just as
terms like “Californian” or “Michigander” are commonly used on the continent. I read her use
of “Hawaiian,” inaccurate in a Hawai‘i context, through Young’s description of the “difﬁculty
of maintaining a distinction between Local and Native Hawaiian identities when away from the
organizing structure of Hawai‘i” (“Native Claims” 94). Young describes the issues of “history,
culture, and modernity, not to mention race, ethnicity, class, and language” he needed to explain
on the continent in order to make clear he was not Native Hawaiian and says, “it certainly
would have been easier to just give in and say, ‘Yes, I’m Hawaiian” (“Native Claims” 94). I
read Lauren as acceding to the continental deﬁnition of “Hawaiian.”

57

5...;
LI. ﬁll 1.-.:

 

..|,

I ﬁnd interesting both Lauren’s characterization of the image of the temple as “too
Asian” and her description of the way “the association of hawaii with asia can trip

people up.” According to her, there is a problem with outsiders (both Asians and non-

Asians on the continent”) thinking that club members are more “Asian” than they
perceive themselves to be. While continental Asian Americans may also feel this way—
being expected to speak their heritage language, for example, participants seem to see
those from the continent as the “r ” Asians. Another participant, Dan, for example,
says, “In Hawai‘i, I feel like all the traditions kind of mix together to a point where
Asians here [in Hawai‘i] will not really know about real Asian traditions as they are
performed back in the home countries, or how people with strong roots still perform
them today.” In other words, in Hawai‘i, we don’t know the true culture of Japan and
we don’t have “strong roots” because our traditions get mixed up with other traditions.
Other participants as well give the impression that continental Asian Americans are
more likely to speak their heritage language, again contributing to participants’
impression that these are the “real” Asians, with whom they have little in common.
Other participants also describe their felt distance ﬁ'om other Asians on the
continent, who they see as having closer ties to Asia. In terms of language, for example,
Patrick, a fourth-year student at Northwestern University at the time of the interview,
says that upon moving to the continent, “i guess i realized that i’m not really japanese or
chinese because even outside of campus being japanese or chinese means being 100%

and often times speaking the language. i mean [based on those terms] i’m just

 

‘7 It is also interesting that Lauren constructs Asian Americans especially as misperceiving
Hawai‘i club members as “too Asian,” given the distinction she draws between APSC’s
perception of the Hawai‘i club on one hand and SAC’s and other students’ perceptions on the
other.

58

arnerican.” That is, he felt more Japanese/Chinese/Asian in Hawai‘i; migrating to the
continent has made him feel more “American” in contrast to others of Asian ancestry.
Thus, part of the distance ﬁ'om Asia and other Asian Americans seems to be based on
generation and language, as it seems that those whose families have immigrated more
recently are more likely to speak their heritage language. As another participant, Dan, a
senior at the time of the study, says, at the University of Pennsylvania, “the majority of
Asian students are international or 2nd generation. There are very few who are like me,”
which based on other comments he made, I take to mean there are few who are fourth-
generation and, in his words, have “not much Asian tradition remaining.” In contrast,

Dan felt that where he grew up in Hawai‘i, most people were like him, as he describes

. . . . 18 I9
rt, “naturalized Asran American.”

Besides their felt distance from continental Asian Americans in terms of
generation and language ability, however, participants also express a distance based on
(lack of) experiences of racism. In some sense, Lauren’s apolitical desire, particularly in
contrast to other members of APSC, reﬂects her and other club members’ experiences
in Hawai‘i. In contrast to the Hawai‘i club, she describes other groups in APSC as

“gung-ho about the representation of minority groups on campus” and explaim that,

 

18 While “naturalized” generally is used to refer to citizens who were born elsewhere but

become US. citizens, Dan seems to use the term to mean native-bom. Perhaps he means that his
family has become “naturalized” over the generations.

19 While there are also many ﬁrst- and second-generation Asian Americans in Hawai‘i, perhaps
they do not live in the same neighborhood Dan does or are less noticeable because of the
number of third- and fourth-generation Asian Americans. As Okamura says, public schools in
Hawai‘i have “a relatively high proportion of English for Second Language Learners (ESLL),
who are predominantly Asian and Paciﬁc Islander immigrants. More than 18,000 students, who
represent 10 percent of the public school enrollment, are in ESLL programs (Martin 2005c: Al).
At some schools in primarily Filipino immigrant communities, ESLL students are a majority of
the student body” (Okamura 68).

59

based on her experiences in Hawai‘i, she cannot really relate to this. In describing the
ﬁiends she has made in college, she says:
i can’t identify as well with asian arnericans who identify in some way with
racial struggle. that sounds convoluted. there are asian amerians who are really
hard core involved with APSC, and other minority groups, and their substituent
groups (ie: CSA [Chinese Student Association], J SA [Japanese Student
Association], KSA [Korean Student Association]). they feel like true minorities,
and i get the sense they feel like they’ve had to struggle against it growing up.
it’s weird to me. And I realize it’s because we grew up in sucha special place, it
made us color-blind to the minority experience. My asian friends don’t come
ﬁom taht schema. but i do like a lot of the APSC people. I really want to get
Hawaii club more involved with those asian ties to campus. it gives us more of a
voice.
In explaining this felt distance by characterizing Hawai‘i as “a special place,” Lauren
risks furthering the stereotype of Hawai‘i as multicultural utopia, but this
characterization reﬂects her experience in Hawai‘i. For her, Hawai‘i has felt like a
multicultural utopia. She is in no way alone in this belief, as “the great majority of
island residents supports the Hawai‘i multicultural model or the general belief in the
positive nature of island ethnic relations,” as discussed in Chapter 1 (Okamura 15).
Despite potential problems with Lauren’s characterization of Hawai‘i as “a special
place,” however, her assertion that she has not felt this “struggle” that her Asian

American peers on the continent have felt is important in understanding the distance

60

that she—and perhaps other club members as well—feel from continental Asian
Americans.

Case Example: Jason and Patrick: Staying “Local”
Perhaps resisting a continental Asian American identity, some participants hold closely
to race relations in Hawai ‘i as an ideal, maintaining their claim to “Local ” values and
identity. Jason, for example, comments that Asians and Asian Americans on the
continent socialize primarily in single-ethnicity or single-race groups. He contrasts this
with social activity in Hawai ‘i, saying, “i think hawaii may be the most progressive in
terms of race/ethnicity in that there’s no need to section your race of from others. i

guess i’m exaggerating a little, but it [is] still weird to see taiwanese kids sitting away

.20
To a

ﬁom chinese kids, who sit away from koreans and african-americans, etc. '
degree, Jason ’s assertions reﬂect his privileged upbringing in Hawai ‘i—he has never
felt the need to seek out members of his race or ethnicity for social purposes.

He and other participants have, in fact, often found themselves in these groups
without even trying. Perhaps these groups seemed to be formed effortlessly or appeared
less conspicuous than they do on the continent because of the large number of “Local ”
Asians in Hawai ‘i. Jason, for example, says the community he grew up in was “asian
and white mainly. and some mixed, ” while Patrick says the population at his “high

school was like filipino, chinese, korean, Japanese. ” Other participants have similarly

had the support of Asian social groups growing up yet ﬁnd these objectionable in the

 

20 To some extent, I question Jason’s characterization. At my high school, for instance, there
was some ethnic segregation. I remember one day realizing that the majority of my ﬁiends were
of Japanese or Chinese ancestry, although there were also Filipinos, Caucasians, and Native
Hawaiians at my school. Thus while I have heard statements like Jason’s from other “Local”
Asians as well, I am not sure it is a completely fair characterization; perhaps the racial and
ethnic segregations in Hawai‘i are simply ones that we are used to or that seem natural to us.

61

continental context perhaps because they are more conspicuous and thus look like self-
segregation.
In addition, despite the critiques participants leveled at these social groups,

Hawai ‘i clubs might also be described as single-race cliques. While club rosters to
some extent reﬂect diverse memberships in terms of ethnicity and race, they are still
heavily Asian American. Yet it seems that by deﬁning the club by geography and culture
(i. e. Hawai ‘1' Club) rather than by race or ethnicity (i. e. Japanese Student Association,
etc.) club members can assure themselves that, as Lauren says, “[1] t just so happens
that most kids ﬁ'om hawaii are asian. ”

While I find participants ’ critique of single-race/ethnicity social groups suspect,
participants do experience these groups as a challenge. That Jason and other
participants are bothered indicates that these groups pose a problem for them. Perhaps
they feel they should participate in these groups because of shared heritage. Some
participants reveal prior expectations that they would connect with others of Asian
heritage on the continent. Patrick, for example, expresses his disappointment that this is
not the case; he says, “it’s hard because most of the asiany people here [at school] are
friends with people who speak chinese or korean or japanese. so most of my friends are
white [because I am only ﬂuent in English]. ” This explanation of why most of the
people he spends his time with are white only makes sense alongside an expectation that
he would (or should) spend his time with Asians and Asian Americans. In addition, this

statement was part of Patrick ’s response to my question about “challenges ” he has

faced in college; he was explaining why he has had trouble making friends. By saying

62

“it ’s hard, ” it seems that Patrick would have liked to befriends with Asians and Asian
Americans.

Yet Jason ’s and Patrick ’s derision toward these single-race/ethnicity social
groups indicates that they are not part of these groups; perhaps they choose not to or
feel they don ’tﬁt in. Fitting into these groups is perhaps especially challenging for
participants of mixed ethnic or racial heritage. Patrick, for example, who is of Chinese,
Japanese, and Okinawan ancestry, says, “all the asiany people i ’ve met in illinoisform
groups around a single ethnicity, and mixed people usually don ’t count. ” He explains,

“on the mainland [being mixed] means nothing. ”In contrast, “in hawaii it just means
you ’re local. ” Thus, while people of mixed ethnicity are comprehensible in Hawai ‘i
(through the term “Local ”), Patrick feels that among continental Asian Americans,
there is no group that understands and accepts him; he doesn ’t “count. " Furthermore,
his mixed ethnicity means that Asians and Asian Americans on the continent do not see
him as Asian. He explains, it “seems like [...] if you ’re not part of their [other Asians’
or Asian Americans 7 ethnicity group and they can 't readily identijy you with another
asian ethnicity then you ’re american. ”

Participants ’ statements on these groups reﬂect both their privileges (as those
who have not felt the need for single race or ethnicity social groups) and race-
/ethnicity-based challenges (as they wrestle with what the existence of these groups
means for their own Asian American identities). While participants in some sense feel
rejected by these groups, who they claim socialize in their heritage language or only
accept members of their same ethnicity, their criticism of these groups also indicates

that participants have found ways of being Asian American on the continent

63

unappealing. This is especially true for those of mixed-race or mixed-ethnic
backgrounds, but for others as well who prefer “Local ” identities and attendant
constructions of race to continental “Asian American” identities.

Multicultural Imperatives in Hawai ‘i and on the Continent
Lauren’s characterization of Hawai‘i as “a special place,” where she has not
experienced the struggle that would align her with continental Asian Americans, also
supports constructions of the islands as multicultural utopia. In her extended quote
above, I wondered why it was so important for her to emphasize that the Hawai‘i club is
based on geography rather than race. She seems uncomfortable with the idea of

belonging to a race-based group and emphasizes, “[I]t just so happens that most kids

from hawaii are asian.”

Patrick also evidences a desire to avoid racial terms in his use of the word
“asiany” rather than “asian.” He uses this term, for example, in comments like,
“nationality seems to be a big thing in hawaii and to some extent in asiany culutre on
the mainland” and “all the asiany people i’ve met in illinois form groups around a single
ethnicity.” When I asked him about his use of “asiany,” he said, “idk [I don’t know] i
Suppose i just use [the] word to describe asian things?” Thus, his use of “asiany” rather
than “asian” does not seem to reﬂect a signiﬁcant difference in meaning, but instead his
reIUCtance to categorize culture and people as “Asian,” a racial term. Perhaps he sees
“aSiany” as a more descriptive word with softer boundaries, the sufﬁx “y” functioning

like “-ish” or “-esque” to connote the nebulous inﬂuence of Asia rather than a

deﬁnitive, essentialist marker.

This shying away ﬁ'om race-based deﬁnitions can be seen as, in some sense,
inﬂuenced by multiculturalism and “Local” culture in Hawai‘i. “Asian American” is a
continental term, as Matsuda and Young have said, so for those from Hawai‘i, it is not
only inﬁ'equently used and perceived as of little use, but would mark club members as
holding continental rather than “Local” views, thus risking their “Local” identity.

The limited references to “Asian America” can also be seen as part of the
national zeitgeist. This can explain the function of these limited references not only for

club members from Hawai‘i, but also for those Asian American club members from the

continent” like Nicole, the Japanese American who doesn’t like sushi, discussed above.
In today’s context, where the celebration of “multiculturalism” is ubiquitous, it can be
difﬁcult to talk about the importance of race-based associations. Matsuda, for example,
describes the way youth of color are criticized for segregating themselves, saying, “The
cluster of Aﬁican-American or Asian or Latino students huddling in the corner of the
cafeteria is seen as excluding the roomful of Anglos, not vice versa” (14-15). bell hooks
similarly discusses critiques of Black nationalism as “native essentialism, rooted in
notions of ethnic purity that resemble white racist assumptions” (30). Race-based
associations clearly are problematized. The Black Panthers, for example, in the very
popular and critically-acclaimed movie Forrest Gump, are portrayed as suspicious of
and preferring not to associate with whites as well as violent toward women. They are

seen as overly political, self-segregating, and unnecessarily militant.

 

21 Of the UCI ofﬁcers and members for whom information is provided, 61% (1 1/18) are not
from Hawai‘i. Of these, at least 45% (5/11) are Asian American. (A sixth club member, whose
last name is Reyes, does not report his race or ethnicity. The Spanish last name may indicate .
Filipino ancestry but I cannot say for certain.) Of the other ofﬁcers and members who are not
from Hawai‘i, one is Native Hawaiian and one is biracial (Mexican and white).

65

In this context, emphasizing geography and “culture” rather than race, as Lauren
and other club members do, makes the Hawai‘i club seem ﬁiendlier. In contrast to the
race-based unions discussed above, emphasizing “culture” sends the message, “We just
like to eat the same things. If you want to eat them too, you can come.” The emphasis
on culture over race is in some sense also promoted by university non-discrimination
policies, as a club reserved only for members of a certain race is illegal. In light of this,
Lauren’s description of other organizations as “race-based” must reﬂect practice and
(her and/or others’) perceptions rather than ofﬁcial club policies. The Korean Student
Organization at Michigan State University, for example, in a blurb on the university
Student Life website describes its purpose as “To form a sound community and to
exchange Korean culture and traditions with other communities” (“Registered Student
Organizations”). I expect that the Japanese and Korean Student Associations at the
University of Pennsylvania have similar purposes. Their membership cannot legally be
race-based either. Thus, the difference Lauren is drawing is not an ofﬁcial one; rather,
she perceives other clubs as race-based because they are focused on, in her view, race-
rather than place-based cultures. Hawai‘i clubs, in contrast, downplay race by
minimizing references to Asia and Asian America, and this helps them to ﬁt more easily
into both Hawai‘i and continental multicultural ideals.

Case Example: Michelle: Becoming “American”

Michelle, like Jason and Patrick critiques single-race/ethnicity “cliques ” on the
continent, but she also prefers the way she is seen in terms of race and ethnicity on the
continent to the way she is seen in Hawai ‘i. Michelle says that at the University of

Notre Dame, “i don ’t feel as if i ’m intensely labelled by the culture and community of

66

asians/koreans in hawaii. people here don ’t have any real stereotypes or opinions about
me and i don ’t feel like my ethnicity is in any way an issue. ” Michelle feels there are
more stereotypes in Hawai ‘i, “like [...] it ’11 be joked around or talked about that
koreans are hot-tempered and what-not, chinese are cheap, etc. ” Unlike Jason and
Patrick then, who reject Asian American identity in favor of “Local ” identity, Michelle
rejects it in favor of “American ” identity.

Like Jason and Patrick, Michelle does not seem interested in an “Asian
American ” identity. She constructs herself as dijfkrentﬁ'om other Asians—whether they
are ﬁ'om Korea, Hawai ‘i, or the continental US. While her experience in South Bend is
positive, she says, “my ﬁiends have issues though with how guys here aren ’t attracted
to asians. ” I ask her how she accounts for the differences in their experiences and she
says:

[M]aybe it ’s because i don ’t look FOB [ﬂesh of the boat, a derogatory term for

recent immigrants]? the girls i’ve talked to who agree with that issue [of males

in South Bend not being attracted to them] deﬁnitely look ﬁtll asian right of the
bat. i guess iseem a little diﬂcrent. i don ’t have the tiny eyes, my haircut[ ’]s not
those typical asian hairstyles and i ’ve never really looked for a boyﬁiend or
anything of that sort within the notre dame guys. sure i ’d check out guys and
what-not but for a while i had a crush on someone back home and when i got
over him i was looking around but was never disappointed by guys not being
attracted to me? i ’m pretty outgoing and will go up to strangers and strike up
conversation. i’ve never tried to attract a guy that way though. and my current

boyﬁ'iend isn ’tﬁom notre dame - he grew up in south bend.

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Michelle constructs herself as looking less Asian, or less foreign than others of Asian
ancestry. She also describes herself as more “outgoing. ” In addition, she also seems to
be saying that there is a signiﬁcant diﬁierence between looking for a boyfriend among
Notre Dame students and outside the university. In any case, Michelle clearly separates
herself ﬁ'om other Asians and in ways that ﬁll/ill stereotypes and derogatory views of
Asians as unattractive and too reserved.

Where Michelle ditﬁrsﬁ'om Jason and Patrick is that, while they all ﬁnd little
use for Asian America, for her, “Local” identity is less appealing, perhaps because of
stereotypes of Koreans in Hawai ‘i. Michelle also says that she has never felt “Local, ”
explaining, “i ’ve lived in hawaii my whole life but was never immersed in the local
culture enough to consider myself local. i stopped speaking pidgeon when i hit middle
school, i’ve never learned how to surf or dance hula even though i’ve always wanted
to. ” She attributes this to her immigrant parents ’ restrictions on her activity,
explaining, “i ’m the oldest [child in my family] and my parents are really dependent on
me. they were also very protective. and i never got an opportunity to hang out with
people aﬁer school or do anything of that sort. i never explored the island till my senior
year [of high school]. ” Ultimately, Michelle does not seem to feel “Local, ” both
because of the stereotypes she faces in Hawai ‘i and her felt lack of engagement with
“Local ” culture.

In contrast, Michelle, in some sense, seems to idealize South Bend, Indiana and
her white ﬁiends there. While I sympathize with her assertions about perceptions of
Koreans in Hawai ‘i, I am skeptical that she is not seen through stereotypes in South

Bend. I suspect that those in South Bend simply have other stereotypes, perhaps ones

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that she is more comfortable with. Michelle says, for example, “i guess i’m also seen as
a littlet more exotic? b/c [because] i don ’t hang out with koreans really - my group of
friends are all caucasian so i ’m kind of the odd-ball in a good way and i 've been told
i’m really attractive which is weird for me. ” Michelle seems to construct it as a positive
that she socializes primarily with Caucasians, which seems to point toward her desire
to construct herself as “American, ” in the sense of being able to get along (with whites)
on the continent.

Privileges: Language, Generation, and Majority Status
As previously stated, Lauren’s characterization of Hawai‘i as “a special place” supports
constructions of the islands as multicultural utopia. Yet we can also read this
characterization as a reﬂection of her privilege as someone of mixed Japanese and
Chinese ancestry. As discussed in Chapter 1, Japanese and Chinese in Hawai‘i are
socioeconomically and politically privileged. Thus, while Lauren characterizes Hawai‘i
as “a special place” because she has not experienced “racial struggle” there, not
everyone would agree with her. Patricia Halagao, for example, in “Questioning the
Aloha in a Multicultural Teacher Education Course,” describes the way students who
were “Disadvantaged minorities” in Hawai‘i “wrote about being stereotyped, denied
service in stores, and [being] told by a [‘Local’] Japanese teacher that ‘she was not
college material’” (45). Similarly, as Michelle says, she feels the effect of stereotypes
less at the University of Notre Dame than in Hawai‘i. While, as stated above, I am
skeptical of Michelle’s assertion that she is not seen through stereotypes in her school
environment, her description of stereotypes in Hawai‘i reveals the way Lauren’s

positionality inﬂuences her statement. This shows how the idealization of race relations

69

in Hawai‘i, and perhaps the valuation of “Local” over Asian American identity, reﬂects
Lauren’s and perhaps other club members’ privileged positions. In other words, club
members’ allegiance to multicultural ideals can be seen as a reﬂection of their
privileges.

In addition to the privilege of belonging to an Asian majority, we might also
view club members’ status as late-generation Asian Americans as a marker of privilege.
In marking their distance from continental Asian Americans through limiting their
references to Asia/Asian America, for example, perhaps club members also aim to
separate themselves from constructions of Asians as perpetual foreigners. As Dan says,
in contrast to continental Asian Americans, he’s just “American,” a privileged and
highly valued position, given continued immigration to the US. The status of native-
born Asian Americans can be seen as privileged in contrast to the pejorative
construction of Asians as perpetual foreigners. Sociologists Min Zhou and Jennifer Lee,
for example, say:

[N]ative-bom children and grandchildren of Asian ancestry feel a sense of

ambivalence toward newer arrivals. Because about two-thirds of the Asian

American population is ﬁrst-generation, native-bom Asians must now confront

renewed images of Asians as “foreigners.” Resembling the new immigrants in

phenotype, but not necessarily in behavior, language, and culture, the more

“assimilated” native born ﬁnd that they must actively and constantly distinguish

themselves from the newer arrivals. The “immigrant shadow” looms large for

Asian American youth and can weigh heavily on the identity-formation of

native-bom youth. (13)

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Zhou and Lee do not discuss irmnigrants ﬁ'om Asia as having “a sense of ambivalence”
toward or needing to “distinguish themselves” from native-born Asian Americans.
While this may reﬂect the large ratio of immigrant versus native-born Asian Americans
on the continent or dominant constructions of Asian Americans as immigrants, it also
seems to reﬂect the privileged status of native-born, late-generation Asian Americans
(e. g. most participants), in contrast with more recent immigrants, who participants
accurately perceive as more highly represented among continental Asian Americans.

It is also telling that Dan (and other participants) conﬂates international students
and Asian Americans, given that the distinction between innnigrant and native-born
Asian Americans is usually seen as signiﬁcant. Dan opposes a grouping of both
international and second- generation Asian Americans to his own fourth-generation
status. The signiﬁcance of generational difference can be seen in Sivagami
Subbaraman’s taking care to point out the generational status of those her work is
concerned with (574n). Zhou and Lee also describe important differences between
generations of Asian Americans, explaining, “Similar to other Americans in speech,
thought, and behavior, native-born Asian Americans and their foreign-born counterparts
often hold contradictory values and standards about fundamental issues such as
individualism, civil liberties, labor rights, and ultimately, the ideology of assimilation”
(14). And international students, though foreign-bom, are not necessarily even
immigrants as they may return to their home countries. Thus, the conﬂation of
international students and second-generation Asian Americans elides signiﬁcant

differences between these groups.

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Based on factors like language and generation, however, participants seem to
see international students from Asia and continental Asian Americans as having more in
common than they do with either group. While continental Asian Americans may claim
“Americanness” by differentiating themselves from international students, club
members make this same move by separating themselves from all of Asian ancestry on
the continent—whether U.S.-born or international students. On one hand, this may
support participants’ claims of felt distance from all of Asian ancestry on the continent;
the distance is so great that distinctions within the opposing group are meaningless. On
the other hand, participants’ conﬂation of international and native-born Asian students
also reﬂects their privilege as late-generation Asian Americans; their own generational
status helps them differentiate themselves from all others of Asian ancestry on the
continent in the project of constructing themselves as more “American.”

Participants’ construction of continental Asian Americans as having closer ties
to Asia is also interesting since there are ways that Asians in Hawai‘i might be seen as
having strong ties. The entrenchment of bon dance in “Local” culture, for example,
supports ties with Japan. “Local” newspapers print the hon dance schedule every
summer and there is a bon dance culture in which some youth grow up, attending with
their parents and extended family as children and with their own friends from high
school on. In addition, the popularity of bon dance is related to the signiﬁcant presence
of Buddhist churches in Hawai‘i, which themselves seem to signify connection with
Japan. Thus, there are ways that those of Asian ancestry in Hawai‘i may be closely
engaged with Asian culture. This leads me to question participants’ claims of felt

distance from Asian and Asian American culture. While the limited references to Asian

72

America on club websites may reﬂect members’ felt distance, they may also mark club
members’ desire to distance themselves from continental stereotypes of Asia,
particularly that of the “foreigner.” As Zhou and Lee say, native-born Asian Americans
often feel the need to separate ourselves from immigrants. While continental Asian
Americans aim to do this as well, club members perhaps ﬁnd it beneﬁcial to separate
themselves even further, by marking their distance with continental Asian Americans
who may also be native-born, but are perhaps more likely to be second-generation than
third or fourth.

In addition, participants’ categorization of continental Asian Americans as
speaking heritage languages may also be read as classifying participants, in contrast, as
privileged. While speaking a heritage language does not preclude skill in standardized
English and participants’ continental Asian American peers are especially likely to be
skilled in standardized English since they attend the same, often competitive,
postsecondary institutions, continental Asian Arnericans’ use of their heritage languages
may also be read as a sign that they are more comfortable in these languages—at least
in some contexts. If continental Asian Americans primarily socialize in their heritage
language, as participants claim, it seems that these continental Asian Americans are
either more comfortable (and skilled) in their heritage language than in English or ﬁnd a
value to using it that may arise from prior challenges not experienced by participants

and other club members. Perhaps these continental Asian Americans have previously

been prevented from using their heritage languages and thus embrace it now22 or

 

22 Prashad for example describes the way some South Asian Americans ﬁnd themselves for the
ﬁrst time with others of their race and ethnicity in college. He says of South Asian students:

73

perhaps they have faced rejection from others and for that reason prefer to socialize
with speakers of their heritage language. As Matsuda says, students of color are often
inaccurately seen as excluding others (14-15). Similarly, Vijay Prashad, in The Karma
of Brown Folk, describes South Asian social groups at US. universities as a
“consequence of the social segregations on college campuses” (190-91, emphasis mine).
Matsuda and Prashad view single-race and ethnicity social groups as a reﬂection, rather
than a cause, of segregation. It seems the single-ethnicity groups that participants
describe can be viewed similarly; the groups are formed in response to their own
exclusion, despite participants’ feeling that these groups exclude them.

