Legacy is inevitable
I just want to devote some words to what's buzzing in my head right now. Tonight I went to an presentation and panel discussion of Cambodian American artists, and to paraphrase one of the panelists, poet/musician/scholar Sokunthary Svay, it was something I've been waiting for my whole life.
I read somewhere (probably the Atlantic) an essay about how being an immigrant is an artistic endeavor. To create a new life, whole cloth from unfamiliar, sometimes unwelcoming environments, was, in essence, an art. I'm so curious about that creativity necessary for daily survival--the stories and myths we make about the past, how we step around wounds, forget about the inevitability of death, the constant motion of our histories like children who just keep growing older. Is not all life art?
Even though Art can be such an intimidating term, like those guards at the Met who are so vigilant against wayward children, the more I seek art, the more I find humanity. And that's what I felt tonight. The work from these thoughtful, open-hearted, vulnerable, brave artists were like a song calling me home.
Vichet Chum, another panelist and playwright and actor, talked about his work being a kind of unraveling. I think about how all our identities intersect, continually folding and unfolding as we move through the world. Where our families landed in the US, our own innate elements are woven through all our experiences. A question was asked how they all knew themselves as Khmer, which I think was so interesting. Because it's a question that points to our particular Other-ness but also undercuts the melting pot myth of American identity. No one in America is simply American. But when you’re not white, you’re definitely not simply American.
For me, I don't remember thinking of myself as anything other than Khmer. We spoke Khmer, we ate Khmer food, we basically only socialized with Khmer people. That was my standard for being a human, and everyone else was an outsider. I think I was lucky to have this kind of experience. Not that I didn't also experience the insecurities of being dark-skinned, not white, not wealthy and the all the other myriad isolations of modern American life. But my parents forged their own community of peers and worked hard to embed their children in that. Sometimes I think my entire childhood was spent at someone's elaborate, interminable wedding or sitting uncomfortably through the long chants of monks I didn't understand.
It's interesting too, that for me, being Khmer is about all my aunts cooking and chattering in the kitchen every weekend, and when outsiders think about Cambodia, it's the Khmer Rouge and genocide, and sometimes if they're keen, the US secret bombing and interference in Cambodian politics. It's strange to be the face of that history and foreign policy. I definitely chafe at that mask, and it was powerful to see how these artists negotiate that.
So many amazing insights tonight from the panelists, but what sticks with me most is that urgent call for our visibility. There are so many stories, so many characters, so many visions that we spent our childhoods yearning for, those missing representations. Not just because our parents' trauma was unable to activate it for us, but also the relentless force of homogenization that is American popular culture. I was so heartened to hear and see art being made by us and for us, for our parents, and ultimately for everyone. This art is a generosity, a whole wide wide world we are making together. Our children will live here.
I read somewhere (probably the Atlantic) an essay about how being an immigrant is an artistic endeavor. To create a new life, whole cloth from unfamiliar, sometimes unwelcoming environments, was, in essence, an art. I'm so curious about that creativity necessary for daily survival--the stories and myths we make about the past, how we step around wounds, forget about the inevitability of death, the constant motion of our histories like children who just keep growing older. Is not all life art?
Even though Art can be such an intimidating term, like those guards at the Met who are so vigilant against wayward children, the more I seek art, the more I find humanity. And that's what I felt tonight. The work from these thoughtful, open-hearted, vulnerable, brave artists were like a song calling me home.
Vichet Chum, another panelist and playwright and actor, talked about his work being a kind of unraveling. I think about how all our identities intersect, continually folding and unfolding as we move through the world. Where our families landed in the US, our own innate elements are woven through all our experiences. A question was asked how they all knew themselves as Khmer, which I think was so interesting. Because it's a question that points to our particular Other-ness but also undercuts the melting pot myth of American identity. No one in America is simply American. But when you’re not white, you’re definitely not simply American.
For me, I don't remember thinking of myself as anything other than Khmer. We spoke Khmer, we ate Khmer food, we basically only socialized with Khmer people. That was my standard for being a human, and everyone else was an outsider. I think I was lucky to have this kind of experience. Not that I didn't also experience the insecurities of being dark-skinned, not white, not wealthy and the all the other myriad isolations of modern American life. But my parents forged their own community of peers and worked hard to embed their children in that. Sometimes I think my entire childhood was spent at someone's elaborate, interminable wedding or sitting uncomfortably through the long chants of monks I didn't understand.
It's interesting too, that for me, being Khmer is about all my aunts cooking and chattering in the kitchen every weekend, and when outsiders think about Cambodia, it's the Khmer Rouge and genocide, and sometimes if they're keen, the US secret bombing and interference in Cambodian politics. It's strange to be the face of that history and foreign policy. I definitely chafe at that mask, and it was powerful to see how these artists negotiate that.
So many amazing insights tonight from the panelists, but what sticks with me most is that urgent call for our visibility. There are so many stories, so many characters, so many visions that we spent our childhoods yearning for, those missing representations. Not just because our parents' trauma was unable to activate it for us, but also the relentless force of homogenization that is American popular culture. I was so heartened to hear and see art being made by us and for us, for our parents, and ultimately for everyone. This art is a generosity, a whole wide wide world we are making together. Our children will live here.
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