I’d be reveling in Asians’ success at the Oscars if I weren’t so concerned for our safety

April 26, 2021

The contrast between the major breakthroughs Asians and Asian Americans are making on screen and the violent, hateful attacks we are experiencing on the streets is a reminder that the conventional wisdom about the power of Hollywood visibility has limits. When attitudes toward Asians and Asian Americans are driven as much by the vacillations of geopolitics as familiarity with minority communities, there’s only so much movies can do to change minds.

The conventional wisdom is that visibility in pop culture uplifts minorities and offers a pathway toward acceptance and respect. But Asian Americans face circumstances more complicated than this narrative allows. There’s no one exceptional story or one great performance that can capture the huge range of our experiences and origins.

The 2021 Academy Awards were an illustration of just how much the terms Asian and Asian American encompass — and how big a breakthrough this year really was. Zhao was not just the first Chinese woman but also the first woman of color to be nominated for best director. Youn is the first Korean actor to win an Oscar. And Riz Ahmed and Steven Yeun were the first men of Pakistani and East Asian descent, respectively, to be nominated for best actor.

This is a major change, considering how much great cinema and cinematic talent has come out of Asian countries, and how poorly America’s great film institutions have recognized it. Take just one example: Hong Kong submitted Andrew Lau and Alan Mak’s “Infernal Affairs” for best foreign-language film at the 2003 Oscars, but it wasn’t nominated. Then four years later, Martin Scorsese’s “The Departed,” a remake of “Infernal Affairs” set in the United States, won for best picture, best director and best adapted screenplay. Adding insult to injury, an announcer at the time mistakenly credited “Infernal Affairs” as a Japanese film.

Today, the tone has completely shifted thanks to the global influence of K-pop, the wave of money coming in from Asian investors and the strength of Asia’s booming theatrical film market — not to mention the activists pushing for representation and diversity. Even when American recognition is late, as it was when the Academy members voted Bong Joon-ho’s “Parasite” best picture in 2020 despite South Korea’s longtime status as a cinematic superpower, I suppose it’s better than never.

Given Hollywood’s history and incentives, it’s not surprising that the industry has begun promoting Asian and Asian American artists and praising their work as it becomes more reliant on overseas audiences and markets. But when it comes to actually protecting Asian Americans’ lives at home, Hollywood’s power is limited compared with that of other forces.

Ever since covid-19 was first identified in China, Asians, Asian Americans and Asians of the diaspora across the world knew that we would be blamed and scapegoated. Xenophobic political pundits were all too ready to unleash ugly rhetoric without care for whom they influenced. The president of the United States referred to the pathogen as the “China virus” and “kung flu.” In the United States, no matter our origins, Asian Americans knew we would be demoted back to generically and homogeneously Asian and made the target for free-floating rage.

“Minari” is a lovely movie, but what power does a heart-warming family drama that few Americans are even aware of have against a constant stream of nastiness on cable and the Internet? Zhao’s breakthrough is well-deserved, but will it change the way our fellow Americans see our grandmothers on the street or our aunts and sisters working in all the very different Asian-owned spas across the country?

It’s maddening to know that this cyclical process will restart every time there is tension in the U.S.-China relationship, or when any Asian country is tied to the hardships of Americans. It feels like being caught in a cyclone that lifts us high into the sky and then drops us to the ground, testing whether this time we break, or whether we rise again.

I can’t wait to return to the theaters and see films and pieces of art meant to challenge, provoke and stimulate progress. And as I exit through the double doors and process what I’ve just seen, I’ll make sure to check that my pepper spray is still in my right pocket.