Ultimately, participants’ English language abilities and, in Dan’s terminology,
“naturalization,” which contribute to their felt distance from continental Asian
Americans and subsequent minimization of references to Asian America on club
websites, also reﬂect their privileges as native-born, late-generation Asian Americans
who have not previously been members of racial minorities in their hometowns or
schools. While participants perceive these factors as a challenge, as they prevent them
from connecting with continental Asian Americans, it behooves both participants and
those who hope to understand club members’ self-representations to understand that
while club members’ limited references to Asian/Asian American culture may reﬂect

their felt distance from continental Asian Americans and the multicultural ideals of both

 

For children of professionals, an adolescence without too many desi companions or
acquaintances is suddenly transformed into a college experience surrounded by those of
South Asian ancestry (a consequence of the social segregations on college campuses).
The sheer density of desis provides the possibility for “reverse assimilation,” the
rediscovery of one’s ethnicity and the urge to engage that difference in one’s social life.
(Karma 190-91)

74

Hawai‘i and the continent, these in tum—the felt distance and allegiance to
multicultural ideals—may also reﬂect club members’ privileges.
Case Example: Dan: Becoming Asian American 1

Dan says that his experience on the continent has led him to see his ethnic/racial
identity in a new way. I argue that he becomes Asian American in that he adjusts to
continental expectations of what someone “Japanese” should be, yet he does not
engage with the claims of racism that “Asian American ” can convey. Dan says, being
Japanese “didn ’t mean anything to me when I was in Hawai ‘i. [...] it actually means
more to me now, because I realize that other people will judge me based on that; I ’m
taking Japanese right now, and I’m trying to learn somewhat more about my culture. "
It seems that it is only since migrating to the continent that Dan has taken up Japanese
language study in order to learn more about his heritage. He did not grow up with the
language, as he says, “Even my grandparents do not speak/read Japanese with any
ﬂuency, so I had no shot. ” That is, Japanese language was not something he learned
from his family. And he describes conversations he has had on the continent in ways
that show how his deﬁciency in language has been brought to his attention; when
meeting people, he says, the conversation “usually goes something like this

where are you from?

Hawaii.

no, where are you really ﬁ'om?

I ’m Japanese.

Cool, do you speak?

no, I’m 4th generation, my grandparents didn ’t speak.

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oh.
Dan ’s interpretation of these introductory conversations shows others ’——or his
perception of others ’—(1 ) disappointment in his inability to speak Japanese, (2) view
that language ability is a key virtue of Japanese heritage, and (3 ) sense that this
inability makes his ancestry meaningless. His experience on the continent leads him to
believe that he should speak Japanese.

Dan has chosen to address these issues, in part, through language study, taking
three semesters of Japanese—presumably in college, based on his other statements and
his status as a fourth-year college student. It seems that learning about his heritage is
Dan’s way of bridging the gap he feels ﬁ'om continental Asian Americans; it is, in other
words, his way of becoming Asian American, as it is on the continent that he feels this
expectation that he be familiar with Japanese language and culture. As he explains,
“To better relate with other Asians [...] I think it’s important to know the true culture.
In Hawai ‘i, I feel like all the traditions kind of mix together to a point where Asians
here [ in Hawai ‘i] will not really know about real Asian traditions as they are
performed back in the home countries, or how people with strong roots still perform
them today. " Because of the mixing of cultures in Hawai ‘i, Dan had not felt that he
needed to know “the true culture” of Japan, but on the continent, he does feel this
pressure.

Signiﬁcantly, while Dan ’s Asian American identity develops in response to
continental pressures, it can be easily transported to the Hawai ‘i context without
threatening his “Local ” identity. This is because Japanese culture is celebrated in

Hawai ‘i as part of “Local” culture—in the aforementioned bon dances and in Boys’

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and Girls ’ Day celebrations in elementary schools (where children will make carp out
of construction paper in art class, for example). While Dan is in some sense becoming
Asian American, he is not doing so by claiming a continental Asian American
experience of racism. This is key as this is what enables him to hold on to his “Local ”
identity and to some degree, his “American ” identity too, as by focusing on Japanese
language and culture “back in the home country, ” Dan is not likely to focus on racism
in the US, which could lead to his being seen as a threat to multicultural ideals.

Case Example: Lauren: Becoming Asian American 11
Mrile Lauren, as a result of having lived in Hawai ‘i, feels she cannot relate to
continental Asian Americans ’ sense of struggle, her descriptions of her work with the
Asian Pacific Student Coalition (APSC) evidence a coming to see herself as Asian
American rather than “Local” Asian, “Local” Japanese, or “Local ” Chinese. While
she says that she cannot always relate to other APSC members, she also describes the
value of this coalition, an understanding perhaps developed in her past few years on the
continent.

Lauren seems to have gained, through her experience at the University of
Pennsylvania and participation in APSC, an understanding of what it means to be Asian
American on the continent. She recognizes the value of having “asian ties ” on campus
and the need to have a voice—concerns which are not very relevant for “Local”
Japanese and Chinese in Hawai ‘i given their socioeconomically and politically
dominant positions. Lauren ’3 involvement with APSC has also given her a sense of
connection between dr'ﬂerent communities of color in the US. She says her college

experience has provided:

77

exposure to people of ALL back grounds. the light i see at the end of the tunnel
is a lot more racial melding now than even what I saw in freshman year. APSC
really pushes these collaborations between groups. there was a huge collage
[collaborative event?] between the asian, black, and latinofrats. they brought in
an original black panther to speak and a leader from the other activist groups
for asians/latinos.
The specifics of the coalition Lauren describes make it strictly continental. African
Americans make up only 2.8% of Hawaii ’s population (Okamura, Ethnicity 28-29) and
while Latinos make up 7.2%, as Okamura says, “many islanders would be surprised to
learn there are supposedly many more of them than full Chinese Americans ” (Ethnicity
28). African Americans and Latinos in Hawai ‘i, according to Okamura, are
“segregated [from the general population] and transient” because they are often
stationed in Hawai ‘i through the US. military (Ethnicity 28, 122). As a result, members
of these groups are not seen as “Local. ” Given the dominance of the “Local” in

constructions of the self in Hawai ‘i, it seems unlikely that many there would see Black

Panthers or Latino activists as relevant to their experience and identity. 23 As a result,
these connections with Black and Latino communities can be read as marking Lauren’s
transition from “Local ” (a Hawai ‘i identity) to Asian American (a continental identity),
or at least developing an understanding of what it might mean to be Asian American on
the continent.

That said, seeing connections between communities of color is in some ways

quite radical. As Prashad says, “That this solidarity requires a tremendous act of

 

23 This perceived disconnect is likely also inﬂuenced by the popular demonization of groups
like the Black Panthers, as previously discussed.

78

production shows it is not ‘natural. ’[...] There is no ontological necessity for this
solidarity to be produced” (Karma 197). The road Lauren takes to becoming Asian
American is not necessarily the road that will be taken by all; there are dijfkrent ways
of becoming Asian American as can be seen in Dan ’s experience. While coalitions with
the specific communities of color Lauren mentions (Blacks, Latinos) are definitively
continental (rather than “Local ”), being Asian American on the continent does not
necessarily entail participating in these coalitions. There are many continental Asian
Americans who do not see themselves in coalition with Blacks and Latinos. As Prashad
says, “all people of color do not feel that their struggle is a shared one. Some of my
South Asian brethren, for example, feel that we should take care of our own and not
worry about the woes of others, that we should earn as much money as possible, slide
under the radar of racism, and care only about the prospects of our own children”
(Everybody ix). In other words, there are Asian Americans who buy into the “model
minority ” myth and the distance it puts between Asian Americans and other people of
color. 24

Are Participants Asian American?
Ultimately, Jason, Patrick, Michelle, Dan, and Lauren reveal varied approaches to the
negotiation of “Local,” “American,” and Asian American identities. Some club
members may choose not to become Asian American, preferring the values of “Local”
or “American” identities. Those who choose to become Asian American may do so in

different ways, responding to their continental experiences either by turning to their

 

24 As David Palumbo-Liu says in Asian/American: Historical Crossings of a Racial Frontier,
“the model minority myth reiﬁes Asian American identity and deploys this reiﬁcation
programmatically against other groups, mapping out speciﬁc positionings of minorities within
the US. political economy” (174). Prashad also discusses this in The Karma of Brown Folk.

79

heritage country or engaging with the deﬁnition of the Asian American movement,
which recognizes a common encounter with racism.

Given participants’ felt distance from continental Asian Americans, I have
wondered whether it is appropriate to study club websites as Asian American rhetoric;
that is, whether it is fair to categorize club members as Asian American. As Matsuda
says, Japanese from Hawai‘i tend to think of themselves as “Local” rather than Asian
American (187). She concludes, however, “We are both” (Matsuda 187). Matsuda also
hints that “Local” Japanese become Asian American on the continent, through the
experience of race- and ethnicity-based challenges; she says, “We may have thought we
were all very different from one another [before we immigrated to the US], but the
ideology of yellow peril treated us all the same” (174). While Matsuda speciﬁes that
Asian America is formed in the US. rather than in Asia (173), I would add that it also
originates on the US. continent rather than in Hawai‘i since in Hawai‘i, as in Asia, we
think of Asian ethnic groups as very different. This can be seen in Okamura’s work, for
example, in which he discusses the differential status of “Local” Chinese, Japanese,
Koreans, and Filipinos. While Asian Americans on the continent may also identify
primarily by ethnicity rather than as Asian American (Zhou and Lee 12), the pan-Asian
coalition seems to serve a greater function there to unite members of a numerical
minority.

Despite this distance, however, between “Local” Asians and Asian Americans,
participants do understand themselves—to some extent—as Asian American. When
asked how he describes his race and/or ethnicity to others, Patrick says, “well on the

mainland, unless i’m talking to other asian people, asian/paciﬁc islander seems to be

80

sufﬁcient,” acknowledging the API categorization, a relative of “Asian American,” used

in the census and on the continent.25 Cara, when asked her racial and/or ethnic
background, describes herself as Japanese, but when asked whether she always
describes herself this way, says that she labels herself “japanese-american...when
questioned this way for demographics and sometimes just asian if it’s a broad
situation.” She understands that while she might primarily deﬁne herself as Japanese,
she is sometimes better comprehended by others as Japanese American or as “asian as
compared to caucasian.” That is, the ethnic designation is not always seen by others as
signiﬁcant and the designation “American” is sometimes more relevant than others.
Cara also explains that “being asian serves as an explanation or reason” in explaining
some of her practices to non-Asians. Thus, while Asian American may not be the
primary way participants identify themselves, they see themselves through multiple
labels and understand that one way others see them is as Asian American.26 Cara also
acknowledges the signiﬁcance of Asian American history for her, recalling Matsuda’s
claim that “Asian” (as opposed to Japanese, Chinese, etc.) identity is formed in the US;
Cara says, “it’s not so much j apan’s history that inﬂuences my life, but the history of

japanese in the us [U.S].”

 

25 In contrast, in Hawai‘i, “API” is not a very useful category as it serves to describe over 60%
of Hawaii’s population and conﬂates ethnic groups with very different experiences.

26 Participants’ application of multiple labels to their racial/ethnic identiﬁcation seems to reﬂect
an adjustment to audience. Multiple participants, for example, said they adjust to what their
audience wants to hear. Amy, for example, said she names the speciﬁc ethnicities “if they want
speciﬁcs” and has also adjusted her answer based on what her audience ﬁnds interesting. She
says, “sometimes I’ll say half japanese [and] half white because the japanese part is interesting
to people (cuz everyone up here [on the continent] is a mixture of white) so my white mix isn’t
special.” Here, Amy reﬂects an adjustment to context as well. Lauren similarly talks about
adjusting to audience and context. She says, “There aren’t very many Japanese people on the
East coast. so I like reporting that I’m japanese.”

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In addition, Nguyen and Tu describe the way the term “Asian American” has
always been fraught and is by no means homogenous (4). Thus the fact that participants
and other club members seem in some sense marginal to “Asian America” is not a
reason to avoid describing them with this label. Zhou and Lee say that other Americans
of Asian heritage as well do not always use the term “Asian American”; they explain,
“Although the category ‘Asian’ is both convenient and instrumental, behind closed
doors, few Americans of Asian ancestry actually identify themselves as Asian, and even
fewer as Asian American. Instead, they identify with their speciﬁc countries of origin
such as Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, Indian, Vietnamese, and so on” (12). This
seems true of participants as well in that many identify by ethnicity ﬁrst. Zhou and Lee
and Nguyen and Tu acknowledge problems with the label “Asian American.” Zhou and
Lee say that we should not “lose sight of the fact that ‘Asian American’ is [sometimes]
an imposed identity” (14). Yet both pairs of scholars agree that “Asian American” is
useful as a category of analysis (Zhou and Lee 14).

Ultimately it is fruitful to see the practices of Asian Americans from Hawai‘i,
alongside the practices of other “Asian Americans,” as complicating and expanding
Asian American rhetoric rather than located outside it. The experiences of Asian
Americans from Hawai‘i are not completely isolated from those of continental Asian
Americans; rather, some continental Asian Americans—for example those of late
generation or who grow up in ethnic enclaves where they do not feel like minorities—
may have some commonalities with those from Hawai‘i. Zhou and Lee, for instance,
describe second- generation Asian Americans who “grow up in afﬂuent middle-class

suburban neighborhoods [having] little contact with their working-class co-ethnics in

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urban enclaves, and show[ing] limited interest in working-class issues” (13). Based on
class status, the practices of my participants and other club members may overlap with
the interests of this group in some ways. Mike Rose, in Lives on the Boundary, for
example, describes students of color who:
grew up with the protections of middle-class life [and] knew of the wrongs done
to their people, but slavery and Nisei internment and agricultural camps seemed
so distant to them, something heard in an incomprehensible past. Their own
coming of age had been shaped by their parents’ hard-won assimilation, the
irony of that achievement being an erasure of history for the children of the
assimilated. These students had passed through a variety of social and religious
clubs and organizations in which they saw people of their race exercise power.
They felt at the center of things themselves, optimistic, forward-looking. (1 7 8)
Like Lauren, they do not feel they have suffered. Thus, despite participants’ felt
distance ﬁom continental Asian Americans I continue to see them as “Asian
American,” because of their own categorizations, generally understood deﬁnitions of
“Asian American,” and the value this categorization affords for scholarship and
pedagogy. Reading club websites as Asian American rhetoric contributes to current
conversations in the ﬁeld, particularly on the key themes of citizenship and
representation.

Conclusion

As a lens for studying Hawai‘i club websites, Asian American rhetoric draws our
attention to several key themes. Most important in considering references to Asian and

Asian American culture are the themes of citizenship and representation. While club

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members, like many Asian Americans, are concerned with marking their “citizenship”
in terms of their belonging in the US, as discussed in Chapter 1, club websites show
members negotiating their belonging not only as “Americans,” but also as “Locals,”
Asian Americans, and people of color. In this chapter, I have examined the
undesirability of Asian American identity for club members based on their felt distance
from continental Asian Americans, allegiance to multicultural ideals in Hawai‘i and on
the continent, and privileges of generation, language ability, and majority status in
Hawai‘i. In light of constructions of Asian Americans as foreigners, in Minor
lie/Visions, Young focuses on uses of literacy to prove “Americanness,” that is,
citizenship or belonging as “Americans” (3, 12). In this chapter, I have begun to
examine not only club members’ belonging as “Americans,” but also as “Locals” and
Asian Americans. Considering these multiple axes of belonging provides greater insight
into the meaning of citizenship. Examining belonging in Asian American and “Local”
communities alongside “Americanness,” for example, reveals details about what aspects
of each of these identities is actually valued—and devalued.

Asian American identity, for example, insofar as it appears to threaten
multicultural ideals, has little value for club members because it risks their “Local” and
“American” identities. As “Local” identity is privileged in Hawai‘i (Okamura, Ethnicity
122), we can read club members’ resistance to Asian American identity as an attempt to
hold on to their privileged position there. We can also read this resistance, to some
degree, as an attempt to hold on to—or gain—some degree of privilege on the
continent. Despite narratives of Hawai‘i’s inferiority, based on club members’

socioeconomic class backgrounds, ethnic heritages dominant in Hawai‘i, prestigious

84

high school alma maters, and matriculation into competitive postsecondary institutions,
they have good reason to believe they can be successful on the continent. While on the
continent they are part of a numerical minority and have concerns about whether they
can “play ball,” to some extent, they carry their privileges with them—prestigious
educations and socioeconomic class, after all, do not simply disappear. In addition,
despite no longer living in a place where members of their race and/or ethnicity are in
power, club members carry with them the privilege of having had numerous role models
of their race and/or ethnicity.

In the context of this study, I argue that the value of “American” identity for
club members is that it marks success. In a continental context, to prove one’s
“Americanness” is to establish one’s equality to (white) peers. This aligns with the
concerns with (“American”) citizenship that Mac and Young discuss in
Representations. The Hawai‘i context enables us to see more clearly how
“Americanness” is equated with success, a continental education valued over a Hawai‘i
one, for example. This successful “American” identity can be jeopardized by claims to
Asian American identity insofar as “Asian American” was deﬁned by the Asian
American movement as a means to gain unity in order to ﬁght racial injustice (Wei 1,
Iijima 7). Paradoxically, while the Asian American movement aimed to secure success
in terms of justice, to the extent that this movement and its claims of racism are today
seen as radical and outdated, claiming an Asian American identity on their terms may
jeopardize club members’ claims to equal status as “Americans.” As Louie says, in
Asian Americans: The Movement and the Moment, “Conventional wisdom in 2001’s

Asian America dismisses our radicalism as youthful excesses” (xx). Claims to Asian

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American identity, insofar as they point toward an experience of racism, are seen as
unwarranted. As previously mentioned, hooks discusses similar critiques of Black
nationalism (30). In other words, claiming a race-based identity that might in any way
be perceived as excluding others can be—and often is—perceived as racist. That is, to
claim Asian American identity beyond the term’s use as a neutral marker of lineage and
government-sanctioned support, because it is viewed as self-segregation or essentialism,
jeopardizes claims to equal “Americannness.”

Considering club members’ belonging as “Americans,” “Locals,” and Asian
Americans then, alongside the privilege they have enjoyed in Hawai‘i and may (yet)
enjoy on the continent, draws into question the pursuit of citizenship. Yes, “American”
citizenship is an important concern given dominant constructions of Asians as
foreigners, but how exactly are we deﬁning citizenship? Trask discusses the value of
“Americanness” for “Locals” as follows:

[T]he issues before “locals” have merely to do with ﬁnding a comfortable ﬁt in

Hawai‘i that guarantees a rising income, upward mobility, and the general

accoutrements of a middle-class “American” way of life. [. . .] Simply said,

“locals” want to be “Americans.” But national identiﬁcation as “American” is

national identiﬁcation as a colonizer, someone who beneﬁts from stolen Native

lands and the genocide so well-documented against America’s Native peoples.

(“Settlers” 20)

In Trask’s view, the claim to “Local” identity carries the same aspirational values as
claims to “American” identity, yet elides responsibility for American misdeeds. In a

similar vein, I argue that the value of “Americanness” for club members is the income

86

and upward mobility Trask describes. Dan, for example, sees himself as “American”
because he is ﬂuent only in English, rather than in Japanese. That is, he deﬁnes
“Americanness” as based on English language ﬂuency, a skill that supports upward
mobility in most parts of the US. I also argue that Asian American identity is perceived
as a threat to “Americanness” in ways that reinforce status quo multicultural ideals and
discourage discussions of racism. This leads me to wonder what considerations of
“American” citizenship in relation to belonging in other communities might reveal.

As I have touched on a bit already, another key theme in Asian American
rhetoric involves representations and identity. According to Mac and Young, part of the
goal of Representations, the title alone indicating the signiﬁcance of this theme, was “to
investigate speciﬁcally how Asian Americans use the symbolic resources of language in
social, cultural, and political arenas to disrupt and transform the dominant European
American discourse and its representations of Asians and Asian Americans, thus re-
presenting and reclaiming their identity and agency” (2). This chapter shows that club
members are in some sense responding to dominant constructions of Asian Americans,
as Mao and Young indicate is a key part of the project of Asian American rhetoric. In
limiting references to Asian/Asian American culture on club websites, for example,
club members in some sense represent their “Americanness” or their distance from
Asian culture, perhaps attempting to disrupt dominant constructions of Asians as
foreigners.

Yet in interviews with participants, the distance they feel from Asian culture is
based in part on their perception that continental Asian Americans, whose families have

often (orare perceived as having) immigrated more recently, are “more” Asian. This is

87

problematic, to some extent, because of the perceived hierarchy that encourages native-
bom Asian Americans, for example, to distinguish themselves from foreign-bom (Zhou
and Lee 13). Because of this perceived hierarchy, this distance can be read as
constructing participants as superior, in effect reinforcing dominant stereotypes of
Asians and Asian Americans, as club members distance themselves from more foreign
Asians. This again has implications for citizenship as it encourages us to consider how
Asian Americans marks their “Americanness.” Based on the perceived hierarchy
between U.S.- and foreign-bom Asian Americans described by Zhou and Lee, one way
to do this is by constructing oneself against those one perceives as “more” Asian.
Participants’ responses show that they perceive these constructions of themselves as
“Americans” as a response to a challenge posed by other Asian Americans (i.e. the need
to deﬁne oneself accurately) and as amending for their perceived lack of Asian
authenticity. Dan, for example, expressed anxiety about not knowing his “true culture.”
Thus, while “American” is often seen as privileged over Asian, it can be difﬁcult to see
how one is drawing on one’s privileges of generation and language when one is
simultaneously focused on dominant perceptions and concerns about what one “should”
be. Again, Dan’s efforts to learn Japanese language in order to become Asian American
reveal concerns with authenticity. Asian American rhetoric scholars concerned with
dominant representations then, in considering how Asian Americans challenge these
constructions, might also attend to who may be hurt in the process.

Hawai‘i club websites and members gesture toward ways to expand on key
themes in Asian American rhetoric scholarship. To summarize the data presented in this

chapter, participants who see race relations in Hawai‘i as superior, and thus prefer to

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think of themselves as “Local” rather than as Asian American have little reason to mark
themselves with Asian and Asian American culture. Their negotiation of not only
“American,” but also “Local” and Asian American identities reveals the value of
different identity markers for club members and encourages us to consider what is
gained and lost in efforts to challenge dominant representations in the quest for
citizenship. The limited references to Asian/Asia American culture on club websites can
also help explain their alternate reliance on Hawai‘i as an identity marker, as will be

discussed in Chapter 3.

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Chapter 3

“We’re More Than Happy to Share All We Know”: The Value of “Local” and
“Hawaiian” Identities in Accounting for Club Members’ “Difference”

In Chapter 2, I argued that marking themselves as Asian American, for a variety of
reasons, has little value for club members. In this chapter I turn to club members’
efforts to instead mark themselves as “Local” and “Hawaiian.” That is, if, as argued in
Chapter 2, club members’ limited references to Asian and Asian American culture
reﬂect (1) their felt distance ﬁ'om continental Asian Americans, (2) multicultural ideals
both on the continent and in Hawai‘i, and (3) club members’ privileges in terms of
generation, native English-language ability, and majority status in Hawai‘i, in what
ways are “Local” and/or “Hawaiian” identities preferable? How does the embrace of
“Local” and “Hawaiian” identities reﬂect the inﬂuence of the above factors on club
members?

As stated in Chapter 2, in “Native Claims,” Young expresses concerns with
Hawai‘i clubs’ self-representation as Hawaiian and wonders why they don’t instead
represent themselves with “Local” culture (98). Like Young, I also ﬁnd the Hawaiian
and the “Local” conﬂated on club websites. Yet I also ﬁnd evidence that club members
are to some degree aware of these kinds of critiques. In contrast to website
representations, for example, in interviews, participants carefully police the boundaries
between the two. In addition the enthusiastic embrace of “Local” culture both on club
websites and in interviews reﬂects participants’ understanding that this is a more
appropriate marker than Hawaiian culture given their positionality. In other words, to
some degree, club members understand that they need to exercise caution in their claims

to “Hawaiian” identity. They understand that references to Hawaiian culture mark them

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as Hawaiian and that a Hawai‘i audience will see this as inauthentic, thus jeopardizing
club members’ “Local” identities. Yet websites rely heavily on Hawaiian culture—
because there are aﬂordances to marking themselves this way for a continental
audience. In representing themselves as “Hawaiian” and “Local” then, club members
are carefully negotiating Hawai‘i and continental audiences’ different understandings of
these identities.

While “Local” identity can be said to belong to non-Native club members in a
way that Hawaiian identity does not, continental conﬂations of the two lead to problems
with club members’ marking themselves as “Local” as well. And while participants are
careful to delineate the two in interviews with me, as Young says, they are often
conﬂated on club websites. Because of this, claims to “Local” identity wind up
constructing members quite similarly as claims to “Hawaiian” identity. And while
Young notes the challenge of explaining the difference between the two in continental
contexts (“Native Claims” 94), because of the affordances of “Hawaiian” identity for
club members, they also beneﬁt from this conﬂation. Thus, while it is crucial that club
members’ reﬂect “Local” understandings of the two identities to prove their “Local”
identity to a Hawai‘i audience, they have little reason to clearly delineate the boundaries
between “Local” and Hawaiian for continental audiences.

I ﬁnd club members’ claims to “Local” identity problematic in other ways as
well. While “Local” culture can be said to “belong” to club members in a way that
Hawaiian culture does not, critiques of claims to “Local” identity, as detailed in Chapter
1, encourage me to interrogate this as well. What are club members claiming when they

assert “Local” identity? Why claim this identity? And again, club members seem to

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have some understanding of these critiques as well. This too is evident in interviews,
where participants rarely use the term “Local.” Participants’ and other club members’
apparent awareness of the need to police their identity claims gestures toward an
understanding of their different audiences and the need to appropriately tailor their
message.

Before I go on, I should explain that as a result of the conﬂation of “Local” and
“Hawaiian” on club websites and in the minds of continental audiences, in this chapter,
I sometimes discuss club members’ claims to each separate identity and sometimes of
the two together. That is, when club websites do not clearly delineate between “Local”
and Hawaiian, I argue that they construct themselves as “Local”/‘.‘Hawaiian”; while the
two identities are different, in website representations and in the minds of audiences,
they are not. In addition, the use of quotation marks around “Hawaiian” indicate that »
club members are representing themselves as “Hawaiian” based on continental
perceptions which have little to do with the distinctions made between “Locals” and
Hawaiians in Hawai‘i.

In this chapter, I argue that, for club members, in contrast with Asian American
identity, “Local” and “Hawaiian” identities are more desirable as they enable them to
mark their distance from continental Asian Americans and to ﬁt in to multicultural
ideals on the continent. Yet as with the limited references to Asian/Asian American
culture discussed in Chapter 2, the desirability of marking themselves with aspects of
“Local” and Hawaiian culture depends on club members’ privileges as students at
relatively prestigious postsecondary institutions on the continent.This chapter is

organized according to the three issues introduced in Chapter 2. First I consider the

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affordances of “Local” and “Hawaiian” culture for representing club members’ distance
from continental Asian Americans. Next, I examine the way “Local” and “Hawaiian”
culture ﬁt, are perceived as ﬁtting, and/or are manipulated to ﬁt with multicultural
ideals on the continent. Lastly, I look at how club members’ embrace of “Local” and
“Hawaiian” culture is enabled by their privileges.

I examine club members’ construction of themselves as “Local” and “Hawaiian”
through references to Pidgin and Spam. I have chosen to focus on these because
Hawai‘i residents often see these as key markers of “Local” culture and identity.
Okamura, for example, describes a 1996 feature in The Honolulu Advertiser, a daily
Hawai‘i newspaper, in which “Locals” are constructed in part as speaking Pidgin, eating
plate lunches,27 and “overweight,” perhaps symbolic of consumption of fatty Spam and
the meat and rice of Spam musubi as well as plate lunches (Ethnicity 115). This
representation is constructed in part by newspaper readers and highlights Pidgin and
food as key elements of “Local” identity. Interview and website data show that, to some
extent, club members also see food and Pidgin as key to their identity. References to
food, for example, are abundant on websites, as discussed below. In addition, among the
aspects of Hawai‘i that participants say they miss when on the continent, food is one of

the most frequently mentioned. Pidgin is also one of the most frequently used languages

on club websites after English and alongside Hawaiian. 28 Participants also seemed to

 

27 A plate lunch includes rice, macaroni salad, and a meat, for example, teriyaki beef or
barbeque chicken.

28 Other, less frequently used languages include Spanish, Japanese, and Hip Hop Nation
Language, the last of which will be discussed in the following chapter.

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have more interest in Pidgin than Hawaiian, as they tended to focus on this language in

discussing a website excerpt that used both languages (in addition to English).29

While the newspaper article mentioned above references plate lunches as the
quintessential “Local” food and these are mentioned on club websites as well, Ifocus
on Spam and Spam musubi as references to these are much more frequent on club
websites and in interviews. This may be a reﬂection of dormitory life on the continent
as the ingredients for Spam musubi (dried seaweed, rice, and Spam) are easily shipped
from Hawai‘i and it is easy to make Spam musubi in a dorm room. It may also be a
reﬂection of perceptions of Spam on the continent as will be further discussed below.

Marking Distance from Continental Asian Americans and Stereotypes of Asians

Representing themselves as “Local” and/or “Hawaiian” rather than as Asian American
enables club members to mark their distance from continental Asian Americans and
stereotypes of Asians in several ways. This works because of the differences between
“Local” Hawai‘i culture and Asian/Asian American culture, but also because Paciﬁc
Islanders are in many ways imagined quite differently than Asians. I

One way that clubs mark themselves as “Local” and/or “Hawaiian” is through
the use of Pidgin (or Hawai‘i Creole English). Lauren, for example, supports the use of

this language on club websites, saying, “Hawaii is unique in that we’re part of the US,

 

29 Chris, for example, says he likes that the excerpt “doesn’t [. . .] use the slang in a rude way.”
It seems unlikely that he would refer to Hawaiian as “slang” since it is considered a language in
a way that Pidgin is not. Hawaiian language classes, for example, are offered at the University
of Hawai‘i and at some high schools, there are Hawaiian-language immersion schools, and
Hawaiian is one of the ofﬁcial languages of Hawai‘i. African American language, like Pidgin,
is similarly, as Geneva Smitherrnan says, “Often inappropriately dismissed as ‘Black slang’”
(279). Participants may also, however, have commented more on Pidgin than Hawaiian because
the only Hawaiian word used in the website excerpt is “ohana,” which due to its being featured
in the Disney movie Lilo and Stitch, has become somewhat familiar to continental audiences to
a degree that participants might not be concerned about it “driv[ing] non-HI [Hawai‘i] kids
away from the club,” as Cara puts it.

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but deﬁnitely different. We have our own little cultural niche. sometimes I feel like I’m
from a different country [. . .]. language seems to be a huge component of what makes us
unique. most people dont know the history of pidgin, the mish-mash of languages.”
That is, Pidgin is valuable as a ‘ﬁmique” language of Hawai‘i. According to Lisa Linn
Kanae in Sista Tongue, “The blending of Hawaiian, English, and Cantonese [which]
created many of the Pidgin words we use today” began in trade routes between the US,
Hawai‘i, and China in the late 17008 and early 18003. With the subsequent grth of
the plantation industry, laborers were brought to Hawai‘i ﬁom China, Japan, and the
Philippines beginning in the late 18003 and early 19003. These laborers picked up and
developed Pidgin as “the only feasible means of communication between the different
ethnic groups” (Kanae).

Use of Pidgin Opposes Emasculation of Asian Males

It is clear that club members perceive Pidgin as marking them as “Local”/“Hawaiian,”
as a club newsletter posted on the University of California, Irvine (UCI) Hawai‘i club
site, for example, deﬁnes Pidgin as the “Language of mokes” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 20
February). “Moke” is deﬁned in the Pidgin dictionary Pidgin to Da Max30 as “Local
boy whose idea of a good time is to broke some body’s face” (Simonson, Sakata, and
Sasaki). While continental audiences are unlikely to know what a “moke” is, their

association with Pidgin on the UCI site shows club members’ perception at least of how

 

30 Pidgin to Da Max was originally published in the 1980s and recently celebrated with a 25th
anniversary edition. While the text often takes a humorous tone, it is perceived as providing an
accurate account of Pidgin. A reviewer describes the original Pidgin to Da Max as having “all
da words we wen grow up wid” (Command). Another reviewer says the book has never been
out of print and points out that since 300,000 copies have been sold, “It means about one in four
Hawaii residents has a copy” (Burlingame). He describes the book as having “a ﬁnger on the
hidden pulse of Hawaii” (Burlingame).

95

Pidgin marks them as “Local” and as aggressive and physically strong in contrast to
dominant stereotypes of Asian males.

As Lisa Nakamura says in Digitizing Race, “The Asian American man is ﬁgured
within the discourse of the contemporary dandy or metrosexual at best, outright queer at
worst” (190). This stereotype is demonstrated in “a humorous piece on the convergence
between ‘Asian’ and ‘gay’ sartorial proﬁles” printed by the men’s magazine Details
(N akamura, Digitizing Race 185). Zhou and Lee note the similar media portrayal of
“ferninized and asexual Chinese men such as Charlie Chan” (10). Asian American
literary scholar Lisa Lowe traces the history of this feminization, saying:

In conjunction with the relative absence of Chinese wives and family among

inuni grant “bachelor” communities and because of the concentration of Chinese

men in “feminized” forms of work—such as laundry, restaurants, and other
service-sector jobs—Chinese male immigrants could be said to occupy, before

1940, a “feminized” position in relation to white male citizens and, after 1940, a

“masculinity” whose racialization is the material trace of the history of this

“gendering” (emphasis in original, 11-12)

Thus, for Asian American men from Hawai‘i, markers of the Paciﬁc may be desirable

as a way to separate oneself from these dominant constructions and instead align

. . 31
oneself wrth more masculine stereotypes.

 

31 The use of Paciﬁc island culture to mark male club members as masculine can also be seen in
the adoption of the haka in lu‘au performances. According to the UCI 2008 lu‘au program,
which is posted on their website, the only dances which are performed solely by male club
members are two haka, establishing haka as only appropriate vehicles for men and the only
vehicles appropriate only for men (“‘Ike Mua”). In contrast, some hula numbers, for example,
are danced by both men and women while others are performed only by women. The haka then
seems to fulﬁll a special role in this club’s lu‘au as the men’s dance. Seeing the haka in the
lu‘au program surprised me, as it is not Hawaiian (although UCI also includes other Maori,

96

On club websites, the association of Pidgin with a more “masculine” “Local”
identity is also explained, to some degree, to continental audiences. In the same
newsletter in which Pidgin is deﬁned as the “Language of mokes,” the following
example of the usage of “moke” is given: “Eh brah, no mess wit dat moke, be goin give
you dirty lickens” along with a “translation”: “Don’t mess with that behemoth of a man,
or else you might get beat up” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 20 February). Again, this points
to—and explains to continental audiences—the way Pidgin marks an identity opposed
to dominant constructions of Asians. This excerpt again emphasizes physical
aggressiveness in addition to size, qualities often associated with masculinity.

Use of Pidgin Despite Limited Skill

The perceived value of Pidgin for constructing club members’ identities can also be
seen in their use of it despite apparently limited skill. No participants, for example,
describe themselves as speakers of the language. I asked participants what languages
they spoke and none mentioned Pidgin. The languages early participants did mention
were Japanese and Mandarin, which they had studied in school, and Cantonese and
Korean, which two participants said they spoke at home. After these early interviews, I

began to wonder whether participants considered Pidgin a language and thereafter

 

along with Tongan and Tahitian performances in its lu‘au). Based on its performance only by
men, it seems the haka may be incorporated in the lu‘au, in part, because of the affordances of
its masculine associations.

To explain, the haka has been popularized globally by the New Zealand rugby team the
All Blacks, in part through a 1999 Adidas ad (Jackson and Hokowhitu 128). According to
Steven Jackson and Brendan Hokowhitu, who both teach at the University of Otago in New
Zealand, the haka is often misunderstood as a “war dance” and functions for the All Blacks, in
part, to “intimidat[e] the opposition” (128). As a result of these associations, club members may
use the haka in order to represent themselves as waniors and as intimidating, in contrast with
stereotypes of Asian males. This function of the performance is highlighted by a member of the
UCI club; in a report on an event in which club members danced, she says, “All the dances were
performed beautifully or should I say were very intimidating (that’s for you Haka boys)” (“Na
‘Opio,” 7 March).

97

speciﬁcally asked future participants whether they spoke Pidgin. Of three participants
asked expressly about Pidgin, all said they did not speak it. In addition, a fourth
participant volunteered that she does not speak the language. Participants also used
Pidgin very sparingly in interviews, only using the most common vocabulary, for
example, like “hapa” or in discussing the terms used in website excerpts I provided.

Of course it is also possible that participants were following my lead in sticking

to primarily standardized English (and online chat conventions”) during the interviews.
As self-described “Pidgin guerilla” Lee Tonouchi says, students are not likely to use
Pidgin in the classroom if their teacher does not; participants may also have seen me as
an authority ﬁgure similar to a teacher (Da Kine iv). Nevertheless, that 100% of
participants with whom Pidgin ability was explicitly discussed said they do not speak it,
I do not have a lot of faith that Pidgin skills are well developed among other participants
and club members.

Participants’ limited skill can also be seen in the use of Pidgin from external
sources, for example, in the “Hooked on Eh-Brah Phonics” and “You Know You’re
Hawaiian If. . .” texts posted on the Northwestern University Hawai‘i club website.
These both appear to be memes as three participants who were not members of the
Northwestern club were familiar with the former text, saying they had seen it “around
online.” In addition, a web search of one of the key phrases from “Hooked on Eh-Brah
Phonics” brings up 44 websites (mostly social networking proﬁles and blogs) on which

the same text is reproduced. A similar search for a key phrase from the “You Know

 

32 Participants followed chat conventions, for example, neglecting capitalization, writing in
additive form, and using abbreviations like “101” and “jk.” I ﬁrst took this as a sign that they
were comfortable enough with me to communicate informally, but the use of these conventions
may also reﬂect a sense of appropriate language for the context of the chat interview.

98

You’re Hawaiian If. . .” list brings up over 100 websites, many of them also blogs and
social networking proﬁles, plus message boards. In addition, the “You Know You’re
Hawaiian If. . .” text sounds similar to Okamura’s description of the “‘You know you’re
local if. . .’ lists regularly sent by e-mail among Hawai‘i residents [that themselves]
likely originated after 1996 when the Honolulu Advertiser asked its readers to complete
the above phrase and published the results” (Ethnicity 115). Participants’ descriptions of
themselves as unskilled speakers of Pidgin helps explain why the language is primarily
used on the Northwestern site in these borrowed lists—because club members lack the
skill to compose in Pidgin themselves. Yet they apparently still ﬁnd it important to use
Pidgin to represent themselves. On other clubs’ websites too, Pidgin vocabulary over
grammar is emphasized and very established, quintessential vocabulary at that.” As
anyone who has studied a second language knows, vocabulary is much easier to learn
than grammatical patterns. This again points to club members’ desire to use Pidgin,
perhaps to mark themselves as “Local” or “Hawaiian” rather than Asian American,
despite limited skill with the language.

Spam Separates Club Members ﬁ'om Continental Asian Americans

Alongside the use of Pidgin, references to Spam luncheon meat, which is constructed as
a marker of “Local” identity both by participants and on club websites, serve to

differentiate those from Hawai‘i and those ﬁom the continent. Spam is ubiquitous in

 

33 Many of the terms, for example, are included in Pidgin to Da Max, a classic, but extremely
concise, dictionary. Only 8 entries are listed in the A section, for instance (Simonson, Sakata,
and Sasaki). The vocabulary used both on club websites and logged in Pidgin to Da Max
include “moke,” “shoots,” “plate lunch,” “grind,” “howzit,” “ono,” “da kine,” and “Shaka.” In
addition, the deﬁnitions that Pidgin to Da Max provides for some of these also points to their
quintessential nature. “Plate lunch,” for example, is deﬁned in Pidgin to Da Max as the “State
food of Hawaii” and “da kine” as “the keystone of pidgin. You can use it anywhere, anytime,
anyhow. Very convenient. What would we do without DA KINE?” (Simonson, Sakata, and
Sasaki).

99

Hawai‘i. According to sociologist George Lewis, citing a Hormel press release, “The
state of Hawaii leads the United States on a per capita consumption basis, accounting
for close to ﬁve million cans of Spam—or close to ﬁve cans per year, per resident” (90).
In addition, Spam is strongly associated with “Local” identity. Lewis argues that
because Spam “is not speciﬁc to any” ethnic group in Hawai‘i, it “can be seen,
symbolically, as a cultural uniﬁer. Spam cuts across—and uniﬁes—the multi-ethnic
cuisines and cultures of Hawaii. Moreover, it does so by invoking the humble and local
roots of the culture, while at the same time reminding locals of how they are able to
appropriate the culture of the exploiter [the US] and turn it into. local meaning” (92).
That is, as a US. product, Spam is seen as a cheap, throwaway food—trash that
“Locals” were able to transform into treasure. In addition, as a cheap source of protein
for plantation workers, Spam is seen as part of Hawai‘i’s history, a link to the past, with
the plantation often viewed nostalgically as the cradle of “Local”- culture.

In two “shout-outs” on the UCI site,34 Spam is referenced as an identity marker
between club members—likely those from Hawai‘i and those from the continent given
that there seems to be almost as many members from the continent as from Hawai‘i in
this club.35 One shout-out says, “Dan - I fear your couches and spam. especially spam”
(“Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina,” 25 October). Another says, “Meaghan = how do you like the

spam?” (“Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina,” 25 October). Given the ubiquity of Spam consumption

 

34 “Shout-outs” are a feature included in UCI newsletters in which club members write short
notes to each other, somewhat in the format of messages written in yearbooks, as they
sometimes express gratitude, reach out in a friendly manner, or reference inside jokes.

35 Of eleven members who share biographical information in club newsletters, ﬁve say they are
not from Hawai‘i. (Most say they are from California, one says he is native Hawaiian and a few
say they are of Asian ancestry.) (“Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina,” 7 March; “Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina,” 25
October; “NOOK Newsletter,” 17 October)

100

in the islands, these messages are most likely exchanged between members from
Hawai‘i and those from the continent. Given the association of Spam with “Local”
identity, however, no matter by and to whom they are composed, these shout-outs
evidence the use of the luncheon meat to mark identities in relation to Hawai‘i and the
continent.

As members of the same club who have chosen to address each other in the club
newsletter, the authors and recipients of these shout-outs likely get along regardless of
their dietary choices. In other cases, however, club members may want to mark their
distance from continental Asian Americans. As discussed in Chapter 2, several
participants spoke disparagingly of single-race or -ethnicity “cliques” on campus. Some
participants also speciﬁcally deﬁned these “cliques” as formed by individuals of Asian
ancestry. Michelle, for example, says, “even though asians [. . .-] are in the minority [at
my school], it seems as though there are a lot more asians than the statistics say because
they all hang out together. they’re very cliquey.” Jason and Patrick also refer to
individuals of Asian ethnicities as socializing in single-race/ethnicity groups. In contrast
to these so-called Asian “cliques,” Hawai‘i is imagined in dominant constructions as
ﬁiendly and welcoming. Paul Lyons, for example, in American Paciﬁcism, deﬁnes
hospitality as one of the “aspects of Oceania most attractive to tourists” (123). Thus,
references to Hawai‘i can mark club members as friendly “Hawaiians” rather than
“cliquey” Asians.

Dominant perceptions of Hawai‘i enable club members to inﬂect their Asian
phenotype in other ways as well. While Asians are often perceived as overly studious,

9”

for example, “derogatively stereotyped as ‘nerds’ or ‘geeks and seen as “the model

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worker[s], the overachiever[s], the math maniac[s], or the science/computer nerd[s]”
(Lee and Zhou l, 10), Hawai‘i is constructed as laid-back (Lyons 148). Hawaiians have
also been constructed as assimilable (Lyons 28, 134), in contrast to perceptions of
Asians as perpetual foreigners (Lee and Zhou 10). Obviously, stereotypes of Hawaiians
are not inherently preferable to those of Asians, but they may appear this way to club
members who face stereotypes based on their Asian phenotype. Because of their
physical appearance, club members will be seen as Asian. That is, no matter how much
they mark themselves with “Local” and Hawaiian culture, they will not only or fully be
seen through stereotypes of Hawaiians or Paciﬁc Islanders. These stereotypes then,
enable club members to inﬂect perceptions of them as Asian—perhaps encouraging
others to see them as a balance between the opposing ways Asians and Paciﬁc Islanders
are viewed. For better or worse, stereotypes of Hawaiians provide a tool for club
members to mark their identities as different ﬁom continental Asian Americans.

While club members may aim to mark a real felt distance ﬁ'om the experiences
of continental Asian Americans, the desirability of “Local” and “Hawaiian” identity for
those of Asian ancestry is evidenced as well by continental Asian Americans’
idealization of Hawai‘i. That is, felt distance from continental Asian Americans alone
does not account for club members’ construction of themselves as “Local” and
“Hawaiian.” To some degree, the idealization of Hawai‘i by continental Asian
Americans reﬂects their majority status in Hawai‘i. Keiko Ohnuma, for example, in
“‘Local’ Haole—A Contradiction in Terms?” describes herself as “an Asian-American
who came to Hawai‘i (as many of us do) with the idea that I might ﬁnally ﬁnd a place

where I ‘ﬁt in’ —- neither wholly American nor Asian” (273). That is, based on its

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demographics—and perhaps its physical location between Asia and the US. as well,
Hawai‘i is imagined as an ideal environment for Asian Americans. I believe “Local”
and “Hawaiian” identities are also valuable to those of Asian ancestry more broadly—
that is, for continental Asian Americans as well—because “Local” and Hawai‘i
identities are perceived as representative of an individual who is Asian on the outside,
but less so on the inside, providing an answer to those expectations to speak one’s
heritage language that Dan described, but also encouraging others to see one outside
stereotypes of Asians. That is, “Local” and “Hawaiian” identities inﬂect Asian
appearance with stereotypes of Hawai‘i and Hawaiians as detailed above, tempering
stereotypes of Asians with their opposite. For continental Asian Americans, “Local”
culture and Hawai‘i are perceived as providing a desirable context because they account
both for Asian appearance and distance from Asia. As will be discussed in the following
section, “Local” and “Hawaiian” identities are also desirable for their ﬁt—or perceived
ﬁt—with multicultural ideals on the continent.

“Local ” and Hawai ‘i as Multicultural Ideals

As discussed in Chapter 2, one of the risks to club members of Asian American identity
is that its claim to a shared experience of racism can be perceived as a threat to
multicultural ideals. For club members, both “Local” and “Hawaiian” identities can
avoid this problem. As will be'detailed in this section, popular deﬁnitions of the “Local”
in Hawai‘i align with the principles of multiculturalism; thus, “Local” identity provides
a familiar model for club members to account for their difference without being
perceived as a threat. Furthermore, club members themselves deﬁne “Local” identity to

a continental audience, so while “Local” identity could be—and in fact has been—used

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to mark unity against the more powerful, club members focus on aspects of “Local”
culture like food and Pidgin, which can be seen as adding diversity to “American”
culture rather than threatening its values. In this way club members ﬁrrther ensure that
“Local” identity will be welcomed rather than seen as a threat. Dominant constructions
of Hawai‘i also depict it as a good ﬁt with multiculturalism as Hawai‘i is most often
seen as an entertainment destination for continental residents. This construction of
Hawai‘i too is ﬁrrther promoted through club members’ focus on food and Pidgin.
While Pidgin, as a language that potentially excludes continental audiences, might be
seen as threatening, club members’ explanations make it comprehensible so that
continental audiences can take part in it and do not feel excluded.

As introduced above, popular constructions of “Local” identity in Hawai‘i

support multicultural ideals. In a survey Okamura conducted of students in his

University of Hawai‘i ethnic studies course,36 one criterion of “Local” identity
commonly mentioned “was having the ‘aloha spirit,’ being laid-back, or having respect
for others” (Ethnicity 119). One student, for example, said:
Being local everyone has a common ground to stand on and we all respect each
other and the place that we come from regardless of cultural/ethnic background.
There are still many variations between ethnicities and the types of lifestyles and

occupations, but if you’re “local” there’s still a common set of values and

 

3" According to Okamura, “the great majority of [students surveyed] had lived all or most of
their lives in Hawai‘i (94 percent) and was born in the islands (82 percent)” (Ethnicity 119). He
adds, “the sample is not representative of UH Manoa students or of eighteen- to twenty-four-
year-old residents of Hawai‘i, but the responses do provide insights into contemporary views of
local identity and culture” (Okamura, Ethnicity 119).

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respect for each other and the Islands. It may be a naive perspective, but the

“Aloha Spirit” promotes that idea. (qtd. in Okamura, Ethnicity 119-20)
As Okamura says, “This response [. . .] is very consistent with the ‘tradition of tolerance
and peaceful coexistence’ dimension of the Hawai‘i multicultural model” (Ethnicity
120). In other words, constructions of “Local” identity ﬁt well with multicultural views
in Hawai‘i. Parallels to multicultural ideals on the conﬂuent are evident as well, for
example, in the idea of respect for individuals from different backgrounds. While there
is of course nothing wrong with this kind of respect, “Local” identity is most often
constructed in this sunny kind of way, its more challenging political dimensions elided.

Club members further emphasize the alignment of the “Local” with continental
multicultural ideals by emphasizing non-threatening and consumable aspects of “Local”
culture like food and Pidgin. As stated in Chapter 1, the term “Local” gained popularity
in the 19605 and 19705 in demonstrations to prevent evictions of “Local” residents by
outside developers (F ujikane, “Reimagining” 45). Okamura says “Local” identity also
“has come to represent an assertion of resistance against the increasing cultural and
economic globalization of Hawai‘i” (Ethnicity 118). Thus, there is a sense in which
“Local” identity opposes dominant powers. Club members, however, keep the focus on
food, Pidgin, and other entertaining and presumably apolitical topics.

On club websites, for example, the word “Local” is overwhelmingly applied to
food. Of 35 uses of the term on the nine websites, 11 (31%) refer to food. The
Wellesley site, for example, provides a list for visitors to Hawai‘i of “some places that

Hawaii Club members enjoy eating at that offer some of the local cuisines that reﬂect a

uniqueness of Hawaii and a fushion [sic] of other cultures” (“Club Info”). Within these

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discussions of “Local” food, Spam luncheon meat in particular is frequently mentioned.
The Northwestern University site, for example, mentions Spam in relating its purpose,
highlighting the signiﬁcance of this food for their club; the site reads, “Most club
members are from Hawaii and collectively serve as a surrogate ‘ohana’ for whoever
needs a spam musubi ﬁx or extra li hing and kakimoc '” (Hawaii Club). Spam is
mentioned as a component of one of the foods most characteristic of Hawai‘i, which
club members may miss and the club promises to provide as a form of support.

Spam is featured as key in club events too. One “shout-out” on the UCI page
says, “Yee: Thanks for donating your place to Spam making” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 20
February). The Wellesley College club also highlights the centrality of food for their
club, explaining, “During these [club] meetings, club members discuss and plan events,
socialize, unwind, and eat onolicious (a.k.a. ‘yummy’ or ‘delicious’) snacks from
home” (“Club Meetings”). The signiﬁcance of Spam to clubs’ and members’ identities
can also be seen in a music video shared on the UCI site in which several members
perform to a song by the hip hop group the Black Eyed Peas (“NOOK Eyed Spam”). In
this video, the group names itself “The Nook Eyed Spam,” obviously patterned after the
name Black Eyed Peas, but using Spam instead of peas as a food that marks their
identity.37 These examples highlight the many ways club members mark themselves
with Spam.

Emphasizing food enables the club to account for members’ difference in “safe”

ways; that is, in ways that do not appear to pose a threat to multicultural ideals. They

 

37 “NOOK” is the club’s acronym for itself and stands for Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina. “The Nook
Eyed Spam” doesn’t make much grammatical sense, but it does serve well as an example of the
centrality of Spam to club identity.

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are able to do this because food is generally seen as apolitical. This common perception
is the impetus behind Anita Mannur’s article, “Model Minorities Can Cook: Fusion
Cuisine in Asian America,” in which one of her goals is to “debunk the myth that-fusion
culinary discourse can be separated from the political terrain on which consumers of
fusion cuisine are located” (74-75). That is, fusion cuisine is seen as apolitical, and
Mannur’s article focuses on examining this assumption. Perceptions of food as
apolitical can also be seen in the acceptance of diverse cuisines by individuals of many
political persuasions. Diverse foods are accepted because they are non-threatening. As
Mannur explains, through fusion cuisine—and I would argue in eating the foods of
other cultures more generally—“It becomes possible to sample a taste of the ‘other’
without really having to confront” the Other (87). We can easily incorporate other
cuisines into our lives simply by dropping by a restaurant; this is seen as just food,- not
political.

In contrast to food, language can be more highly politicized. Geneva
Smitherrnan, for example, describes the English Only Movement as “a backlash against
People of Color masquerading as linguistic patriotism” (T alkin that Talk 292). That is,
the English Only Movement uses an argument about language to disguise an argument
that is really about race. While language can be highly politicized, however, Pidgin is
used on club websites in non-threatening ways. Namely, it is translated, making Pidgin
accessible and, as a result, more palatable to continental audiences. Regarding the
function of translation, Young describes it as “an act of colonial violence,” insinuating
that it harms the colonized in order to beneﬁt the colonizer (Minor Re/Visions 88).

Translation caters to outsiders, providing the sense that a text is only valuable if it is in

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the colonizer’s language. Translation provides access, in the case of the use of Pidgin on
Hawai‘i clubs, for continental audiences. Through translation, then, club members cater
to continental audiences’ desire to have their unfamiliarity or discomfort with Pidgin
eased. Through translation, Pidgin becomes something continental audiences can
participate in, consuming it as they might consume Hawai‘i itself while on vacation.
The translation of Pidgin for continental consumption is reﬂected in
participants’ concern with making their clubs’ websites generally and Pidgin
speciﬁcally accessible for this audience. Of two website excerpts using Pidgin that I
shared with club members, Cara says she would not use the ﬁrst-one as it “would drive
non-HI kids [students who are not from Hawai‘i] away from the club” and “gives the
club an exclusive feel...as if you need to know another language-to be accepted.” That
is, while the title of this excerpt, “Hooked on Eh-Brah Phonics,” labels it as a Pidgin
lesson, the text seems to function more as humor for individualsfamiliar with the
language. In contrast, Cara speaks favorably about the second excerpt, saying it “does a
good job of reaching out to both HI and non-HI students by including words that only
HI kids would appreciate and by acknowledging that it’s ok to not know what’s going
on [with these Pidgin and Hawaiian words], too!” The second excerpt reads:
Most club members are from Hawaii and collectively serve as a surrogate
“ohana” for whoever needs a spam musubi ﬁx or extra li. hing and kakimochi.
Completely confused after reading that last sentence? Don’t worry, we’re more
than happy to share all we know about Hawaiian culture. If you ever wanted to
learn the hula or get a taste of some ono grindz, you’ve come to the right place!

(Hawaii Club)

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This excerpt appeals to Cara, apparently, because it explicitly addresses readers who
may be “confused” by the use of Pidgin and Hawaiian and offers to educate them.

It is especially interesting that Cara expresses this concern with alienating
readers who are not from Hawai‘i as she indicates that the target audience for the club’s
website is members, who, except in the UCI club, are primarily from the islands. Cara
says University of Washington students who are not ﬁom Hawai‘i are not likely to be
interested in the club’s website because “the news we post isn’t very hawaii-speciﬁc.
it’s more hawaii-kids speciﬁc.” That is, the information shared is not about Hawai‘i, but
about students from Hawai‘i. Yet she still prefers that Pidgin be used on the website in
such a way that continental audiences can understand it and feel welcomed. I read this
as supporting a view that Pidgin should be used such that it can be easily consumed by
continental audiences and will thus not be perceived as a threat of any kind.

Other participants as well evidence a desire to use Pidgin in ways that are .
comprehensible to continental audiences. Jason, for example, says he would provide
“maybe a little preface about pidgin and its background [alongside any use of Pidgin on
the club website]. or else it’d be pretty incomprehensible to people not from hawaii.”
Dan similarly expresses a concern with continental comprehension, explaining, “I’ve
seen pidgin websites before, and i deﬁnitely can’t picture it without speaking it to
myself; [it’s] hard to imagine what someone who’s never been exposed to it [the
language] would think.”

In addition to representing themselves through markers of “Local” culture like
Spam and Pidgin, constructing themselves as “Hawaiian” (e. g. through the use of

Hawaiian language or by not clearly delineating between “Local” and Hawaiian) also

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depicts club members as in line with multicultural ideals. This is because dominant
depictions of Hawai‘i present its difference primarily as entertainment, which causes it
to be “appreciated” for the enjoyment it offers continental audiences. Thus, Hawai‘i’s
difference can be easily consumed in a way that supports multicultural ideals—it brings
an entertaining dissimilarity, one that can be observed for a night or a week, but does
not challenge audiences to consider another set of values that might actually affect their
day-to-day lives. Dominant constructions of Hawai‘i as entertainment then make not
only “Local” culture, but “Hawaiian” culture as well, a useful marker for club members
to account for their difference in a “friendly” way.

The Function of Privilege in the Representation of Devalued Cultures

While marking themselves as “Local” and “Hawaiian” has affordances for club
members, the desirability of these identity markers, which are, in some sense, devalued,
depends on club members’ privileges. In their embrace of Spam in particular, club
members can be seen taking pride in and marking their identity with a devalued food, as
on the continent the luncheon meat is denigrated in its association with the working
class. Club members acknowledge—even emphasize—this devaluation, both in
interviews and on websites. Patrick, for example, a member of the Northwestern
University Hawai‘i club, says, “not a lot of people eat it [Spam] in illinois at least. It
supposedly [is] white trashy.” Just as Spam was consumed in the continental United
States by “new immigrants and the poorer urban workers” based on its price and

convenience (Lewis 85), in Hawai‘i too, Spam was originally eaten as a cheap source of

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protein.38 Lewis, in “From Minnesota Fat to Seoul Food: Spam in America and the
Paciﬁc Rim,” says the luncheon meat is perceived as “thrifty” in Hawai‘i (91 ).

Club websites report on these derogatory views of Spam. In a report on a UCI
event called “Island Rhythms,” for example, where members perform with the campus
taiko (Japanese drumming) group, one of the members writes, “We also sold spam
musubis. . .aka ate them all after the show,” implying that among event attendees, it was
only club members who were interested in this food (“Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina,” 7 March).
In the list “You Know You’re Hawaiian if...” (reproduced in Appendix C) on the
Northwestern University site, the third item listed is, “You would serve Spam as a meat
for dinner,” acknowledging outsiders’ negative perceptions of Spam (“Fun”).39

Pidgin too is often viewed negatively—both by speakers and non-speakers.
Tonouchi, for example, in “Da State of Pidgin Address,” published in College English
in 2004, describes the way his student “wuz equating talking Pidgin to smoking
cigarettes cuz he gotta ‘cut back.’ If he talk too much Pidgin, den he going get Pidgin
cancer and he going DIE” (77). Kanae similarly describes perceptions of Standard

English as necessary for making money. In her words:

 

38 Lewis focuses on drawing contrasts between perceptions and consumption of Spam in the
US. and in the Paciﬁc and Asia, for example, arguing that Spam made in-roads in the Paciﬁc
because pork consumption was already high. He claims that Spam is viewed ambivalently in the
US. but only positively in Hawai‘i. I take issue with this and ﬁnd his description of ambivalent
views of Spam in the US. similar to those in Hawai‘i. In both places it is seen as a cheap food,
but it carries other, more positive, connotations as well—for example, of pride in “Local”
and/or “American” culture and history.

39 The title of this list reﬂects the conﬂation of “Local” and Hawaiian that Young critiques.
Few items on the list refer to indigenous Hawaiian identity; instead it reﬂects many ethnic
cultures perceived as “Local.” In addition, the list seems to be similar to the one Okamura
describes that was published in a local newspaper as “You know you’re Local if. . .” (115). It is
unch if the club changed “Local” to “Hawaiian” or if that revision to the list’s title had
already been made.

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This stigma [surrounding Pidgin] has made it necessary for Pidgin speakers to
learn how to code shift from HCE [Hawai‘i Creole English] into Standard
English for more formal situations (i.e. job interviews, board rooms, research
papers). This learned “necessity” rapidly perpetuates the assumed superiority of
Standard English over Hawai‘i Creole English, which in turn reinforces the
assumption that speakers of Pidgin are intellectually and socially inferior to
speakers of Standard English, or [. . .] unsophisticated, illiterate, and
unemployed. (Kanae)

Thus, Pidgin is devalued, as many non-standard varieties of English (with Aﬁican

American Language the most discussed in the ﬁeld of composition and rhetoric) are—

. . . . . 40
seen as havrng limited use or even as a marker of poor lntellrgence.

Like many other “non-standar ” languages, Pidgin is also associated with the
working class, in part based on its development among plantation laborers in the late
18003 and early 19005 (Kanae). Speaking of current contexts, Tonouchi says, “Get da
myth dat only people who went public school talk Pidgin. Brah, even I wuz amaze how
many private school submissions came in. Lotta da private school peoples wuz EXTRA
proud I think so cuz dey wrote little notes like ‘Punahou [School] get Pidgin too!’” (Da
Kine iv-v). In other words, the myth that Pidgin is the language of less privileged
individuals (those who cannot afford private school tuition) is widespread. Even
Tonouchi, who studies, writes in, and teaches about Pidgin, was surprised at the extent
of its use among students and alumni of private schools. And those “private school

peoples” felt the need to speak out against this myth in their dictionary submissions. In

 

40 See Tonouchi’s “Da State of Pidgin Address” for more about the devaluation of Pidgin.

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addition, a poem Tonouchi co-wrote with his students at Kapi‘olani Community
College in Honolulu also points toward connections between Pidgin and social class.
According to the poem, among other restrictions, students have been told that Pidgin
speakers cannot be teachers, doctors, lawyers, government employees, or businessmen;
“eat at ﬁne dining restaurants”; “go opera or someplace elegant”; or “look high-class”
(Tonouchi, “Da State” 7 8). In this section I consider several interpretations of club
members’ use of Spam and Pidgin, two devalued aspects of “Local” culture, to mark
their identities.
Reclaiming Devalued Practices
Scholarship in composition and rhetoric considers the embrace of devalued languages,
if not objects. Smitherman, for example, describes the value of bringing Other
languages into the classroom, saying:
In recent years, I have endeavored to use various speaking styles in the
classroom as a teacher and ﬁnd it disconcerts those who feel that the use of a
particular patois excludes them as listeners, even if there is translation into the
usual, acceptable mode of speech. Learning to listen to different voices, hearing
different speech challenges the notion that we must all assimilate. (qtd. in
Okawa 127)
Smitherrnan sees merit in challenging students with languages they are unused to and
have often been taught to devalue. We might view exposure to other kinds of
“difference” similarly. Gail Okawa, who is from Hawai‘i, speaks speciﬁcally to the way
she came to value Pidgin, describing how, after having “little appreciation” for the

language while growing up in Hawai‘i, she was able to “recover[. . .] ‘Pidgin’ as not

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only my regional dialect but also a language of solidarity, of local identiﬁcation and
pride” (109, 120-21). She also notes “the courageous publication by various Island
writers of literature in Pidgin,” indicating that it was difﬁcult for these writers to
embrace this devalued language (Okawa 121).

To a degree, I would like to read club members’ representation of Hawai‘i and
the “Local” as a similar reﬂection of newfound pride in their home. As Chris, a member
of the University of Washington Hawai‘i club, says, “it [his college experience] made
me appreciate [the] hawai‘i lifestyle. i enjoy the mainland, but i appreciate all that i was
allowed to experience growing up in hawai‘i. i’m not sure exactly what [about it was so
special], but i am just glad to have been brought up the way i was—in the community i
was brought up in i guess.” He says he “most likely” would be a different person had he
been raised instead in Seattle, where he attends school.

Club members’ new appreciation for Hawai‘i might also be viewed positively—
as reclamation, as indicated in Okawa’s quotegin light of common perceptions of .
Hawai‘i as marginal or inferior, views that are reﬂected in participant interviews.
Participants discuss their sense of Hawai‘i’s inferiority in education in particular,
describing the value placed on continental schooling. All said that if they applied to .
post-secondary institutions in Hawai‘i, it was only, as Chris put it, as “a last resort.” He
says, “people [counselors, teachers, coaches] explained that in order to expand your
thinking you should study on the mainland because there’s things that you will learn
there that you can’t experience in H1 [Hawai‘i].” When asked what kinds of “things”
they referred to, he says, “i guess [things in] business and life—interactions with people

who have different experiences from you as well as leaming more i guess.” Jason, a

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member of the Northwestern Hawai‘i club, shared the similar view that “hawaii is a
good place to grow up in and come back to every once in awhile.” In this sense, he
characterizes Hawai‘i as sort of a womb or nursery, as a nurturing place to spend one’s
childhood, but that must ultimately be left behind. This is similar to philosopher Yi-Fu
Tuan’s description of home. Tuan draws a parallel between one’s home and one’s
mother, saying, “A man leaves his home or hometown to explore the world; a toddler
leaves his mother’s side to explore the world” (29). Thus, Tuan constructs this desire to
leave home as part of the “natural” experience of maturation. I maintain, however, that
this sentiment toward home is not universal. Rather, the speciﬁc valuation of our
“home” in the national or global hierarchy also inﬂects our impulses to leave and
“explore.” I expect that many who grow up in small towns too, also told that their
homes are unimportant in the larger scheme of things, express a similar desire to .
“explore.”

Other participants also indicate their beliefs (whether current or past) that the
continent is more (academically) rigorous than Hawai‘i. Lauren, for example, expresses
concerns that she might not be able to compete—or in her words, “play ball”—on the
continent. Dan says that in coming to college, “I expected to study far more than I
actually did, and to have much less free time than I did.” While he too eventually found
that he could “play ball,” he reveals early concerns that he had had about the amount of
study that would be required. Amy, another member of the Northwestern University
Hawai‘i club, also says she expected college to include “lots of work” and Jason says he
chose to attend the school he did because he wanted an academic “challenge.” While

these are reasonable expectations for college—particularly the competitive schools

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participants attend—and it is likely that concerns about the difﬁculty of college work
occur nationwide, and perhaps especially for students coming from small towns or other
regions that are assumed to be inferior, I am attentive to this discussion based on my
own experiences as well as familiar narratives of inferiority in Hawai‘i. Hawai‘i
newspapers, for example, often run stories with headlines highlighting lags in test
scores in relation to other states. Tonouchi, for example, describes an article in a
Hawai‘i daily newspaper that reports, “Hawaii’s eighth-graders scored below the
national average in several areas” (Kua, qtd. in Tonouchi, “Da State” 81). Thus, I read
participants’ expectations of academic rigor as reﬂections of their sense of Hawai‘i’s
inadequacy.

This sense of Hawai‘i’s inferiority exists not only in Hawai‘i, but on the
continent as well. As Cara says, “i’ve heard a lot of comments from non-HI [Hawai‘i]
people about what it means to go to UH [the University of Hawai‘i], how everyone
(non-HI [not from Hawai‘i]) who goes to UH does so to slack off...something along the

9”

lines of ‘nothing to do but go to the beach. This is reminiscent of Michael Lujan
Bevacqua’s description, in “Decolonization and Diaspora: The Resistance and
Insistence of Decolonization Amongst Chamorros in California,” of perceptions of the
island of Guam as “cultural,” “social,” “diverse, exotic and beautiful,” yet devoid of the
real business of politics and history. Hawai‘i is seen similarly. My colleague Jennifer
Lee Sano, for example, describes the way a commercial airline pilot, on a ﬂight from

Honolulu to Chicago, quips, “Welcome back to reality,” in contrast to allusions to

“paradise” narrated by pilots on ﬂights to Hawai‘i. That is, the continent is seen as

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reality, the place of business, politics, history, and education, while Hawai‘i is only an
entertaining vacation destination.

Okamura’s description of the stereotype of “Locals” also points to some of these
negative perceptions, for example, as overweight and provincial (Ethnicity 115). He
also describes Ohnuma’s characterization of “localism [as] a liability because ‘by
deﬁnition [it] stands opposed to upward mobility. Its badges and codes of belonging,
such as speaking pidgin, tend to preclude ﬂuency in the wider world,’ and thus
presumably disadvantage local people” (Okamura, Ethnicity 121). While Okamura
takes issue with Ohnuma’s characterization, her description reﬂects negative
perceptions of “Local” identity that are not uncommon. Okamura also describes Local
identity as “privileged, although not necessarily empowered, over nonlocal categories,
including Haoles [whites], Aﬁican Americans, Asian and Paciﬁc Islander immigrants,
tourists, the military, and foreign investors” (Ethnicity 122). In this sense, I believe he is
saying that while Local identity is privileged in some ways, this does not necessarily
translate to, for example, socioeconomic and political power. That is, while “Local” is a
desirable identity, it may also be seen as inferior in some ways.

The use of the term “provincial” in the previous paragraph gestures toward
others who are seen as inferior due to their hailing from supposedly insigniﬁcant small
towns. Based on club members’ Asian phenotype, however, they will often be asked to
account for their difference, bringing their marginal roots to the fore; while young
adults ﬁom small towns across the US. may also feel their hometowns are inferior, they
may less frequently be asked to account for themselves in ways that make these stories

public. To be sure, this invisibility may raise its own challenges. While these small

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towns, however, like Hawai‘i, might similarly not be seen as the “real” place of
business or politics in contrast to New York City or Washington, DC, they are seen as
“real” to a degree—in some sense, more “real,” depending on which politician you
listen to. These are imagined as places where real people make real livings, though
perhaps considered inferior to the big city; Hawai‘i, in contrast, is imagined not as a
place to make a living, but as a vacation destination. While in Hawai‘i, as in these small
towns we have our parents and others as models for how a “real” life might be made
there, this goes against all continental constructions of Hawai‘i. While these small
towns may be constructed as inferior places to make a living, Hawai‘i is not constructed
at all as a place to make a living. This is perhaps a small difference, but one that may
yet have an effect, further encouraging perceptions of Hawai‘i’s inferiority in this arena,
though of course it is considered superior in terms of features like climate and natural
beauty.

Against this backdrop of the denigration of Hawai‘i and life in Hawai‘i, to some
degree, club members’ embrace of devalued aspects of “Local” culture like Spam and
Pidgin should be celebrated as a reclamation and new appreciation of the uniqueness of
their home. It is a great thing to be proud of where you are from and to acknowledge
what a place has provided you. Yet club members’ embrace of devalued aspects of
“Local” and Hawaiian culture might also be viewed as dependent on their privilege.
How Privilege May Enable this Reclamation
Club members’ status as students at primarily prestigious postsecondary institutions on
the continent, for example, may encourage them to represent themselves with Spam and

additional otherwise devalued markers of Hawai‘i and “Local” culture. Based on their

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status, in some senses, club members have less reason to be concerned that they will be
seen as inferior or provincial for eating Spam. That is, because their matriculation into
these schools is seen as a sign of success, they can embrace devalued food without
worrying that others will denigrate them for it. Pierre Bourdieu, for example, tells a
story about a politician from Paris who greets his audience in a lesser-valued language
when visiting a French province. While speakers of the provincial language are
generally seen as inferior to those from the capital, Bourdieu says that in the politician’s
case, no one doubts his ability to speak French and thus no one doubts his intelligence
or abilities (482). Club members’ references to Spam and use of Pidgin can be viewed
similarly—based on other markers of their status, they are able to mark their identities
with these without being looked down upon as others with these same practices might
be.

While not only based on privilege, club members’ distance from the “white
trashy” association that Patrick says Spam has also supports their self-representation
with the luncheon meat. While “white trash” is no doubt a derogatory label, inﬂected
with club members’ Asian appearance and stereotypes of Asians, this slur seems to
function similarly to stereotypes of Hawaiians and Paciﬁc Islanders. That is, alongside
stereotypes of Asians, it provides club members more space than either stereotype
alone. Like Hawaiians and Paciﬁc Islanders, “white trash” are also oppressed by
stereotypes quite different than those applied to Asians. Where poor whites are
constructed as uneducated or alternately celebrated as “populist[s]” (Beech 175, 182),
“model minority” stereotypes construct Asians as overly studious and as bad for the

“ordinary” folks that populism supports. Where poor whites are seen as “outdated” and

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“behind technologically” (Beech 175, 182), Asians are constructed as technologically
savvy and even futuristic. Nakamura, for example, says Asians are “characterized
‘naturally’ as always-already digital” (Cybertypes 23) and the “Orient [used] as a
signiﬁer of the future” in Blade Runner and other “cyberpunk narrative” (Digitizing
Race 121). Where the masculinity of poor white males is often celebrated in country
songs (Beech 178), Asian males are often ferninized (Nakamura 190, Lowe 11-12). In
contrast to these same country songs’ celebration of poor whites’ as “American
individua1[s]” (Beech 178), Asians are often seen as a foreign mass. Zhou and Lee, for
example, say Asians in the US. are often constructed as “‘foreign’ and non-American”
(1, 10). Nakamura similarly describes the way Asian technology workers in Silicon
Valley “are ﬁgured as permanent outcasts and outsiders” (Cybertypes 24). She further
explains that Asians are not constructed as individuals. Speaking of the same
technology workers, she says, they “are constructed as anonymous workers, an
undifferentiated pool of skilled (and grateful) labor,” and “a horde devoid of
individuality, a faceless mob” (N akarnura, Cybertypes 23). Spam itself is also seen as
“all American.” Lewis describes the way “most Americans had come to connect Spam
symbolically to an earlier time of innocent-but-hokey pride and patriotism” (87). While
he says this became “something to be collectively embarrassed about,” all-American
Spam is quite useful for Asians who are commonly perceived as foreigners. Marking
themselves with Spam may also inﬂect perceptions of Hawai‘i: the islands are seen as
exotic but perhaps the mundanity of Spam brings it down to earth.

Jennifer Beech in “Redneck and Hillbilly Discourse in the Writing Classroom”

describes her students’ reluctance to identify as “white trash,” saying, “given

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mainstream constructions of poor whites as deviants, this is understandable” (178).
While my participant, Patrick, did not exactly identify as “white trash” or evidence
pride in this connection, his use of the phrase does imply at the very least delight in it,
as there are other ways he could have conveyed the same message. For Beech’s
students, their proximity to “white trash” identities seems to make them uncomfortable
with it as she says, “at least ﬁve students indicated that they chose the course [titled
White Trash: Race and Class in America] because they came from a ‘redneck town’ or
they graduated from what their rivals had dubbed a ‘redneck high’” (Beech 177). That
is, these students might have previously been called “white trash” by others. In contrast
to Beech’s students, that Patrick chose to associate Spam with “white trash” shows how
his distance from this label enables him to use it.

As my colleague Stacey Pigg points out, for club members, pride in Spam is like
the trucker hat trend, popularized by celebrities like actor Ashton Kutcher. Trucker hats
must be worn ironically to be fashionable; if an actual trucker wears one, he does not
gain the social cachet that a young celebrity does. Of course this works in other ways as
well. The kefﬁyeh sold at the trendy boutique Urban Outﬁtters are only fashionable
when worn by young adults who do not appear to be Muslim. Maira describes the way
this works similarly with another fashion trend, saying, “in the United States henna
marks non-South Asians as trendy while until very recently mehndi worn by South
Asian women simply marked them as traditional, or at best exotic, and certainly always
other” (234). In some sense, then, it is simply about “distance” from the culture
associated with the trend. Yet it is also about privilege. Young adults of higher

socioeconomic status in the “west” are the ones seen as trendsetters—not truck drivers,

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Palestinians, South Asians, or poor whites. Thus, the desirability of marking their
identities through Spam is not only about race but also reﬂects club members’
socioeconomic status.

Club members’ use of Pidgin can also be understood as a reﬂection of their
privilege—in particular in terms of socioeconomic class and prestigious educations. On
club websites, club members make clear their skill in standardized English, despite their
use of Pidgin. They do this by incorporating Pidgin in sentences otherwise in
(occasionally quite formal) standardized English. A sentence on the Wellesley site, for.
example, reads, “Despite our diverse backgrounds, we still share common interests of
shopping for warm clothes during the fall, eating spam musubi at meetings, and ‘talking
story’ with one another” (“Club Information”). A sentence in a newsletter posted on the
UCI site reads, “Regardless of what ethnicity these local dishes came ﬁom, they are all
supah ono (delicious) and you should deﬁnitely try some in Hawaii if you ever get the
chance” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 20 February). While club members use Pidgin then,
within the same sentences, they also demonstrate their skill in standardized English.
Similar to the way Bourdieu’s politician ingratiates himself with provincial villagers,
club members also beneﬁt ﬁom using the devalued language—in their case to mark
their uniqueness, without jeopardizing their social status.

Conclusion
As discussed in Chapter 2, examining club members’ position at the intersection of
multiple identities enables considerations of how these inﬂect their self-representation.
In this chapter, we see this speciﬁcally with reference to devalued practices. That is,

while self-representation through aspects of “Local” culture like Pidgin and Spam might

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be viewed as reclamation of devalued practices, the desirability of these for club
members might be considered a reﬂection of the ways they are privileged. Thus, while
the embrace of devalued practices may be viewed positively, we might consider other
readings as well.

That continental Asian Americans are also drawn to “Local” and “Hawaiian”
culture, for example, points toward the use of these not only to reﬂect club members’
newfound pride in their home and felt distance from Asian America, but also a desired
distance from Asia/Asian America. Again, in representing themselves through “Local”
and “Hawaiian” culture, those of Asian ancestry—whether from Hawai‘i or the
continent—are responding to dominant constructions of Asians, which Mao and Young
identify as a common concern in Asian American rhetorical practices (2). Yet again the
use of “Local” and “Hawaiian” culture in responding to these dominant constructions
may have consequences that are not entirely innocent.

In marking themselves with Pidgin and Spam, club members can be said to
boost their own status while reinforcing the hierarchy that degrades these two items.
Returning to Bourdieu, the use of a devalued language by speakers of a more privileged
language, as in his story of the Parisian politician or in the case of club members, he
says, “enables the speaker to combine the proﬁts linked to the undirninished hierarchy
with those derived from the distinctly symbolic negation of the hierarchy—not the least
of which is the strengthening of the hierarchy implied by the recognition accorded to the
way of using the hierarchical relation” (481 -82). That is, the politician maintains his
status as a speaker of Parisian French yet gains bonus points, if you will, for using the

devalued language. He is praised for speaking the provincial language, although a

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province resident would not be. In addition, the recognition he receives for using the
devalued language reinforces the hierarchy that devalues it.

Similarly, club members do not risk their status as speakers (or writers) of
standardized English, yet gain bonus points for using Pidgin. It is considered admirable
when they use Pidgin because they are skilled in standardized English, though the use
of Pidgin is not seen as respectable in those who only speak this language. The cachet
of Pidgin for club members comes from their relatively privileged status. And this
prestige is also produced by the recognition of Pidgin’s low status, thus reinforcing its
hierarchical position and that of other speakers of Pidgin—those in Hawai‘i, those of
lower socioeconomic status, those with less prestigious educations.

Club members’ use of Pidgin may differ from the Parisian politician’s use of the
provincial language, however, in that, while the provincial language is clearly perceived
as outside the politician’s experience, continental audiences may see Pidgin as club
members’ language—perhaps their native tongue, transcended to attain academic
success. This view is encouraged by club members’ Othered appearance and continental
audiences’ lack of knowledge of Hawai‘i. If continental audiences do perceive Pidgin as
club members’ native language rather than one they deigned to use, this might
encourage continental audiences to see club members as foreign, which would make
even more crucial club members’ display of “Americanness” through demonstrated skill
in standardized English, as is evident throughout the websites. If Pidgin is perceived as
club members’ native language, however, continental audiences might also be

encouraged to view members as “model minorities,” as fulﬁlling the immigrant success

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narrative through talent and hard work. One way club members might disrupt this is

through the use of Hip Hop Nation Language as will be seen in Chapter 4.

 

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Chapter 4

“No Matter What, Black People are Americans”: Hip Hop Nation Language and
“American” and Person of Color Identities

In this chapter, I turn to the use of Hip Hop Nation Language (HHNL) on one club
website. While this language is primarily used on only one of the websites examined in

this study, in connection with the references to Asian/Asian American and Hawaiian

'

and “Local” culture, an analysis of the use of HHNL enables further understanding of

the cultural resources at club members’ disposal and the value of each for constructing

 

their identities. As in the discussion of Pidgin in Chapter 3, HHNL enables club ,
members to separate themselves from other Asians. As non-standard Englishes in L
particular, both enable club members to separate themselves from stereotypes of the

“model minority.” While Pidgin may still mark club members as foreign, however, in

part based on its unfamiliarity to continental audiences, HHNL has the potential to mark

club members as people of color and as “Americans.” That is, as HHNL is primarily

associated with African Americans, it potentially constructs club members as forming a

cross-race coalition, united with African Americans in acknowledgment of common

experiences of racism. Yet as HHNL has been co-opted by the mainstream media, it is

also seen as simply “American” culture—a language that marks current youth trends in

the US. I argue that the playful use of mainstreamed forms of HHNL on the University

of California, Irvine (UCI) club website, while drawing on dominant constructions of

Aﬁican Americans, more strongly depicts members as “American” than as people of

color speciﬁcally. The way HHNL is used on the UCI website serves to mark club

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members with a “safe” version of hip hop, in which connotations of race-based

affiliation, which are perceived as threatening multicultural ideals, have been diluted.41
My use and understanding of the term HHNL comes from sociolinguist H. Samy
Alim. According to Alim:
HHNL is rooted in Aﬁican American Language (AAL) and communicative
practices (Spady 1991 , Smithennan 1997, Yasin 1999). Linguistically, it is “the , i F
newest chapter in the African American book of folklore” (Rickford and

Rickford 2000). It is a vehicle driven by the culture creators of hip hop,

 

themselves organic members of the broader African American community. Thus . L
HHNL both reﬂects and expands the African American Oral Tradition. (393)

Of primary signiﬁcance for my argument is that HHNL has clear ties to African

American culture. It was formed and continues to develop in Aﬁican America and is

part of Aﬁican American “folklore” and AAL. While Alim also says, “HHNL is widely

spoken across the country, and used/borrowed and adapted/transformed by various

ethnic groups inside and outside of the United States,” it is signiﬁcant that he says these
groups “borrow” HHNL—presumably from Aﬁican Americans (394).42

In addition, regardless of the current demographics and other possible roots of
hip hop,43 it is popularly understood as African American and thus carries these

connotations of race and culture that can be used to mark oneself in certain ways. As

 

41 While there are also Asian and Asian American hip hop and hip hoppers, these have little
inﬂuence on the primary connotations of the music and culture. In fact, Asian American hip
hoppers are sometimes seen as inauthentic; that is, as trying to be Black, which is deﬁnitely not
an association that club members want.

42 Some scholars who discuss hip hop as part of global youth culture (i.e. as not only African
American) are Jill McKay Chrobak, Tricia Rose, and Deborah Wong.

43 See, for example, Wang.
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Asian American rhetoric scholar Haivan Hoang says, words have “memorial traces that
index past uses and varied signiﬁcation” (72). HHN L as a language can also be said to
have these memorial traces that signify Blackness no matter who is using it. Thus, while
the language used on Hawai‘i club websites is more accurately described as HHN L than
AAL, it similarly enables club members to mark themselves with connotations of
African Americans and African American culture to some degree.

While HHN L is strongly related to AAL more broadly, I use the term HHN L in
this chapter because the language used on Hawai‘i club websites is clearly inﬂuenced
by hip hop music and culture rather than by African American culture more broadly.
Many features of AAL, for example, the use of “‘Be’ and ‘Bees’ to indicate continuous
action or infrequently recurring activity,” as in the example, “Every time we see him, he
be dress like that” are not found on Hawai‘i club websites (Smithennan, “From Dead
Presidents” l3). Hawai‘i club websites only use some features of AAL: those which
have been featured in recent hip hop songs. These include dropping “‘r’ sound[s] at the
end of a word or after a vowel” and eliminating “is” and “are” from sentences
(Smitherman, “From Dead Presidents” 12-13) as in “what up playa?” a phrase used on a
newsletter posted on the UCI Hawai‘i club website (“Na ‘Opio,” 25 October). AAL is
comprised of many features of grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation, but the ones
used on club websites are primarily those that have been popularized through hip hop.

In this chapter I begin by discussing the use of HHN L on the UCI website,
speculating on the reasons it appears only on this club’s website and providing details
about the circumstances of its use. Next I discuss several functions of the use of HHNL

on this website, detailing how it (1) constructs club members as “Americans” by

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opposing dominant constructions of Asians as perpetual foreigners; (2) lends
masculinity, opposing representations of Asian American males as effeminate; and (3)
enables club members to perform the bond of their friendships. Regarding a fourth
possible function of the use of HHN L, that of building cross-race coalitions, I argue that
this function is not realized on the UCI website. Ultimately then, the use of HHNL on
the UCI website enables club members to draw on dominant constructions of Aﬁican
Americans, but in such a way that club members are marked as “Americans” more than
as people of color. In this way, club members are able to maintain the more valuable
“American” identity and avoid the risks of people of color identity, which, as it claims
an experience of racism, can be perceived as threatening dominant “Local” values and
multicultural ideals on the continent, thus jeopardizing club members’ claims to “Local”
and “American” identities.

The Use of HHNL as a Reﬂection of the UCI Context and Website Composition
Among the nine club websites I studied, HHNL is primarily used only on the UCI
Hawai‘i club website. While other clubs mainly use English, Hawaiian, and Pidgin—
and these languages dominate the UCI club’s page as well, HHN L is used much more
frequently on the UCI club’s website than other languages like Japanese, Spanish, and
Samoan, which are used at most a few times.

Of 76 d—units on the UCI club’s website in which HHNL is used, all but one is
in the club newsletters (which were posted as PDFs on the website), most frequently in

a feature called “shout-outs,” but also in paragraphs introducing club members, photo

129

captions, and articles about past or upcoming events.44 One shout-out, for example,
reads “Gee: what up playa? We are unstoppable at Madden!” (“Na ‘Opio,” 25 October)

‘6 99
1'

evidencing the elimination of “is” and the dropping of the postvocalic (Smithennan,
“From Dead Presidents” 12-13). Another reads, “Keoki: irnma get you sucka! Don’t

stand around soft ground!” (“Na ‘Opio,” 25 October) again evidencing the dropping of

the postvocalic “r.” The use of HHNL on the UCI page relative to the websites of the E
other Hawai‘i clubs may be a result of (l) the geographic context of the UCI club, (2)

the vast amount of web content this club has created, (3) the amount of content

representing individual members rather than the club as a whole, (4) the amount of

 

content targeted toward an audience of club members (rather than toward outsiders),
and/or (5) the greater amount of informal and playful content on this website.

As previously mentioned, the UCI club is the only one included in this study
that makes extensive use HHNL. HHN L is also used once on the website of one other
club, that of Menlo College, which is located near San Francisco. As two of three clubs
included in this study that are located in California, it seems geography may inﬂect the
use of HHNL. (The one other California club included in this study is Stanford
University, also located near San Francisco, which has quite limited content posted
online. Other clubs are located in Washington state, Oregon, the Midwest, and the East
coast.) According to Ted Chung, described by Deborah Wong in Speak It Louder: Asian
Americans Making Music as “a ﬁrst-year undergrad at the University of Pennsylvania in

1995-96 and a Korean American DJ and MC [who] grew up in Los Angeles,” hip hop is

 

44 The only use of HHNL that did not occur in the newsletters appeared on a banner made by
members in support of the club’s volleyball team, which was visible in a photo of club activities
shared in the lu‘au program, another document posted as a PDF on the club’s website.

130

much more racially diverse in California than on the East coast (Wong 181-82, 185).
Having attended hip hop shows put on by the same group (The Pharcyde) in Califomia
and at the University of Pennsylvania, he says that in California, one-third of the
audience is white, one-third Asian, and one-third Black, while at Penn the audience is
all Black (Wong 185). Ultimately, Chung says, hip hop is “strongly identiﬁed with
Blackness” on the East coast, while this is not the case in California (cited in Wong
186). The use of HHNL on the UCI website then might be understood as a reﬂection of
the club’s location in California, where hip hop is less strongly associated with
Blackness than it is in other parts of the US. Perhaps this increases the value of HHN L
for club members in the California context, as it still enables them to mark themselves
with connotations of African America, but in an environment in which hip hop is to a
greater degree seen as the culture of American youth rather than of Aﬁican Americans
in particular.

The use of HHNL on the UCI club website may also reﬂect simply the amount
of content they have posted. I counted the UCI website as having a total of 794 d-units;
in contrast, the site with the next largest number of d-units had only 86. In addition, the
UCI club was the only one that posted biannual newsletters on their website. Each of
the four newsletters posted is approximately 8 letter-sized pages long and includes
several articles aboutHawai‘i, past or upcoming events, and/or individual club
members in addition to what club members term “shout-outs.”

One reason for the use of HHNL on the UCI club website may be that to a much
greater degree than on any other, this website provides opportunities for members to

represent themselves individually, rather than the club as a whole. As previously

131

mentioned, HHN L is largely used in shout-outs, short notes club members write to each
other, somewhat in the format of messages signed in yearbooks, as they sometimes
express gratitude, reach out in a ﬁiendly manner, or reference inside jokes. Shout-outs
represent individual members, in contrast to the primary website text, which represents
the club as a whole, for example, in detailing the club’s mission or activities. It is clear,
for example, that shout-outs are authored by different members rather than by one
person charged with composing the newsletter. That is, while some web content, like
the text on the “About Us” page, may be created by a single webmaster charged with
representing the club as a whole, shout-outs are authored by individuals who have no
charge of collective representation. Some shout-outs, for example, are signed by a
member named Kristin, while others are signed by someone named Francie (“NOOK
Newsletter,” 20 February). Because they represent individual members, perhaps the use
of HHN L in shout-outs reﬂects that, in contrast with standardized English, Hawaiian or
Pidgin, HHNL is considered less appropriate for representing the club as a whole. The
club overall is deﬁned by Hawai‘i and its languages of Hawaiian and Pidgin, while

HHN L is more appropriate for some club members than others. (And standardized

English is the “default.” 45) The UCI Hawai‘i club website is the only one on which
shout-outs appear and the only one on which individual members have a voice in this
way. On other Hawai‘i club websites, for example, it is rare for authors of any text to be

identiﬁed, indicating that the passage represents the club as a whole. When authors are

 

45 English is most club members’ primary language. Of eight participants who were asked what
languages they speak, four did not even mention English, only discussing those languages they
had studied in school. It seems English was assumed, as all participants are ﬂuent in English,
based on their admission to competitive post-secondary institutions, and interviews were canied
out in English. In addition, one participant says that the only language he speaks is English and
only two report speaking another language (Korean and Cantonese) at home, indicating that
these may be their ﬁrst languages or ones they know as well as English.

132

identiﬁed, such as in a letter posted on the Northwestern University site signed by the
club’s co-presidents, their leadership position indicates that they speak for the club
more broadly (“Donations”). Thus, perhaps HHN L appears on the UCI club website
because of the opportunity for individual members to represent themselves, rather than
the club as a whole, through shout-outs and introductory paragraphs. The term “shout-
out” itself also has been popularized through hip hop so perhaps this too encourages the
use of HHNL in this genre.

HHNL may also be used primarily on the UCI site because the language is
considered more appropriate for an audience of club members rather than outsiders and
the former is more frequently addressed on the UCI site than on other club websites.
This can be seen, for example, in the use of HHNL in UCI newsletters, which, in
contrast to other parts of the website, are more explicitly addressed to members. In
contrast, the “Booking Info” page on the UCI site, for example, seems targeted at
outsiders. This page, which invites readers to submit requests for club members to
dance at their event, is in standardized English and has images of female dancers in the
background; that is, it targets continental audiences through language and by engaging
with continental perceptions of hula dancers as symbolic of Hawai‘i.46 Articles in the
newsletters, in contrast, are clearly targeted at club members. They address club
members, for example, in statements like, “If you guys are new to the club I really

suggest going to the after events and on the excursions we have (camping,

 

46 Images on other pages similarly portray stereotypic views of Hawai‘i, but if we assume they
are targeted primarily at club members, these images, for example, scenic shots of sunsets and
mountains, can be understood as showing some of the things club members miss about home.
Several participants, for example, said they missed the beach and scenery.

133

ski/snowboarding, Vegas). It’s the best way to get to know your fellow NOOKers [Na
‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina club members]” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 17 October 2007) and:
I hope everyone enjoyed spending some time with our NOOK ‘ohana. Didn’t go
on Ski Trip and now you feel left out? Or just had soooo much fun that you’re
already having trip withdrawals? FEAR NOT!! Vegas Trip is gonna be just as
crazy and thrice as awesome! Mark your calendars NOW for May l8-20th. And
even if you’re not 21 yet, no worries, cuz you know we’re gonna have some fun
of our own... :) (“Na ‘Opio,” 7 March)
While these messages do not use HHNL, their appearance in two different club
newsletters shows that these publications are addressed to club members, advising them
to participate in activities in order to get to know other members and get in on the fun.
In addition, while these parts of the UCI website are not restricted from audiences—that
is, they are all available online, the newsletters are somewhat hidden in that they are not
on the main page. Thus, HHNL may also be used in the newsletters because it is seen as
appropriate for communicating to members, while standardized English, Hawaiian, and
Pidgin are the languages they want to use to represent the club “ofﬁcially” to outsiders.
HHNL is perceived as valuable for representing club members in an “unofﬁcial”
capacity—marking their personal entertainment interests, for example.

HHN L may also be used only on the UCI site because it is used in less formal
and more playful elements, which do not have equivalents on other club websites.
HHNL is used alongside other aspects of continental popular culture in the newsletters
and videos shared on the UCI website. These are places where the personalities and

playfulness of club members come through with references to inside jokes, various

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elements of popular culture, and sexual innuendo. Two music videos created by club
members, for example, are to the Black Eyed Peas’ song “My Humps” and a song from
the 2007 fairy-tale movie Enchanted. Titles of some of the club’s YouTube videos
make use of sexual innuendo, such as in the titles, “butt to breasts,” “My plug for your
socket,” “Girl on girl,” and “Snatch!” (“Media”). None of the other club websites in this
study posted newsletters or videos. In addition, there is a notable difference between
this content and the more informational, more formal content. Besides the newsletters
and videos, most content on the UCI club’s website is fairly straightforward and
informational and does not use HHN L. The main page, for example, describes the
purpose of the club, while the “Member Info” page asks members to ﬁll out a form with
the kinds of activities they would like the club to host (Na ‘Opio, “Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina
— Hawai‘i Club Member Information”). On the UCI site, then, HHN L is limited to less
formal parts of the website; as these elements do not have equivalents on other club
websites, this may explain why HHNL is not used on those websites.

These features of HHNL use may help explain why it appears primarily on the
UCI page rather than on other club websites: because of the California context, the vast
amount of web content the UCI club has created, the amount of content representing

individual members and addressed at fellow members, and the amount of informal and
playful content.47 In the remainder of this chapter, I consider several functions of the
use of HHN L on the UCI website.

The Functions of HHNL

 

47 The use of HHNL on the UCI club’s website also aligns with Alirn’s description of HHNL as
occurring primarily in “hip hop centered cultural activities, but also during other playful,
creative, artistic, and intimate settings” (396).

135

 

As mentioned above, UCI club members use HHN L primarily when addressing other
club members, yet these texts are also made available on a website on which other texts
are addressed to a broader (and at least partially continental) audience. Thus, the use of
HHN L also functions to represent club members in certain ways to this continental
audience. I argue that the use of HHNL on the UCI website functions to counter
stereotypes of Asian Americans as perpetual foreigners and Asian American males as
efferninate and to mark bonds between members. In using HHN L, a language associated E

with African American culture, club members are able to mark themselves through d

 

dominant perceptions of African Americans—that is, as deﬁnitively “American” and as #
masculine. As a non-standard language, HHN L also enables club members to mark their
bonds. Standardized English, after all, is the language we generally use with strangers,
particularly in a college enviromnent; non-standard languages, in contrast, mark a kind
of familiarity. While the use of Hawaiian and Pidgin as Other languages can also mark
bonds between club members, HHNL—because of its familiarity to continental
audiences—enables club members to do this in a way that is more comprehensible to
this audience, using speciﬁc vocabulary, for example that points to those bonds.
Marking “Americanness, " Opposing Constructions of Asians as Foreigners
Using HHN L is a way for club members to mark themselves as “Americans.” Club
members are, for the most part, US. citizens, but given stereotypes of Asians as
perpetual foreigners, they may not always be seen as such. As Asian American studies
scholar David Palumbo-Liu says, in the 1996 US. presidential campaign, “successful,
well-to-do Asian Americans found themselves ‘foreignized’ and investigated for

contributing to the Democratic National Committee. Was this ‘American’ money, or

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‘Asian’ money?” (5). Thomas Nakayama further explains in “‘Model Minority’ and the
Media: Discourse on Asian America,” “The distinction between ‘Asian’ and ‘Asian
American’ is quietly ignored. Not only are Asian Americans who have lived in this
country for generations treated, discursively, as identical to Asians who have never left
Asia, they are often distinguished from ‘Americans’” (68, qtd. in Palumbo-Liu 212).
Participants, though admittedly none of them belong to the UCI club, do
evidence concerns and/or challenges with being seen as “American,” indicating that this
is a concern on the continent. Dan’s representation of a typical initial interaction with
those on the continent, for example, points toward perceptions that his heritage in Asia
is more signiﬁcant than the fact that he has lived his entire life in the US. As he tells it,
his conversation partners are not typically satisﬁed when Dan says he is from Hawai‘i
and ask, “where are you really from?” the question that many Asian Americans
repeatedly face. Michelle also hints that it is better to be perceived as “American” as she
says that Asians who “don’t look FOB [fresh off the boat, a derogatory term for recent
immigrants]” have an easier time getting along in South Bend, Indiana, where she
attends school. UCI club members, similar to Dan and Michelle, may also face similar
challenges and prefer to be seen as “American” and use HHNL in order to address this.
In addition, as US. citizens who, for the most part, have lived their entire lives
in the US, perhaps club members simply want to reﬂect the prominence of
“Americanness” in their lives. As Dan says, “Other than [the club’s annual] luau and
some spam nights, most of the things we do [as a club] are predominantly east-coast[:]

shopping trips, snowboarding, dinners.” Club members are US. citizens and do share

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many pastimes for example with their continental peers; using features of HHNL that
are perceived as “American” enables them to highlight this.

Using HHN L on their website enables UCI club members to construct
themselves as “American” because while Asian Americans are constructed as perpetual
foreigners, African Americans, despite economic and social dispossession, are seen as
deﬁnitively American—to the point that many of their creations (jazz, rock and roll, and F
the Civil Rights movement, for starters) have been co-opted as “American” culture and

history. One participant, Patrick, acknowledges perceptions of Aﬁican Americans as .

 

Americans and describes other Asians’ and Asian Americans’ understanding of this as E
well. In describing his interactions with others of Asian heritage on the continent,
Patrick says, “it [. . .] seems like [. . .] if you’re not part of their [other Asians’] ethnicity
group and they can’t readily identify you with another asian ethnicity then you’re
american. so no matter what white and black people are arnericans.” That is, those of
Asian heritage that he interacts with on the continent seem to assume that Blacks and -
whites are Americans, but do not make the same assumption with those of Asian
phenotype.

While perceptions of African Americans as Americans are based in part on the
problematic co-optation of Aﬁican American culture and labor,48 they also demonstrate
the degree to which Aﬁican Americans are incorporated as Americans and Aﬁican

American culture seen as American culture. Sociolinguist Cecelia Cutler, for example,

 

48 See Andrea Smith for a discussion of the construction of African Americans as slaveable
property, an argument I considered in my characterization here of the appropriation of African
American culture as also an appropriation of African American labor. That is, just as the wealth
created by African American slaves was co-opted, the culture created by African Americans has
been co-opted.

138

describes the way HHNL and other aspects of hip hop culture are used by her white,
upper class participant, but not as “an attempt to construct a black identity. Instead, it
laid claim to participation in hip-hop as the dominant consumption-based youth culture”
(434-35). Angela Reyes similarly says, in “Appropriation of African American Slang by
Asian American You ,” “instead of passing as ﬂuent AAVE [Aﬁican American
Vernacular English49] speakers or trying to ‘act black’, many Asian Americans use
AAVE features to lay claim to participation in an urban youth style” (511). Hip hop is
in many ways seen more as “urban youth culture” than as Black culture. Some scholars
have argued that hip hop also has Asian American and Latino roots (Wang); others
describe it as strongly resulting from Black experience (Alim). Either way, perceptions
of hip hop as “youth culture” strengthen its value for club members who aim to
represent their engagement with American pop culture. That is, while white
appropriation of HHNL and other aspects of Aﬁican American culture may be
problematic, it has functioned to make these in some respects “mainstream.” And for
the purpose of Asian Americans, who are often constructed as perpetual foreigners, this
mainstreaming encourages their use of HHN L as well.

This is not without problems, however, as, in using HHNL to mark themselves
as “Americans,” club members support the construction of hip hop as “American”
culture, neglecting the formation of HHNL as a response to “sociopolitical
circumstances,” for example, of “excessive police presence and brutality” in Black

neighborhoods (Alim 394). While hip hop culture may not be 100% Aﬁican American,

 

49 As Smitherman says, “Terms for this language [spoken by Aﬁican Americans] vary—Black
Talk, African American Vernacular English, Black or Aﬁican American Language, Black
English, Black Dialect, Ghetto Speech, Street Talk, Ebonics, and others” (“From Dead
Presidents” l )

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there is no doubt that Blacks have made vast contributions to hip hop. And in a context
in which African American culture is continuously stolen and marked “American,” this
attempted erasure cannot be overlooked. That is, while HHNL is a valuable tool for
marking club members as “American,” this is somewhat problematic, as its value
depends on mainstream appropriation of HHN L.

Representing Masculinity, Opposing Constructions of Asian Males as Eﬂeminate
Using HHNL also provides a way for male club members to oppose stereotypes that
construct them as feminine. As discussed in Chapter 3, Asian and Asian American men
are often depicted in the media as effeminate, homosexual, or asexual (N akamura,
Digitizing Race 185, 190; Zhou and Lee 10; Lowe 11-12). Chun speciﬁcally says that
her Korean American participant, J in, draws on “the stereotypical image of the ‘hip,
male, adolescent, street, or gang-related’ African American (Morgan 1994:135)” in
order “to subvert stereotypes of Asians as passive confonnists” (Chun 58). The value
not only of HHNL but of hip hop culture more broadly for male club members can also
be seen in their adoption of “its sartorial style” (Wong 181). Cutler, for example,
describes the way her upper class, white participant Mike’s “baggy jeans, a reverse
baseball cap, [and] designer sneakers” marked his identiﬁcation with hip hop culture
(429). In photographs of club members on the UCI club website (especially in club
newsletters) some males can similarly be seen wearing the reverse baseball cap Cutler
describes, along with a t-shirt printed with grafﬁti-style writing (“Na ‘Opio,” 25
October). It is only the male club members, however, whose attire points toward the

inﬂuence of hip hop, gesturing toward the value of this style particularly for Asian men.

140

HHN L is also often used on the club website when talking about stereotypically
masculine activities like video games, sports, and strip clubs. One shout-out, for
example, reads, “Jon: thanks for always coming out! Now that you are 18 we will hit up
the you know what! Haha” (“Na ‘Opio,” 25 October). Given that Jon’s turning 18 is
mentioned and that the author does not want to say where they will go, it seems likely
that he is referring to an adult entertainment establishment, a context generally seen as
aimed toward serving men. Another shout-out reads, “Gee: what up playa? We are
unstoppable at Madden!” referring to a popular football video game, with both football
and gaming seen as male domains (“Na ‘Opio,” 25 October). Similar to the use of
constructions of African Americans as “Americans” to defy stereotypes of Asian
Americans as perpetual foreigners, this stereotype of African Americans that Chun
describes can oppose stereotypes of Asian American males as effeminate.

The use of HHNL to mark male club members’ masculinity also reﬂects the
mainstreaming of hip hop culture. In photos on the UCI site, for example, almost all
males wear relatively baggy jeans similar to what Cutler describes, yet I did not
consider these as explicitly marking afﬁliations with hip hop culture because this has
become the style of young men in the US. It is hard to delineate between “hip hop”
baggy jeans and “mainstreamed” baggy jeans. The backward baseball cap seems to
more deﬁnitively mark hip hop affiliation, although this might also be argued otherwise.
I read the baseball cap in this way primarily because the individual wearing the grafﬁti-
style t-shirt (a much more explicit marker of hip hop culture) also wears a backward
baseball cap. While hip hop style and language are strongly associated with African

American culture, they have also become part of mainstream U.S. culture more

141

generally. As a result, HHN L functions to mark masculinity because of its roots in

African American culture,50 but white usage inﬂects perceptions of the language in
ways that also beneﬁts club members.

While hyperrnasculinity may appeal to Asian American males because of the
way they are, in contrast, emasculated, hypennasculinity comes with its own problems.
Aﬁ'ican American writer Brent Staples, for example, describes a young woman’s
suspicion of him, seeing him as “a mugger, a rapist, or worse” while he is just out for a '
walk in Chicago (19). And as Staples says, “being perceived as dangerous is a hazard in
itself. I only needed to turn a comer into a dicey situation, or crowd some frightened,
armed person in a foyer somewhere, or make an errant move after being pulled over by
a policeman. Where fear and weapons meet———and they often do in urban America—
there is always the possibility of death” (19-20). While HHNL is in some sense
perceived as linked to this view of Black males that Staples describes, white
appropriation of HHNL makes the language more acceptable, less threatening,
sanitized. It becomes just another trend on MTV. Club members’ use of HHNL draws
on both African American and white use of the language. Club members are able to
mark themselves as masculine but without the negative consequences that this has for
African American males. This is, in some sense, inﬂected by club members’ physical
appearances—that is, it is because they are not Black that they can use HHNL without
fully taking on connotations attached to African Americans. Yet those connotations are
also ﬁltered through white appropriation of HHNL, which ﬁlrthers the acceptability of

the language.

 

50 African Americans are often represented as hyper-masculine, for example, as physically
strong and skilled at sports.

142

Representing a Bond

The use of HHN L on the UCI website also represents a connection between members.
Geneva Smitherrnan, for example, describes the way the usage of “[t]erms symbolizing
bonding with other Blacks” like “BLOOD, HOMES, MEMBER” increased as Aﬁican
American populations became more dispersed (“From Dead Presidents” 26). Similar
terms are also used on the UCI website in the shout-out “Gee-What up homie. . .” (“Na
‘Opio,” 25 October, emphasis mine) and in an introductory paragraph that reads in part
“for the peeps who have yet to know me, some of the things that I like to do for fun
include being a car enthusiast, hanging out with friends, and just simply kicking back
without having to worry about the stresses in our everyday lives” (“Na ‘Opio,” 25
October, emphasis mine). As they did for dispersed African American populations,
perhaps these terms similarly function for club members to mark their common bond
(being from Hawai‘i) while on the continent, to emphasize their connection and support
for each other in this new place in order to deal with their homesickness.

The use of HHNL in representing these bonds depicts these connections as
“American” in contrast to the single-race or ethnicity cliques that participants disparage.
These single-race/ethnicity cliques are in some sense seen as “Asian,” as participants
most often commented on cliques made up of those of Asian heritage. Patrick, for
example, says, “all the asiany people I’ve met in illinois form groups around a single
ethnicity.” Other participants too commented on the segregation between individuals of
different racial and ethnic backgrounds, speciﬁcally those of Asian heritage, at their
schools. Yet the same critique might be leveled at Hawai‘i clubs. While club rosters to

some extent reﬂect diverse membership in terms of ethnicity and race, they are still

143

heavily Asian American. All but one participant, for example, said their club was
“mostly asian.” Perhaps the similarity between Hawai‘i clubs and these so-called
“Asian cliques” encourages club members to use HHN L in order to differentiate
themselves. While one participant, Cara, for example, was among those who described
herself as different from those who socialize only with others of Asian ancestry, she had
a hard time deﬁning the difference between continental Asian/Asian American
“cliques” and social groups formed by those from Hawai‘i. She said, “maybe it’s just
more noticeable when they [continental Asians/Asian Americans] do congregate. maybe
i’m just biased, but it seems like you can always locate groups ofmainland-asians on
campus. hawaii-asians get together, but it’s usually after school/weekends, etc.” This
difference seems miniscule, pointing to the need to differentiate themselves from so-
called Asian “cliques” in other ways, for example, through the use of HHN L. While
markers of Hawaiian and “Local” culture also function to separate club members from
continental Asian Americans, “Local” references in particular, because of continental
audiences’ unfamiliarity with them can easily be misunderstood. In addition, because it
sometimes comes as a surprise to continental audiences that Hawai‘i is part of the US,
marking oneself with Hawai‘i might still cause others to see one as “foreign.” HHN L in
contrast is understood by continental audiences as clearly “American.”

As with the other ﬁrnctions of HHNL, white appropriation has also inﬂected the
meaning of bonding terms. While Smitherman characterizes “homes,” a likely precursor
to “homie,” as “symbolizing bonding with other Blacks,” “homie” and “peeps” no
longer carry this connotation of racial solidarity. That is, their appropriation in the

mainstream have taken them out of their socio-political context and made them generic

144

terms for ﬁiends. This too beneﬁts club members as it enables them to mark their bonds
without connoting the single-race/ethnicity groups that participants decry. As discussed
in Chapter 2, participants’ opposition to these groups can in some sense he read as
resistance to what they perceive as a “political” grouping. Lauren, as previously
mentioned, reads what she describes as race-based groups as formed out of their
members’ sense of struggle, which she cannot relate to based on her upbringing as an
individual of Japanese and Chinese ancestry in Hawai‘i. It seems likely that other club
members as well are not interested in race-based solidarity. This is not what they want
from terms like “homie” and “peeps.” Thus, the use of these terms on the UCI website
depends on their mainstream appropriation, in which connotations of racial solidarity
are reduced.

Building Cross-Race Coalitions?

It is important to note that the use of HHNL on the UCI website, especially in light of
mainstream appropriation, does not necessarily point toward afﬁliations with African
Americans. Scholars have considered the way appropriation of AAL might ﬁrnction to
build bridges between white and Black communities. David Claerbaut, for example, in
Black Jargon in White America, published in 1972, notes that the use of AAL by white
entertainers often “represents a naive attempt to identify with black people and form
some sort of meaningful bond”(qtd. in Smitherrnan, “From Dead Presidents” 28).
Claerbaut ultimately concludes however, as does Smitherrnan, that this is theft. 1 would
argue that the same is true for club members. While Chun and Reyes see Asian
American uses of AAL and HHN L as ﬁrnctioning, in some senses, quite differently than

white appropriation, I am disinclined to make this argument regarding club members

145

because, for the most part, there seems to be a distance between them and Aﬁican
Americans that exists both in Hawai‘i and on the continent. By “distance,” I mean both
minimal interaction with and perceived difference. It seems that in order to align oneself
with African Americans, one would ﬁrst need a certain extent of interaction or felt
connection with members of the group. This is not reﬂected in club mernbers’ use of
HHNL or their descriptions of their experiences either in Hawai‘i or on the continent.

Lack of engagement with African Americans. Club members’ use of HHN L

reﬂects engagement with mainstream media more than with Aﬁican American culture.
Club members use vocabulary, for example, from popular hip hop songs; that is, those
that are accessible via mainstream channels like MTV. In a report in a newsletter on a
nightclub event, for example, phrases from these songs are woven in. The article reads,
in part:
After working out some issues wit the Candyman, everyone got their freak on.
Once the playahs started buying the shawtys dranks, we were really crankin that.
[. . .] The [club’s executive] board girls dropped it like it was hot, shook it like a
salt shaker, and moved their body like a cyclone all night. As for all our
members who came out... What u know about them?! Big things were deﬁnitely
poppin’ on this evening, so next time NOOK [Na ‘Opio o Ka ‘Aina, the UCI
Hawai‘i club] throws a party, you know what it is. (“NOOK Newsletter,” 20
February 2008)
This passage uses phrases popularized by Missy Elliot’s “Get Ur Freak On,” Soulja
Boy’s “Crank Dat,” Snoop Dogg’s “Drop it Like it’s Hot,” the Ying Yang Twins’ “Salt

Shaker,” Baby Bash’s “Cyclone,” and T.I’s “You Know What It Is,” to name a few.

146

 

Other HHNL phrases that club members use are also ones that have entered the
mainstream; the phrase “thug life” (“NOOK Newsletter,” 17 October 2007) was
popularized by Tupac Shakur, “step up” (“Na ‘Opio,” 7 March) was the name of a 2006
movie, and the insertion of Zs into words like “T riiiizzzle” and “Heazzy” (“NOOK
Newsletter,” 20 February 2008) was popularized by Snoop Dog. In addition, a 2003
Wall Street Journal article discusses the replacement of “s” with “z” in the names of
children’s toys like the Bratz dolls,rsnack products like Carefree Coolerz gum, and
music albums targeted at children like Kidz Bop 2 (Tkacik). The news article references
as a possible mainstream origin the movie Boyz in the Hood. Other terms, like “the
born ,” “gurl,” “24/7,” “my bad,” and “represent,” are so common in hip hop and
Hollywood movies that it is difficult to identify exactly how they were ﬁrst popularized.
Thus, while some Asian Americans’ use of African American slang may reﬂect social
class and proximity to African Americans (e. g. J in’s use of the term “whitey” in Chun’s
article and Reyes’ participants’ use of Aﬁican American slang), club members’ use of
HHN L seems to reﬂect only their engagement with mainstream media. Reyes also
speciﬁcally notes that the AAVE slang her research focuses on includes terms still
perceived as having strong connections to African Americans, insinuating that she may
have come to different conclusions if she had studied terms that have become more
mainstreamed.

Participants also make clear that they did not grow up around many African
Americans. Regarding a statement about Hawai‘i’s ethnic and racial diversity, for
example, Amy says, “i dont think we’re that diverse [in Hawai‘i], actually, all we have

are white people and asians, we don’t have that many hispanics, african americans, or

147

 

europeans.” Chris describes the community he grew up in as, “mixed? not a lot of white
people though. or blacks. Mostly j apanese/chinese/ﬁlipino.” He also says of the
population of the Hawai‘i club he belongs to, “i think a lot of them are japanese. almost
all are asian, and we have like 5 white people. no blacks. and a handful of Hawaiians.”
This is likely the case for other club members as well, as the African American
population in Hawai‘i is very small, comprising only 2.8% of the population in 2000
(Okamura, Ethnicity 29). Many participants similarly describe their school communities
as not including many African Americans. Amy says the population at her school
includes “more black people than at home [in Hawai‘i] but not a large number.” Lauren
similarly says, “penn is really diverse. Lots of international students, all 50 states
represented. Big Jewish community. Many minorities, but deﬁnitely less latino and
black students. Lots of asians. Lots of Indians. Lots of white kids.”

Dzﬂering experiences of social class and struggle. It seems club members

may also perceive themselves as different from African Americans based on different
experiences of struggle. Scholars who discuss Asian American afﬁliations with African
Americans, for examme, often point to similarities in terms of hardships of social class
or racism. Reyes, for example,describes the way her participant Sokla characterizes
some Asian Americans as having more afﬁnities with Aﬁican Americans than others,
based on these factors (519). She says, “Sokla (Cambodian American male)
metapragrnatically constructed an explicit alliance between Aﬁican Americans and
Asian Americans, but [. . .] the alliance only worked with a certain kind of Asian: the
Other Asian,” by which he meant, not East Asians, but “post-1975 Southeast Asian

refugees (like himself),” who he saw as “in a similar position as African Americans

148

9”

because they both struggled socio-economically and ‘against white power (Reyes
518-19). Reyes describes the way Sokla uses the AAVE phrase “na mean” in speaking
about “deviant behaviors” like stealing, laziness, violence, and dealing drugs, and
expresses her concern that his joining of these perpetuates stereotypes of Aﬁican
Americans as associated with these activities. She reports, however, “Sokla told me that
he wanted to connect his life as a South—east Asian refugee to that of many Aﬁican
Americans in order to educate wider audiences about the struggles of growing up as a
young person of color in a poor urban area” (Reyes 520). That is, Sokla saw parallels
between his experiences and that of African Americans and used AAVE to mark these
similarities.

In contrast to Sokla, Lauren says, “i can’t identify as well with asian arnericans
who identify in some way with racial struggle.” This seems to exclude her—and other
club members who have not felt “like true minorities”—from the kinds of afﬁliation
Reyes describes Sokla as experiencing. In addition, as Sokla characterizes the struggles
that he (and other Southeast Asians) shares with African Americans as deﬁned by
socioeconomics and “white power,” it seems club members would be limited in their
afﬁliations with Aﬁican Americans and hip hop culture in this way as well. Alim also
describes links between HHN L and class struggle, describing the language as
inﬂuenced by its formation in “depressed and oppressed Black neighborhoods” and
citing KRS-One’s deﬁnition of “street language” as including “the correct
pronunciation of one’s native and national language as it pertains to life in the inner-

city” (404, 396). Thus, Alim similarly characterizes HHNL as the province of the

working class.

149

 

Club members’ inability to relate to African Americans in the way that Sokla
does can be seen in their having grown up as part of an Asian American majority, but
also in their social class status. That is, club members are often from middle to upper
class backgrounds. Of nine participants, ﬁve describe themselves as middle class, three
as upper middle, and one as upper. On the lower end is one who says her parents’
combined annual income is $60,000. On the higher end, one participant says his parents
have a “low six digit income” and another says his parents are a physician and medical
technologist. In addition, as discussed in Chapter 1, all but one participant is a graduate
of a private high school. In addition, one of my participants, Patrick, says his club (if
not others) primarily attracts graduates of private high schools. He says, “there are a
bunch of others [from Hawai‘i who attend the same post-secondary institution] but they
refuse to associate with the hawaii club cause it’s run by private school kids.”

While none of my participants is a member of the UCI club, they likely have
similar socioeconomic class backgrounds. Okamura says that it is those of relative
privilege who are most likely to attend college on the continent in the ﬁrst place. He
explains:

Due to the considerable ﬁnancial cost, Hawai‘i students who attend college in

the continental United States tend to be from the more socioeconomically

advantaged ethnic groups, that is, Chinese Americans, Whites, and Japanese

Americans. [. . .F or example] 87 percent of the 1998 graduates of Punahou

School (one of the top private high schools) left Hawai‘i to attend college

(Leong 1999: A8). (Okamura, Ethnicity 39)

150

In addition, UCI club members who reference their high school alma maters in
introductions made available on the club website indicate that they are alumni of the
private institutions ‘Iolani School, Punahou School, and Sacred Hearts Academy
(“NOOK Newsletter,” 17 October 2007). Other club members say they are ﬁ'om the
middle-class neighborhoods Mililani and Kaneohe (“NOOK Newsletter,” 17 October
2007). In addition, UCI is a competitive school, part of the University of California
system for which “students have to rank in the top 12.5% of California high school E
graduates to be eligible” (Chea). While this criteria applies only to students from

California, admission is clearly strict. In addition, controversies over the UC admission

 

policy over the past 30 years, the most recent policy (which will take effect in 2012)
critiqued for decreasing Asian American students (Chea), indicate that admission to the
UC system is highly desirable.

OﬁC-kilter uses of HHNL. In addition, the way club members use HHNL, as

detailed throughout this chapter, also discourages seeing their efforts as aimed toward
cross-race coalitions with African Americans. It is in fact the entrenchment of hip hop
culture as “urban yoUth culture” that enables HHNL to mark the club as it does—
marking them as “Americans,” as just masculine enough, and as bonded, but not over
race. That is, while HHNL carries connotations of Aﬁican American culture, it is
sanitized in its appropriation into mainstream U.S. culture, made palatable and safe.
This enables club members to use HHNL to mark themselves with the “trace” of
Blackness without marking themselves with derogatory views of Aﬁican Americans,
for example, as physically threatening or overly political. As with their use of Pidgin,

the language is used as “spice.” Their use of the language is a little off-kilter, as will be

151

seen below—reﬂecting not full entrenchment in the culture, not a perfect reproduction,
but engagement with hip hop culture as commodity, only for what it affords them.
Club members’ distance ﬁ'om hip hop culture can be read in their use of HHN L
in ways that are a little off-kilter, even mocking. It often seems members are making
fun of HHN L, displaying their knowledge of it, yet simultaneously disparaging it
through their imperfect reproductions. One shout-out, for example, reads, “nicole- we

'99

drop grapes like gangstahhhsssll It is not clear exactly what the author’s intended
meaning is here, but “grapes” seems to be inserted into a line from a rap song. The
humor is similar, in some sense, to comedian Stephen Colbert’s rapping about the
health food store Trader Joe’s (Colbert Report). In some sense, these references (to
Trader Joe’s or grapes) make both Colbert’s and this club member’s uses of HHN L
inauthentic—and, as a result, self-deprecatory, marking the speaker as uninformed of
appropriate language practices. That is, one should not rap about grapes or Trader Joe’s.
Yet since we are talking about HHNL, there is also a sense in which one’s lack
of skill may be read positively. This is because HHNL speakers are often viewed
disparagingly, as uneducated and immoral, for instance. By portraying themselves as
unskilled in proper use of HHNL then, club members in some sense construct
themselves positively in contrast. Other uses of HHN L that might similarly be read as
mocking the language include “sumida- randall is great. lets skate. my rhymes are sick”
and “Shout-outs Galore Fool!” Both include slightly off-kilter uses of HHNL, the
former self-deprecatory, similar to the “grapes” example, and the latter drawing on a

term popularized by Mr. T in the 19803 television program The A-Team and currently

embraced as retro, giving it a tongue-in-cheek appeal. By using HHN L in an ironic or

152

joking manner, club members highlight their knowledge of HHN L but also a certain
distance from it. This functions to mark their “Americanness” as it shows their
familiarity with US. popular culture but also the sense that they approach HHN L as
outsiders, perhaps as their white peers do.

This playfulness might also be read, however, as acknowledgment of one’s lack
of “authenticity.” That is, perhaps, in using HHN L in their own way rather than trying
to mimic it, club members are acknowledging their distance from Aﬁican Americans.
Smithennan describes the way AAL terms are retired within the Aﬁican American
community once they are picked up by the mainstream (“From Dead Presidents” 27).
The vast majority of the HHN L terms used on the UCI website have entered the
mainstream lexicon and perhaps club members are aware of this. Unlike Mike in
Cutler’s study, a young white male who lived in “one of the wealthiest” neighborhoods
in New York City, “attended an exclusive private high school,” did not have many
African American ﬁiends (428), and “didn’t show that he understood or respected any
declaration of limits or conditions to his participation” (436), perhaps club members do
understand these “limits.” The tongue-in-cheek use of HHN L on the UCI club website
may evidence this. As one of my participants, Michelle, says of her use of Pidgin, “i felt

like a fraud if i tried to speak it b/c [because] i was [East] asian too and not like

hawaiian, samoan, ﬁlipino, etc.51 i felt like people would see me as a wannabe. i didn’t

want to embarrass myself.” It seems there is a sense in which a perfect reproduction (or

 

5' A colleague familiar with Hawai‘i commented on the strangeness of this statement, which
insinuates that Pidgin is the province of Hawaiians, Samoans, and Filipinos. I read Michelle’s
statement as categorizing Pidgin as the language of the working class as Okamura describes
these groups as having “subordinate socioeconomic status” (Ethnicity 53). In addition, Okamura
also discusses the way “Local” Pidgin speakers are characterized as working class in one
Hawai‘i newspaper’s construction of Local identity, based on readers’ responses, in the 19903
(Ethnicity l 15).

153

attempt at such) can be branded as appropriation in a way that these “inauthentic”
appropriations cannot. “lnauthentic” use evidences both one’s familiarity with HHN L
as well as one’s distance from it, perhaps in a manner appropriate to club members who
have had little sense of struggle based on their class status and majority status in
Hawai‘i and who have not interacted with many Aﬁican Americans either in Hawai‘i or
on the continent. Thus, while the off-kilter uses of HHNL may reﬂect club members’
desire to distance themselves from other HHNL speakers, they may also reﬂect an
understanding of an already existing distance.

Overall, however, based on the features of HHN L used, participants’
descriptions of racial demographics in their hometowns and at school, club members’
experiences in Hawai‘i as part of an Asian American majority, and club members’ class
statuses, it seems unlikely that club members aim to align themselves with Aﬁican
Americans in the ways that Reyes and Chun describe their participants doing. Some
participants, however, do give some indication that the move to the continent may
change their relationship with Aﬁican Americans. That is, in the shift to the continent,
they do interact with African Americans more ﬁequently and are coming to an
understanding of their connections, which might lead to employing HHNL from a
different position. That is, while club members may not have previously felt afﬁliations
with Aﬁican Americans, their experiences on the continent may encourage them to
understand these connections, pushing them to construct themselves through person of
color identities in order to mark an acknowledgement of racism. In this circumstance,

HHNL might be used to mark that connection.

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In Chapter 2, I made the case that one participant, Lauren, was interested in
forming coalitions with other communities of color. I cannot rule out the possibility that
club members’ use of HHN L is aimed at that same end. Chun and Reyes, for example,
speak to commonalities between Aﬁican American and Asian American experience and
the way HHN L and AAL are used to mark these similarities. Reyes reads Chun’s
participant J in, in using the term “whitey, to criticize European American domination,”
as “creat[ing] an alliance between Asian Americans and African Americans based on
shared discrimination as people of color” (Reyes 518, emphasis in original). Thus, we
might understand the use of HHNL on the UCI website as similarly aimed at “creat[ing]
an alliance.” In addition, while some participants speciﬁcally noted that there were not
many African American students at their colleges, Michelle describes the demographics
of her school community as signiﬁcantly different than in Hawai‘i in terms of Aﬁican
American population. She says, the “majority of the student body is caucasian for sure.
the next most populous group i would say are aﬁican-arnericans. that was the main
culture shock i experienced coming to notre dame and visiting chicago. i had never seen
so many aﬁican-arnericans - they’re even less common than caucasians in hawaii i
think.” 52 While Michelle does not say anything more about interacting with Aﬁican
Americans, her notation of the demographic difference indicates that she sees African

Americans differently than she did in Hawai‘i. My research did not investigate how that

 

52 African Americans actually make up far less of the population in Hawai‘i than whites do.
According to Okamura, in the 2000 US. Census, 39.3% of Hawaii’s population said they were
White (either alone or in combination with other ethnic/racial group) (24). In contrast, African
Americans made up only 2.8% of Hawaii’s population (Okamura 29). It is interesting that
Michelle sees their numbers as similar. Okamura similarly says that it would come as a
“surprise” to many Hawai‘i residents that whites make up the largest ethnic group in Hawai‘i
(24).

155

perception manifests for her, yet there is potential here for a shift in perception of
African Americans and African American culture.

Conclusion
While HHNL is primarily used only on the UCI website, it provides an interesting case
for considering how Asian American rhetoric can draw on other rhetorical traditions,

using these to oppose dominant constructions of Asian Americans and depict

 

themselves in a way of their own choosing. In this chapter I have considered several .
ways the use of HHNL on the UCI club website might be understood—as attempts to ;
defy stereotypes of Asian Americans as perpetual foreigners and Asian American males [ '1
as effeminate, emphasize members’ connections with‘each other, and build cross-race i

coalitions.

In addition, club members’ appropriation of HHNL provides a way to
understand their shift to the continent as one not only of change but also of continuity.
As consumers of US. media, club members’ exposure to HHNL, at least in terms of the
vocabulary used on the UCI website, does not necessarily change in the shift to the
continent. Club members’ prior engagement with US. popular culture can be seen as a
privilege they have that other Asian students (particularly more recent immigrants) do
not. This engagement enables club members to mark themselves as “American,” thus
separating themselves from other Asians and from Asian stereotypes.

The appropriation of HHNL on the UCI website, however, also highlights
potential problems with the Asian American rhetoric narrative of “expand[ing] the
boundaries of what are deﬁned as American cultural texts” and making our “claim on

America through [. . .] rhetorical acts” (Mao and Young 8-9, 11). In the Hawai‘i context,

156

Haunani-Kay Trask questions constructions of Asian Americans as “immigrants,” a
term which brings with it the notion of struggle (“Settlers” 2). She urges readers to see
Asian Americans in the Hawai‘i context as quite privileged and as using their privileges
to oppress indigenous Hawaiians. That is, while “Local” Japanese in Hawai‘i have
“come to dominate,” it is at the expense of indigenous Hawaiian interests (Trask,
“Settlers” 3). In the continental context we might consider not only how the immigrant
narrative erases indigenous people but also how the rhetorical practices of Asian
Americans may be built on the backs of others. While it is important to attend to Asian
American efforts to make a space for ourselves, we must also consider the ways others
are used in this construction. As discussed in this chapter, the use of HHNL, with its
connections to African American culture, might be understood as a valuable resource at
club members’ disposal for defying insidious stereotypes of Asian Americans.
Simultaneously, however, we must also consider the effect of club members’ use of
HHNL on African Americans, who are inevitably referenced in the use of this language.
13 club mernbers’ use of HHNL theft, as Smitherrnan says of AAVE “crossover” more
generally? 13 it an attempt to build cross-race coalitions? Is it both? My data alone
cannot answer these questions but provide several angles from which to consider the

use of HHNL by Asian Americans from Hawai‘i.

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Chapter 5: Conclusion
As stated in Chapter 1, Mao and Young encourage investigation of the “entanglements”
and “appropriations”—that is, the intersections with and borrowings from other
cultures—that are necessarily part of Asian American rhetoric. Throughout this
dissertation I have examined the entanglements of one group comprised largely of
Asian Americans, Hawai‘i club members, with HHN L, dominant representations of
“Hawaiians,” and constructions of multiculturalism both on the continent and in sf .

Hawai‘i. In Chapters 2 through 4, I detailed club members’ negotiation of different

 

identity markers in their effort to portray themselves positively both to Hawai‘i and

 

continental audiences. Ultimately this negotiation reﬂects club members’ need to
account for their “difference” but also the myriad cultural resources that they are
privileged to have at their disposal in constructing their identities. Yet club members’
location at the intersection of these identities also means that they must use these
cultural resources carefully so as not to jeopardize their claims to those identity markers
most valuable to them. As a result, club members are careful to construct themselves as
ideal multicultural subjects, embodying highly valued “difference” and “diversity” but
in “safe” ways that do not threaten the status quo—or their membership in the most
highly valued “American” and “Local” communities.
Throughout this dissertation I have aimed to answer the following questions:
0 Given that the Hawai‘i context is likely to construct an Asian American identity
that does not ﬁt the parameters often assumed in Asian American rhetoric, what
can the rhetorical practices of Asian Americans from Hawai‘i contribute to

scholarship in Asian American rhetoric?

158

o How do privileges of belonging to (1) an Asian American majority
and/or (2) a politically and socioeconomically dominant ethnic group
inﬂuence identity constructions of Asian Americans from Hawai‘i?

o How does the challenge of adjusting to the minority status of Asian
Americans on the continent inﬂuence the identity constructions of Asian
Americans from Hawai‘i?

o How do Asian Americans from Hawai‘i use cultural resources gained
through (1) generational status (i.e. engagement with US. pop culture
and English language ability) and (2) upbringing in Hawai‘i to represent
themselves?

My goal in posing these questions was to address gaps in current Asian American
rhetoric scholarship in relation to privilege and dominant constructions, citizenship or
belonging in multiple communities, and the reclamation of devalued practices. Mao and
Young, as I have said, despite emphasizing the situatedness of Asian American rhetoric,
ultimately construct it as a minority discourse, focusing on the use of this rhetoric to
oppose dominant constructions, for example. This interpretation of Asian American
rhetoric emphasizes the challenges Asian Americans face at the expense of the
privileges we enjoy—and should be held responsible for—in certain contexts.

In terms of citizenship, Young and also Mao and Young focus on Asian
Americans’ construction of themselves as belonging in the US. While understandable
given dominant perceptions of Asian Americans as perpetual foreigners, considering
how Asian Americans mark their belonging in multiple communities provides greater

insight into the particular value of various identities. That is, what causes one identity to

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be valued over another? A focus on US. citizenship emphasizes the challenges Asian
Americans face and our minority status; considering negotiation of multiple identities or
belongings reveals the aspects of “American” identity that are considered valuable,
drawing into question the purpose of marking oneself as “American.”

In a discussion relevant to the reclamation of devalued practices, while
advocating attention to asymmetries of power in hybrid constructions, Mao focuses
particularly on the power of European American traditions in contrast to '.
Chinese/Chinese American ones, discussing, for example, “culture[s] that ha[ve]

suffered the slings and arrows of colonialism and other forms of humiliation” and the

 

r‘l .
.

power of “the dominant culture” to “vacillate between exoticizing and excoriating the
other” (Mac 58). Mac also notes that Chinese American rhetoric is often in English,
which “helps European American rhetoric stay as the unmarked or ‘exnominated’
norm,” while “Chinese rhetorical tradition may continue to be seen as marked, and on
the outside looking in” (148-49). The dominance—or at least centrality—of European
American tradition relative Chinese/Chinese American is clear. What Mao neglects to
consider, however, is how Chinese/Chinese American use of devalued practices can
also reﬂect an assertion of their own power or privilege, perhaps Chinese American
privileges over Chinese (or vice versa) or privileges of social class or education.

In this dissertation I have aimed to address these gaps by focusing on a context
in which the Hawai‘i environment, in which Asian American privilege and belonging in
multiple communities must be attended to, meets the continental one in which current
constructions of Asian American rhetoric are primarily set. In focusing on Hawai‘i club

members, we can examine the different ways they are privileged—for example, as US.

160

 

citizens who are familiar with US. popular culture; as late-generation, native speakers
of English; as members of an Asian American majority in Hawai‘i; as often members of
politically and socioeconomically dominant ethnic groups in Hawai‘i; and as middle- to
upper-class students at prestigious postsecondary institutions. We can see how these
various privileges play out on club websites, enabling them to draw on devalued
practices, for example, because their English ability, social class status, and prestigious E
educations encourage audiences to see them as “American” (i.e. as equals); enabling 4?

them to represent their “difference” in ways palatable, desirable, and comprehensible to

 

continental audiences; enabling them to choose among a variety of cultural resources to ..
represent themselves; enabling them to speak for those “back home.” In attending to F]
these privileges in addition to club members’ challenges as members of a numerical

minority on the continent, facing this context for the ﬁrst time, and adjusting to college

on top of that, we can see that club members not only respond to dominant

constructions of Asians, but, in drawing on the various resources at their disposal in this

effort, reinscribe “Local” narratives that beneﬁt them as “Local” Asians in the Hawai‘i

context and draw on devalued languages like Pidgin and HHNL in ways that beneﬁt

them while simultaneously reinscribing the devaluation of these languages. Based on

their understanding of the connotations of “race” in dominant narratives in the U.S.,

club members are also able to construct Hawai‘i clubs as “culture”- or “geography”-

based, rather than “race”-based, thus using their engagement with US. culture to

separate themselves from Asians, Asian Americans, and other people of color on the

continent.

161

 

In this chapter, I consider the implications of this dissertation in light of my key
themes and the attendant implications for Asian American rhetoric and composition
pedagogy. I turn now to three key themes, examining the relationship of each of these
with club members’ self-representation.

The Impact of Adjustment on Self-Representation
Participant and website data show the challenge of adjusting to the continent. Based on
the comments multiple participants made about single-race/ethnicity “cliques,” part of
this adj ustrnent to the continent has to do with the change in racial and ethnic context.
As previously discussed, club members feel Asian stereotypes for the ﬁrst time—being
seen through stereotypes of Asians in regions where Asian ethnic groups do not make
up a numerical majority and are not politically and socioeconomically dominant. In
addition, club members come into contact with continental Asian Americans who are
likely to be more recent immigrants, which means that dealing with constructions of
Asians as foreigners becomes an even bigger issue for club members.

In addition, while all college students must adjust to new environments—and
club members may have it easier in some sense, given their academic preparation—they
do face transitional issues in adjusting both to college and to the continent. Regardless
of how well prepared one is academically, there is some adjustment to college life—
learning how adult students are expected to behave and how to negotiate the relative
freedom, for example. And while many ﬁrst year college students face geographical
transitions, even if only attending college in the next town over, it is undeniable that the
transition ﬁom Hawai‘i to the continent can be a big one, not only in terms of racial and

ethnic context, but in terms of physical distance and climate as well.

162

As all of these are new challenges for club members, part of their adjustment to
the continent, perhaps their current methods for addressing them are temporary, cobbled
together for immediate use but to eventually be revised as club members have the time
to think through their place on the continent—even as they decide whether they will
ultimately make their lives on the continent or return to Hawai‘i. That is, while I have
raised some critiques of club members’ use of various racialized cultures, perhaps their
strategies are temporary and will change with time. Contributors to Louie and Omatsu’s
book, for example, describe how they came to see connections between their
experiences as Asian Americans and the experiences of African Americans and others.
While Matsuda and Prashad indicate that many Asian Americans do not see these
connections, as young adults, there is much time for club members’ views to change.

Belonging and Self-Representation
The necessary adjustment to the continent creates for club members a need to mark their
belonging in various communities. Having relocated to the continent, they may be
anxious about losing their place in Hawai‘i. Adjusting to their position as members of a
minority on the continent—and a visible one at that, club members feel the need to
mark their belonging as “Americans.” Markers of “Local,” “Hawaiian,” Asian
American, and person of color identities provide further resources for accounting for
their difference on the continent; despite the risks of claiming some of these then, they
have the potential to provide club members with a sense of belonging.

In attending to club members’ sense of belonging in various communities,
however, considering their privilege is key. That is, club members are privileged in that

they have access to the cultural resources needed in order to claim belonging in various

163

 

 

 

communities. Thus, their identity claims must be understood in terms of both their
challenges—as young adults visibly marked Other in their new environment, and
privileges—as individuals with a variety of cultural resources at their disposal. To
explain, club members’ appearance as Asian requires that they mark their belonging as
“American3”—-this identity is not assumed. They must also mark their belonging as

“Local” if they prefer this identity to Asian or Asian American. Ultimately, club

 

members’ visible difference requires them to account for this and mark their belonging. T

Yet the role of their privilege in marking themselves in various ways cannot be ignored.
The Impact of Privilege on Self-Representation L —,

Club members’ ability to draw on a variety of resources, yet need to do so careﬁllly b

results, in part, from their privilege——as primarily of Japanese and Chinese ancestry in
Hawai‘i and in other ways as well. Club members are primarily native-English speaking
US. citizens who have been engaged with US. culture, including popular music and
multicultural values. This enables them to use popular music and other trends to mark
their “Americanness” and also to more successfully represent themselves to a
continental audience through an understanding of US. frameworks. Their
socioeconomic privilege enables them to attend school on the continent and along with
their ethnic privilege provides support for academic success throughout their schooling.
This is in contrast, for example, to the “Local” Filipino student Halagao mentions who
“was told by a [‘Local’] Japanese teacher that ‘she was not college material’” (45).
Club members’ location on the continent also provides them access to and/or
greater understanding of people of color and Asian American identities, which are

uncommon in Hawai‘i. Though club members may choose not to draw on these identity

164

 

markers, their experiences on the continent—and particularly in educational
institutions—still make these available as resources. Attending school on the continent
also presents club members with an (continental) audience to which they can represent
themselves as “Hawaiian” and to which they can represent Hawai‘i as multicultural
utopia with even less challenge than they would face in Hawai‘i. To this continental

audience who knows very little about Hawai‘i, except perhaps for already seeing it as a

 

paradise, club members can construct Hawai‘i as a racial paradise as well. E”
Yet club members risk losing their “Local” identity also because of their C

privilege. Their “Local” identity becomes a greater issue because they are attending

school on the continent. In addition, being on the continent encourages, perhaps even i,

requires, club members to engage with people of color and Asian American identities.
Yet embracing these risks their “Local” and “American” identities. These privileges—
engagement with US. popular culture, attending school on the continent, exposure to
new identity categories—bring choices, which are no doubt valuable, but they also
mean that decisions must be made, and made carefully.

Perhaps most importantly, “Local” is the safest identity marker for club
members—the only one that cannot be over-claimed. It is possible to be seen as “too
Local,” perhaps as too provincial or unable to achieve “success” outside Hawai‘i.
Okamura, as previously mentioned, describes the way the “Local” is caricatured as a
“stereotypical overweight, non-White male who eats plate lunches, wears a T-shirt,
speaks pidgin English, has a carefree attitude toward life, and knows much local trivia
about Hawai‘i but perhaps not much about the rest of the world” (Ethnicity 115). While

these characteristics are not necessarily derogatory, the use of Pidgin and lack of

165

knowledge of the world outside Hawai‘i suggest that “Locals” are unable to do well
away from the islands. Because club members are currently on the continent attending
school, however, in a Hawai‘i context, they are seen as somewhat “American” no
matter how “Local” they act or portray themselves as being. Thus, while it is possible
for someone to be seen as “too Local,” this is not a risk for club members speciﬁcally.
In addition, club members do not need to worry about being seen as “too Local” by a
continental audience because club members themselves deﬁne “Local” to this audience.
The value of “Local” identity to club members is clearly evident in the overwhelming
invocations of this identity on club websites.

Some might argue that “Local” is simply who club members are. Yet club
members clearly have a new appreciation for Hawai‘i—one only gained on the
continent. To some degree, it is to be expected that one becomes appreciative of a place
after leaving Yet this is a reﬂection of privilege. This is not to say that club members’
appreciation is not real, but their location on the continent and largely prestigious
postsecondary educations change the stakes. Claiming “Local” identity means much
differently on the continent than it does in Hawai‘i. This is in part based on audience—
“Local” means different things to Hawai‘i and continental audiences. It is also based on
distance—“Local” is more unique farther from Hawai‘i. Yet it is also based on the
perception of the continent and education there as superior—claiming a provincial
“Local” identity while attending school on the continent carries little risk, as with the
Parisian politician’s use of the lesser-valued language. The provincial “Local” identity
is in fact more highly valued on the continent as it brings “a bit of the Other,” giving

club members a special place in the multicultural economy of the university (books 22).

166

In this sense, embracing “Local” and “Hawaiian” culture on the continent is not so
much reclaiming as cashing in.

In contrast to my argument that club members’ privilege requires them to be
careful, privilege and dominance generally tend to mean that one need not be careful;
one who is physically strong, for example, is often less vulnerable in a physically
dangerous situation. This kind of effect of privilege can perhaps be seen in club
members’ representation of Hawai‘i and “Local” culture to a continental audience who
rarely has the resources to challenge their construction. That is, club members have the
privilege to represent Hawai‘i and the “Local” in any way of their choosing. Club
members’ privilege and dominance, however, encourage them to be careful in other
ways. Taking into account their existence at the intersection of various identities and
identity communities, they have much to lose. They are privileged in that they have
access to these various identities and identity communities, but if they want to hold on
to all of these, they must tread carefully. I imagine a reigning champ, for example, who
has more to lose and thus approaches a ﬁght conservatively, in contrast to the underdog
who, with nothing to lose and everything to gain, is willing to try anything. In addition,
privilege and dominance can mean that one need not take risks. Victor Villanueva, for
example, describes the way a group of middle-class students, “even when faced with a
text about racial difference, limit their discussion to things like word choice and
mechanics rather than discuss the issues raised in the paper” (cited in Tasaka 159). That
is, they have the tools to avoid risky discussion. In addition, they presumably felt little
need to discuss the issues in the paper. They felt there was no reason for them to get

into those challenging issues.

167

 

 

 

 

Mike Rose in Lives on the Boundary similarly shows how a certain degree of
privilege can encourage the allegiance of students of color to multicultural ideals. He
describes students of color “who grew up with the protections of middle-class life” and
“had passed through a variety of social and religious clubs and organizations in which
they saw people of their race exercise power. They felt at the center of things
themselves, optimistic, forward-looking, the force of their own personal history leading
them to expect an uncomplicated blending into campus life” (Rose 178). These
students, Rose says, “felt strange about being marked as different” (17 8). Based on an

anecdote he shares, even students who have experienced racism ﬁrsthand sometimes

 

feel that “Some things were better left unsaid. Decent people [. . .] just don’t say them.
There is a life to lead, and it will be a good life. Put the stuff your grandmother lived
and your father saw behind you. It belongs in the past. It need not be dredged up if
we’re to move on” (Rose 179). While Rose, in some sense, attributes students’ desire to
avoid these issues to the pain of revisiting them, he also draws a connection between
this desire to turn away from concerns with racial struggles and a relatively privileged

class status.

 

Similarly addressing student resistance to certain topics, Villanueva discusses
the risk of the “overtly political” (53). He ﬁnds that a group of primarily African
American students from low-income backgrounds resists a “Freire-like pedagogy”
because they “could reason that no matter how slight their chances of getting into
college or the middle-class, they did have chances, maybe better than most” (V illanueva
53). While their teacher aimed to make them into “conscious intellectuals” through

educating them about Aﬁican and Aﬁican American history and raising their class

168

 

consciousness (V illanueva 55), these students continued to buy into the “bootstrap
mentality,” feeling they had a better chance of succeeding by playing the game rather
than through more radical means. Villanueva ﬁrrther explains, “the word ‘revolution’
[...] conjures up ﬁightening pictures: not acts of criticism, but acts of violence,
undertaken when there is nothing left to lose. Yet there are things left to lose here.
There might still be pie” (61). If these students, described by Villanueva as “locked out
of the public schools, mainly by the court system,” felt “revolution” was too big a risk,
imagine how big this risk must seem to other students, who do not have “ﬁrst-hand
knowledge of the ways the political system can work against certain groups” (53), who
in fact have greatly beneﬁted from existing political systems, who will almost certainly
have pie as long as they continue on their current path.

Students’ relative desire to take risks can also be seen in some of my colleagues’
preference for teaching developmental versus mainstream writing courses. While the
lore is that teachers prefer teaching the most “advanced” students, as this enables more
work with “ideas,” I have heard some of my colleagues express preferences for teaching
developmental rather than mainstream ﬁrst-year writing courses, lamenting that
students in the mainstream courses have already learned how to play the game, while
students in the developmental course are more enjoyable to work with as they are
willing to experiment and take risks.

Reﬂecting on my own experiences with various writing tasks also helps me to
think about how the lack of resources can be ﬁ'eeing. When faced with a new writing
task, for example, one for which I am at a complete loss as to the best approach, I need

to take a risk. I need to just get something on the paper, take a long shot, and see what

169

 

 

 

 

 

happens. The only other alternative is not to take on the task, which, while an option, is
not usually very successful. From the perspective of a writing teacher, I am deﬁnitely
not advocating posing students with assignments designed merely to jar them into risky
writing. Neither am I saying that this lack of resources is to be envied for the risk-taking
it enables. This classroom example, however, provides another case that shows how the
availability of options can discourage risk-taking.

I’m quite nervous about this argument. I deﬁnitely don’t want to get all “poor

little rich gir ” here. From the perspective of a teacher, however, I want to be able to

 

address the needs of all students and understanding where different students are coming I I __

 

from is part of this. In considering how we represent ourselves, for example, through
language and visuals, for those students who would beneﬁt from it, I want to encourage
the reclamation of devalued cultures and language practices, but I also want students to
consider the workings of power and privilege behind this reclamation, behind the
languages and visual practices we use to represent ourselves. For some students, this
may be a more important project. To explain, the goal in encouraging reclamation of
devalued practices is to challenge hegemonic values that hold one language practice
above another. Yet for relatively privileged students to use lesser-valued languages, as
Bourdieu explains, reinforces the hierarchy that places one language over another. The
reclamation of devalued languages then is not an undeniable good. Rather, we should
help students understand how different languages and practices are valued and how our
positionality inﬂuences our use of these languages and practices so that they can decide

their own best practices based on this information.

170

Implications for Asian American Rhetoric
At the intersection of these privileges, belonging, adjustment, the construction of
identity, and concerns with risk are implications for Asian American rhetoric,
speciﬁcally in relation to the issues of citizenship, hybridity, dominant constructions,
and context.
Citizenship/Belonging in Multiple Communities
Claiming “Americanness” in a continental context enables club members to mark their
equality (to their continental peers), a move that Young highlights, and a key one given
dominant constructions of Asian Americans as perpetual foreigners. In a Hawai‘i
context, however, claiming “Americanness” functions to mark club members as
superior—as better educated and more worldly and sophisticated than their peers in
Hawai‘i. Asian American and person of color identities, in contrast, are less desirable as
they call attention to racial inequalities that are unimportant to club members—based on
their experiences and privileges in Hawai‘i. These identities are further unsavory in
contrast with “American” identity, as they threaten multicultural ideals on the continent
and in Hawai‘i, thus jeopardizing the “Local” narrative that maintains club members’
privilege in the islands and the national multicultural narrative that pays lip service to
their equality and thus promises success on the continent.

Viewed alongside claims to Asian American, “Local,” and person of color
identities, the value of “American” identity for club members is brought into question—
as it appears to stand only for traditional models of “success” and is difﬁcult to
reconcile with identities that call attention to racial inequalities. When we focus on

Asian American claims to US. citizenship, we focus on claims to equality. Alongside

171

 

 

claims of belonging in other communities, however, we see that while assertions of US.
citizenship may aim for equality, they also exclude and separate one from others—those
who are not legal citizens or are more recent immigrants. The claim to “Americanness”
also looks, from this angle, like one that functions to provide for oneself, to preserve
one’s own privileges, with little concern for others. Thus, this dissertation shows the
value of considering claims to “Americanness” alongside other identity markers in
order to gain greater insight into what in particular is valued about “American”
citizenship. In this way, we attend to not only claims to equality, which emphasize the
challenges Asian Americans face, but also claims to superiority, which ask us to take
responsibility for how we exclude others as well.

Hybridin and Power

Both Mao and Mao and Young say that Asian American rhetoric incorporates multiple
inﬂuences. In both Reading Chinese Fortune Cookie and Representations, Mao and
Mao and Young advise attending to the power dynamics within these relationships.
Mao, for example, discussing performances by both European and Chinese Americans
at an annual Chinese New Year celebration he attends in Cincinnati, asks, “what are
some of those speciﬁc conditions or power relations that have motivated these

. performances and that have shaped, if not forced, other encounters and their hybrid
consequences?” (27 ). In his concern with power dynamics in these performances, what
initially seemed most important to attend to in my view were the cross-cultural
situations. That is, the European American youth doing Chinese martial arts and the
Chinese American girls doing tap and jazz rather than the Chinese students doing

Chinese folk dances (Mao 26-27). What is the appeal, for example, of Chinese martial

I72

arts for European American youth? In calling attention to the power asymmetries in
hybrid situations, Mao asks us to consider how the role of Chinese culture within the
U.S. inﬂuences European American participation in this activity.

Examinations of club members’ references to Asian/Asian American, “Local,”
Hawaiian, and hip hop languages and cultures, however, point toward the value of
considering not only cross-cultural participation, but engagement with even those
cultures that seem to “belong” to club members as asymmetries of power are at work
here as well. Those unfamiliar with Hawai‘i, as I have said, might assmne that
Hawaiian culture was the province of club members. The same assumption might be
made of Asian/Asian American culture. As I entered this study, my goal, in looking at
references to Asian/Asian American culture was to investigate why club members did
not mark themselves with this culture, assuming, to some degree, that they should. In
some sense, we might assume that hip hop culture “belongs” to club members, as youth
in the U.S., too. Yet this study uncovered distance between club members and
continental Asian Americans and curious dynamics between club members and all of
these cultures and languages. There is value in considering not only what looks like
appropriation and entanglement, as complicated relationships can be uncovered even in
seemingly “appropriate” representations. That is, just as continental audiences might
assume Hawaiian culture is the province of club members, as researchers we might
focus only on obvious intercultural interactions, ignoring subtler power asymmetries,
for example, within Asian American communities. Returning to Mao’s examples from
the Chinese New Year performances in Cincinnati, we should also consider the

asymmetries of power that inﬂuence some Chinese Americans to perform Chinese folk

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dances. While the focus on hybridity encourages us to attend to those situations in
which two traditions come together, and Mao points to the power asymmetries within
hybridity, we should also attend to subtler hybridities in which power asymmetries are
also at play.

Privilege and Devalued Practices

Mao sees the claiming of identities, including those that are devalued, as opposed to
globalizing efforts that seem to push toward homogeneity (2). These efforts, he says,
such as language recovery projects and the “reclaim[ing of] what has been hidden from
or denied them—be it ethnic and linguistic identity, sexual orientation, or religious
afﬁliation,” “serve to challenge this new world order that seems either to reinforce the
existing relations of power or to promote different hierarchies or control structures that
are no less in favor of the dominant, the powerful” (Mao 2). Yet my analysis of club
websites shows how what looks like reclamation of devalued identities can also
“reinforce the existing relations of power.” That is, club members’ matriculation into
continental postsecondary institutions enables them to represent themselves as “Local”
through such devalued markers as Pidgin and Spam because their “success” on the
continent ensures that they will still be seen as “American.”

Given the dependence of club members’ reclamation of Hawai‘i and the “Local”
on their privilege, I take a less sanguine view than Mao and other scholars of the
embrace of devalued identities and practices. Scholars like Gail Okawa remind me of
the value of club members’ use of languages other than English. They remind me that
pride in Pidgin is (or was, or can be) somewhat revolutionary. Okawa, for example,

describes how, after having “little appreciation” for the language while growing up in

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Hawai‘i, she was able to “recover[. . .] ‘Pidgin’ as not only my regional dialect but also a
language of solidarity, of local identiﬁcation and pride” (109, 120-21). She describes
“the courageous publication by various Island writers of literature in Pidgin” (Okawa
121). I need to remember that many still feel ashamed of speaking languages like Pidgin
or AAL and that there is meaning in reclaiming these devalued languages. Given this, I
consider how Okawa might read the use of Pidgin, HHN L, and Hawaiian on club
websites. While I believe a purely positive reading would be inaccurate, she reminds me
that there are some who beneﬁt from seeing these languages positively. Yet there are
other sides to these attitudes and histories of pride and reclamation as well. We must
also consider the privileges and power dynamics that support these kinds of
reclamations for some but not others.

The closing sentences of Okawa’s piece, for example, shows both how the
difference of language can be valued merely as spice and at a deeper level as well. She
says:

Rather than shrinking at the sounds of Pidgin English now, I long for the

marketplace in Honolulu’s Chinatown or Cleveland’s West Side Market or

Seattle’s International District, where speakers of many languages and dialects

willingly and necessarily negotiate their lives—across cultures and tongues. If

only our classrooms could be as robust and healthy and natural. (Okawa 128)
Given the rest of her text, I understand where she is coming from, yet there is also the
valuation of consumable difference to contend with. Chinatowns are tourist destinations
across the U.S. where one can go shopping and grab a bite to eat, exotic and

entertaining locales, sights to see. It is difﬁcult to determine the “right” and “wrong”

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approaches to Chinatowns and perhaps drawing lines is not so productive, yet
interrogating one’s own motivations and the possibilities of motivations for, in this
example, contacting and consuming, and, more broadly, representing oneself with, the
Other—even when that Other is in some ways part of yourself—is a worthy task, both
in the writing classroom and more broadly.

Furthermore, in the case of Hawai‘i club members, their location outside
Hawai‘i affords them the privilege of being able to speak for the islands, reinforcing
dominant constructions of “Local” culture and identity within the islands that beneﬁt
members of Asian heritage. This in turn supports continental audiences’ existing view
of Hawai‘i as only a tourist destination as club members emphasize those entertaining
and consumable aspects of Hawai‘i. Hawai‘i makes club members “special,” “exotic,”
and “different,” but their time on the continent plays a strong role in making them
“American,” leading them to traditionally-deﬁned success. This encourages continental
audiences to see club members as the exception rather than the rule, those “Locals” who
are also “American” and might be seen as equals, in contrast to those in Hawai‘i who
are only “special,” “exotic,” and “different,” but not equal “Americans.” Thus, in
scholarship in Asian American rhetoric as well as language diversity, we ought not to
automatically celebrate the reclamation of devalued languages and practices, but also to
consider, in Mao’s words, the “asymmetries of power” that may enable this reclamation
(57).

Attention to Context
In addition, while scholarship in Asian American rhetoric emphasizes the signiﬁcance

of context, my study provides greater understanding as to how particular contexts

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inﬂuence Asian American rhetorical practices. That is, how the Hawai‘i context—in
which (1) individuals of Asian ancestry make up the largest segment of the population,
(2) individuals of Chinese and Japanese ancestry hold socioeconomic and political
power, and (3) “Local” identity is most valued—inﬂuences club members’ identity
construction, in part, discouraging their use of Asian American and person of color
identity markers. In light of this, my project builds on Mao and Young’s emphasis on
context and provides one example of the affordances of examining Asian American
rhetoric in speciﬁc situations.

Hawai‘i club websites also show how the continental college context impacts
club members’ ability to draw on resources gained in Hawai‘i—speciﬁcally Hawaiian
and “Local” languages and cultures. That is, it is because club members are on the
conﬂuent that they are able to be the authorities on Hawai‘i. Their relocation also
changes their perception of Hawai‘i, providing many participants a renewed
appreciation for the islands. As a result, club websites tell us about the inﬂuence of
changes in context too. Thus, this project also points to the importance of examining
shifts in context, as Mao and Young say, of “tak[ing] into account [. . .] where we are
and where we have been” (15).

Implications for Pedagogy
Within these contexts, which we might term “home” and “school” as they relate to
Hawai‘i club members, there is also value to considerations of home perceptions of the
school context and school perceptions of the home context. That is, signiﬁcant forces in
representations of identity on club websites include continental perceptions of Hawai‘i

and Hawai‘i perceptions of the continent. While these views are in some sense already

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included if we focus our attention on home and school contexts, Hawai‘i club websites
show the signiﬁcance speciﬁcally of these to clubs’ and club members’ identity
constructions within those contexts. This points to ways we might encourage students of
all backgrounds to consider how they construct their identities in relation to home and
school contexts. Asking students to consider, for example, how their attendance at a
speciﬁc institution is perceived in their home context—whether family, neighborhood,
or state, seems valuable for helping students reﬂect on the shift from home to school
and to be more conscious of how this inﬂuences their identity constructions. For
Hawai‘i club members, for example, perceptions of Hawai‘i’s inferiority and the
continent’s superiority are likely to be uncovered so that they can then consciously
grapple with this. In what ways is the continent superior or inferior? How does
attending school on the continent change who they are and how they want to represent
themselves?

We often think about learning from past experiences; in the context of the
classroom, for example, we consider how to help students bring their prior knowledge
to bear on the current learning situation. The representations of identity on Hawai‘i club
websites however, show how the continental college context (and perhaps other college
contexts as well) can also provide students with opportunities to exploit their prior
knowledge, though it can of course provide other kinds of opportunities as well.
Students may, for example, have the chance to be the sole spokesperson for their
community, which can provide a valuable sense of authority; considering who in a
community is usually most mobile, however, that is, able to leave the community and

attend college, as teachers, we might also consider other complexities within students’

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relationships to (what we perceive as) their home communities. In a classroom context,
this might mean encouraging students to think about varied inﬂuences on their
representation of their home community and who in their community might represent it
differently. Ultimately, in order to best support both our students and their communities,
while we, on one hand, encourage them to draw on diverse language and cultural
resources, on the other, we must also consider the privileges that enable them to
“reclaim” these and other devalued images or practices. That is, how might students’
location in school contexts inﬂect their reclamation of various identities? Furthermore,
how will this reclamation impact their identity in and relationship with both their home
and school communities?

Ultimately I want students to look at the meeting of cultures and consider the
powers at play. This might encourage them to take pride in their culture or it might urge
them to see value in others’ cultures or to think more carefully about what is “theirs.”
Drawing inspiration ﬁ'om Okawa, who asks students to research their family language
history in order to exanrine the connection between language and social conditions, I
might ask students to reﬂect on how they learned a language. This could be any
language—perhaps English, whether that is their ﬁrst language or not; a language like
Spanish, French, Japanese, or Hawaiian studied in school; Pidgin; HHNL; or AAL. Part
of the project would ask students to consider whether they use this language and their
reasons for using it (or not). My goal would be for students to reﬂect on the language(s)
they choose (or choose not) to use alongside the way they learned it and to consider
connections between the two. What is the value of this language in their life? What is

the value of this language in different contexts? How did they learn to value (or

179

devalue) this language? Students would then be asked to share their stories with each
other so that they could gain a sense of how their stories ﬁt with those of their peers.
Most interesting, for example, might be different students’ stories of learning the
same language in different contexts—leaming English as a ﬁrst or second language, for
example. I imagine that a project like this would be especially productive in Hawai‘i or
other contexts where students bring a wide variety of language backgrounds with them.
In contrast to Okawa’s project, which might be more valuable in contexts where a more
extended history would provide greater access to diverse language stories, my proposed
project encourages greater focus on students’ own responsibilities and choices.
Okawa’s assignment is speciﬁcally designed for the Youngstown, Ohio context
in which she teaches. In Youngstown, she says, one of the key issues is the virtual
segregation between African American and white students (Okawa 114). University
students are primarily European American and many of them, after “attend[ing] all-
white suburban high schools, [. . .] encounter blacks for the ﬁrst time in the classroom
and on campus” (Linkon and Mullen, quoted in Okawa 114). Aﬁican American
Language seems to be the primary devalued language in this context—or at least the
one Okawa is most concerned with as she mentions one student who refers to feeling
ashamed of speaking AAL. Given her pedagogical context, Okawa’s assignment seems
particularly geared toward turning white students’ attention to their family’s past, in
order to see that their families had their own languages, which may have been devalued
as AAL is. At the end of the term, Okawa says, students describe themselves as having
formerly been too “judgmental [. . .] toward others who don’t speak as they do” (111). I

like Okawa’s assignment, in which students are asked to research their farnilies’

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. .
. J...

 

language histories. I can see it being valuable in a Hawai‘i context too, as many of us
forget our own families’ histories and struggles. Yet I don’t know that we have to go
into the past to see the interplay of language and power in students’ lives. Within even
the lifetime of an 18-year-old, they have learned—or had an opportunity to learn, or had
long-term contact with—at least two or three languages.

The distance of history is sometimes valuable. Students may, for example, have
an easier time reporting on what their parents, grandparents, or other ancestors did than
their own actions. One of my concerns with the historical focus of Okawa’s assignment,
however—and this is especially relevant to the Hawai‘i context—is with the danger of
nostalgia. As Trask says, too much of “Local” history uses plantation hardship to justify
Asian American political dominance (“Settlers” 4). Okamura similarly describes a book
that celebrates Japanese American history in Hawai‘i, highlighting plantation roots and
“downplaying their middle-class status” (Ethnicity 134). The Japanese Cultural Center
in Hawai‘i, he says, similarly privileges “Local” over Japanese identity in order to
direct attention away from Japanese privilege (Okamura, Ethnicity 134). Okawa’s
assignment likewise calls attention to the past struggles of students’ families. While she
intends this to encourage empathy for language diversity, Trask and Okamura show
how this sort of reﬂection on past struggles can be—and in Hawai‘i is—used to justify
current ethnic hierarchies. As Matsuda says, despite past struggles, “Now other groups
are at the bottom, and we [Japanese in Hawai‘i] sometimes think we are better than
they” (186-87). My concern is that students will see the loss of a heritage language as a
necessary step for assimilation or “success”—one that other ethnic groups should hurry

and get on with. In Hawai‘i in particular, I think, this narrative is too familiar to

181

students. In reﬂecting on the languages they have been exposed to within their lives, my
goal is for students to see these languages as all somewhat current—rather than as
something ﬁ'om the past that had to be let go in order for their families to have come to
where they are today. In addition, as stories of their own lives, their relationships to
these languages are more easily seen as still negotiable. These languages are not only
part of an old story. They are not only part of my ancestors’ immigration story, but they
are part of my story.

In a subsequent assignment, I would ask students to analyze a text that used at
least two languages, considering the function of the different languages, and developing
an argument on when the author uses each. Students would be encouraged to look to
social networking proﬁles as accessible texts of a manageable length that represent a
variety of views of “regular folks.” In order to support students’ analysis of the use of
different languages, some background on language policies and relationships between
languages will be provided. In a Hawai‘i context, information on Pidgin, for example,
on its formation, devaluation, and reclamation, might be most useful. Students will need
to understand, to some degree, both languages used in their selected text so a social
networking proﬁle that uses Pidgin and English might be a good choice for many
students. Thus, class readings that provide background on Pidgin will support many
students’ work directly and provide a framework for students considering bilingual texts
in other languages as well.

Students might then be asked to research the relationship between languages in a
speciﬁc context. Enough background will have been provided on Pidgin so that students

might further investigate the relationships between Pidgin, standardized English,

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Hawaiian, or other languages, during a speciﬁc time period. Students might alternately
choose to look at English education in the Philippines, Japanese language education in
Hawai‘i, an aspect of African American Language, or a pidgin or creole in another part
of the world. Students would be encouraged to start from their previous assignments in
order to develop a focused research question on a topic that builds on these earlier
miects.

Even as the term has gone out of style, Hawai‘i—and the U.S.—is often
described as a melting pot, but I want students to think about how all these peoples and
cultures come/came together. Looking at the language(s) they use and the ways they
visually represent themselves is one way to do this. We often aim to represent who we
are through symbols—through objects listed in social networking proﬁles, through the
clothing we wear, through the favorite bands and television programs we profess. I want
students to think about how this might not be completely innocent—that we might not
be completely free to consume other cultures. As Fujikane has said, “There are political
responsibilities to claiming any identity” (qtd. in Young 93). I want students to think
about these responsibilities, whether they are related to the “Local” identity Fujikane
speciﬁcally speaks on or another identity entirely.

Directions for Future Research

In considering references to racialized cultures on club websites, as Mao and Young
encourage, I have begun examining the entanglements and appropriations of Asian
American rhetoric. I have also turned my attention to one context, addressing Mao and
Young’s emphasis on the situatedness of Asian American rhetoric and highlighting the

speciﬁc effect of the Hawai‘i and Hawai‘i club context for the rhetorical practices of

183

 

one group of Asian Americans. This project points toward the value of further exploring
various contexts and entanglements. Some parts of California, for example, like
Hawai‘i, have large Asian American populations. How do these contexts similarly or
differently inﬂect Asian American rhetorical practices?

In addition, given some of the problematic ways club members’ privileges play
out in this study, how do we learn to use our privileges positively? In Louie and
Omatsu’s account of the Asian American movement, I was surprised to learn of the
middle class backgrounds of some of the key players (58, 88, 241). And a few, like
Gordon Lee, are even from Hawai‘i. Given these similarities between members of the
Asian American movement and Hawai‘i clubs, how did they come to devote their
college years to such different organizations? There are obviously many other factors
and perhaps a comparison between these two groups makes little sense. Lauren,
however, as previously mentioned, evidences a coming to see Asian American, Latino,
and Aﬁican American interests as intertwined, which many contributors in Louie and
Omatsu say was key to their involvement in the Asian American movement. Why does
Lauren come to see this connection while other participants appear not to?

This project also raises questions about the inﬂuence of the Hawai‘i context for
the rhetorical practices of members of other ethnic groups. Michelle, for example, who
is of Korean ancestry, has a perspective of Hawai‘i’s ethnic and racial context different
than the other participants, who are of Chinese and Japanese ancestry. She feels that in
South Bend, Indiana she is less seen through negative stereotypes than she is in
Hawai‘i. Her experience of Hawai‘i likely reﬂects perceptions of Koreans in Hawai‘i as

immigrants. Okamura, for example, describes the desire of some Korean Americans in

184

 

Hawai‘i “to dissociate themselves from the degrading representations of Korean
immigrants” (Ethnicity 110). Though as previously mentioned I question Michelle’s
assertion that she is not seen through stereotypes in South Bend, her experience in
Hawai‘i provides her a perception of the continent different than other participants. This
leads me to wonder about members of other Asian ethnicities, for example, Filipinos,
who are subject to quite derogatory stereotypes in Hawai‘i. Like Michelle, I suspect that
they too might prefer the continental context and thus evidence a different relationship
to “Local”/“Hawaiian” identity markers. That is, they may ﬁnd less value in the “Local”
narrative of multiculturalism and claim more strongly an “American,” Asian American,
or person of color identity.

And while this may not be within the purview of Asian American rhetoric, I am
curious as well about Native Hawaiian and Caucasian members of Hawai‘i clubs. How
do the clubs function for members of these groups? What kind of transition do they face
in relocating to the continent? The Menlo College club, for example, which has a much
higher percentage of Native Hawaiian officers in contrast to other Hawai‘i clubs, makes
little reference to “Local” culture on its website. Though perhaps not surprising given
Trask’s description of claims to the “Local” as aimed at usurping Native claims, this
indicates another matrix of identity construction.

Considering the value of “Local” and “Hawaiian” culture for distancing club
members from dominant constructions of Asian Americans has also led me to ponder
the similar value these cultures hold for continental Asian Americans—despite their
lack of lived engagement or geographical connection with these cultures. I touched on

this in Chapter 3, but there are additional indications of the value of “Local” and

185

“Hawaiian” culture for continental Asian Americans, for example, in the adoption of the
Hawaiian word “hapa.” One way to explore this might be through the UCI club or a
similar club in which many members—often of Asian or mixed ancestry, are from the
continent. What is the function of Hawai‘i and Hawai‘i clubs for these members?
Several continental UCI club members also say they were drawn to the club through
their interest in hula, developed through participation in halau in California. These halau
might also present a context for considering the appeal of Hawai‘i for Asian Americans
or mixed race individuals.

In terms of Asian American rhetoric and Asian American studies more broadly I
see this kind of project as valuable in conversation with those that focus on Asian
American claims to U.S. citizenship. I have demonstrated some of the value of “Local”
and “Hawaiian” identity markers for club members relative their claims to
“Americanness.” Further investigations into the appeal of “Local” and “Hawai‘i”
identity markers for variously positioned individuals could provide further insight into
claims to U.S. citizenship by comparison.

This project has also raised my curiosity regarding relationships between
students from Hawai‘i who are either continental- or Hawai‘i-educated. Hawai‘i club
websites clearly evidence a negotiation of identity relative Hawai‘i and the continent. In
some sense, club members can be said to construct themselves as superior to Hawai‘i or
at least to base their self-representations on perceptions of them as superior. The value
of “Local” and Hawaiian culture for club members is likely based on homesickness and
a renewed appreciation for “home,” but also, as I have said, on their continental

educations, which construct them as more “American” than those “back home.” This

186

leads me to wonder about the impact on club members’ future relationships with
Hawai‘i and their peers “back home.” On a related note, how do club members
negotiate the Hawai‘i and continental contexts and the different ways these inﬂuence
their identity constructions when traveling back and forth during their schooling or at
different stages in their lives?

Conclusion
Club members have a variety of resources for constructing their identities, yet they must

draw on these carefully, in limited ways, for example, in order to avoid jeopardizing

 

their claim to those identity markers that are most valuable to them. In other words, the h
club websites and participants show a careful negotiation of identity resources. r
Paradoxically, it is the various ways club members are privileged that contribute to this
challenge.
Hawai‘i club websites help us understand how a speciﬁc context—Hawai‘i—
inﬂects Asian American rhetorical practices. In many ways, the case of Hawai‘i clubs
supports the primary concerns of Asian American rhetoric as outlined by Mao and
Young, such as the concern with citizenship or belonging and the necessary hybridity.
Yet given the numerical and socioeconomic demographics of its population of Asian
ancestry, Hawai‘i provides a context for considering Asian American rhetoric when not
a minority discourse. Club members’ rhetorical practices can be constructed as part of
minority discourse in the continental context to which they have migrated and to some
degree have been aware of throughout their lives. Yet the role of individuals of Asian
ancestry, particularly those of Chinese and Japanese heritage, in the Hawai‘i context

provide ways to consider what Asian American rhetoric might be when not a minority

187

discourse. Focusing on “citizenship,” for example, and Asian American rhetoric as a
means for claiming a space in the “American narrative,” while valuable for considering
responses to dominant constructions of Asian Americans, only tells part of the story.
Attending to club members’ uses of HHNL, Pidgin, Hawaiian, and representations of
“Local”/“Hawaiian” culture are crucial for understanding Asian American relationships
with those associated with these languages and cultures. Because of the numbers of
those of Asian ancestry in Hawai‘i along with the dominance of those of Chinese and
Japanese ancestry, club members have trouble relating to experiences of racism. This
leads them to represent race and ethnicity primarily as entertainment. While one might
argue that this is a result of the brand of “Local” multiculturalism in Hawai‘i, rather
than the Asian majority, I would argue that the Asian majority feeds the discourse of
multiculturalism in Hawai‘i. That is, the existence of a non-white majority and the
socioeconomic and political power of some members of this group supports claims of
ethnic equality and the belief that anyone can make it.

My study of Hawai‘i clubs also offers a methodological approach to Asian
American rhetoric, displaying the value of investigating the available resources of Asian
American rhetors and their reasons for drawing from one resource or another. This
seems especially appropriate to the attention to entanglements and appropriations that
Mao and Young encourage. In addition, this approach need not be used only for Asian
American rhetors as we would be hard-pressed to ﬁnd someone who does not draw
from multiple resources in composing a text.

My hope is that this study contributes to the growth of Asian American rhetoric

in order to account for and further expand our understanding of the various complexities

188

of Asian American and other identities. As a relatively small, young ﬁeld, Asian
American rhetoric scholarship will surely expand in many directions. One of the issues
that I hope is accounted for is privilege; while the Hawai‘i context provides a case in
which this privilege cannot be ignored, I want us to attend to other kinds of privileges in
other contexts as well. These may be in terms of education and class or they may be
more about our interactions with other communities (of color), in which we are both
able to build on dominant constructions of the other for our own beneﬁt. I want us to
attend to those factors that enable—even encouragegus to use others, even if they are
able to use us as well. In this way—that is, if we can account for both privileges and
challenges, we can support responsible decisions about the reclamation and

appropriation of devalued practices.

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APPENDIX A

Background Information on Post-Secondary Institutions Included in this Study

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Location Population % % Sources
white Asian

University of Irvine, CA 24362 28 44 “Glimpse”

California, Irvine

Menlo College Atherton, CA 750 42 753 “About Menlo
College,”
“Demographics”

Northwestern Evanston, IL 8262 68 21 “Fast”

University

University or South Bend, 11733 53 NR“ “Proﬁle”

Notre Dame IN

University of Eugene, OR 20376 73 6 “About the UO”

Oregon

University of Philadelphia, 24107 42 NR “Facts”

Pennsylvania PA

Stanford Stanford, CA 14700 46 23 Stanford

University

University at Seattle, WA 42113 7055 22 “University”

Washington

Wellesley College Wellesley, MA 2300 46 25 “Quick Facts,”

. “Wellesley

Viewbooks”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table 1: Background information on post-secondary institutions included in this study

 

53 Menlo also reports that 4% of its student body is Paciﬁc Islanders. (Most institutions do not

disaggregate this data.)

54 Not reported.

55 . . . . .
This number includes Caucasrans, rntematronal students, and Other.

190

 

APPENDIX B: Solicitation Email

Dear Hawai‘i club member,

I am currently working toward my PhD in Rhetoric & Writing at Michigan State
University and my dissertation focuses on Hawai‘i clubs. My interest in Hawai‘i clubs
stems from my background as I am originally from Hawai‘i (Mililani High School
1997) and have spent several years living on the continent.

I am contacting you because I am interested in interviewing club members about their
experiences both in Hawai‘i and on the continent. Participants in this research may
beneﬁt from the chance to reﬂect on their experiences. The results from this project
may also help those at universities and others better understand the various inﬂuences
on Asian American identity and self-representation, perhaps helping them to better
serve future students. If you choose to participate, we will schedule a l-hour interview
to be conducted via online chat (e. g. AOL Instant Messenger).

Please contact me by email if you are interested in participating or have any questions.
In addition, I would appreciate it if you could either (1) forward this message to
members of your Hawai‘i club or (2) provide me with a list of members’ email
addresses so that I might contact them myself.

Sincerely,
Robyn Tasaka

191

APPENDIX C

“You Know You’re Hawaiian If...” Feature Reproduced from Northwestern University
Hawai‘i Club Website

:: YOU KNOW YOU'RE HAWAIIAN IF... ::

l. The possibility of a longshorernan strike makes you panic.

2. You don’t understand why anyone would buy less than a 20 lb. bag of rice.
3. You would serve Spam as a meat for dinner.

4. You can taste the difference between teriyaki and kal-bi.

5. You know what a plumeria 1s. _ r E“
6. You don’ t wear your shoes 1n the house. ‘ , l
7. You know why there are alphabets on trees or any posts on graduation day.
8. You know what and when “Lei Day” is.

9. You know what a “stink eye” is and how to give it. '

10. You know what nationality girl (more than one) would put tape on her eyelids and k ._.

 

why.

11. You can correctly pronounce Kalanianaole, Kalakaua, Aiea, Likelike, karaoke, and
Pipeline.

12. You know the items in the Big Breakfast at McDonald’s.

13. You know what one “huli huli chicken” is.

14. You can name 3 varieties of mangos.

15. You have (or know someone who has) at least one family member whose name is

“junior boy” or “tita”.

16. The words, “da kine,” are a normal part of your conversation.

17. You know the difference between being “hapa” and being “hapai.”

18. You give directions using mauka and makai.

19. You know what “Hawaii Pono‘i” is (and you know the words).

20. You know what it takes to get into Kamehameha School.

21. Someone says da word “U K ” and your head starts itching!

22. You raise your chin fo say “wassup” instead of nodding.

23. When making “Shaka”, the back of your hand is facing out.

24. You say, “Nori” not seaweed paper.

25. You say “Brah,” not “Bro.”

26. You despise the movie “North Shore.”

27. Your jokes are ’bout Portugese people, not Polish people.

28. You laugh at couples wearing cheesy matching Aloha attire.

29. You get one pair “rubbah slippahs” (not ﬂip ﬂops).

30. You e-mail people in pidgin.

31. You know what (and where) “Morgan’s Corner” is (and it still scares you!)

32. 70 degrees is “freezing!”

32. You use “tako” instead of worms or ﬂuorescent pink ﬁsh eggs for bait.

32. You got lickins’ with “da rubbah slippah” when you was small kidtime.

33. You can walk through Waianae and no get mobbed.

34. You know that “Kukui nut” is not one mental person.

192

35. You give Kahi Mohala’ s nurnba out to one guy/girl you no like.

36. You call it “saimin” not “Top Rarnen” (Sapporo Ichiban mo bettah.

37. The surf report is on your speed dial and you always get one tide calendar on your
wall.

38. Your local kids wear slippas and shorts 1n November 1n Chicago (inside da house,
of course). 1

39. “Dressing up” means shorts and one Aloha shirt.

40. You call it "shave ice", not snow cone or shaved ice.

41. Rainbow Drive-Inn is a special date.

42. You go Kam, not Aloha, swap meet.

43. You know pineapples no grow in trees.

44. You know what Li Hing Mui is and you put it on everything (or put RED Li Hing
Mui in da TEQUILA!!! YAAAAAHOOO! !).

45. You ask for shoyu and not soy sauce.

46. You call public transportation “Uncle Frank’s lirnosine” or “da BUS” (and that’s the
ofﬁcial name too!)

47. You need one relative to get one state job.

48. Da Governor is your cousin (or your mother’s brother’s father’s sister’s uncle’s

son).

49. You know what da H3 is, but you scared drive on it cause stay haunted.

50. You search your car for pork before you go over da Pali.

51. You go to Neirnan Marcus “jus fo look.” (AKA - Needless Markups)

52. You can name da cast of Hawaii 5-0.

53. Da mainland people no can understand when you talk.

54. You ask for “fruit punch” at McDonald’s in da mainland. (wat? nomo!).

55. You eat spam musubi on a regular basis.

56. You wear slippahs almost everywhere.

57. You can be wearing boros and nobody tinks nothin’.

58. You like ume, daikon, and kim chee betta than pickles.

59. When you gotta go bathroom, you say “I going shi shi. ”

60. When you try explain the location of something to your friend, you use landmarks
instead of street names.

61. You go Kam Bowl to eat “OX TAIL SOUP”

62. You tink BAYWATCH HAWAII is stupid, cause they dunno how fo ack!

63. You know da difference between sushi and sashimi.

64. You know your hernaj ang pickup truck going pass da safety inspection cause you
know da auntie of da cousin of da uncle of the uddah cousin of da uncle who’s your
“auntie” (he one mahu) and deyget one bruddah-in-law who work fo da service
station.

65. You get one “beach car.”

66. You go tell all da “locals” you fo saw dis site!

193

 

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