The Low-down on Asian Cliques

By Karen Hor

I stopped by Boba Suite Tea House, the new hip bubble tea café (sorry, Unique Tea House), with a bunch of friends on a Thursday afternoon. I was thoroughly enjoying the sight of its new, cute, tiny cupcakes as I ordered my usual—Thai iced tea with herbal jelly. Suddenly, I’m perturbed by the sound of none other than…Asian clamor.

“Ni buyao, ma?!” “Wobuyao!” Their laughter was loud and high-pitched, and I swear they all looked like crouching tigers raising their paws up and down as they shrieked over some homeland joke. My slanted eyes widened: God they are annoying as hell.

They are the international Asian students, speaking Mandarin and ignoring the rest of the English-speaking world. They stick to their packs like wolves—a homogenous clique with its own language. I’m Chinese-American, and so are my friends, and even we roll our eyes at the shamefulness that stands before us as we leave Boba—in our own clique.

But before you cry racism, let me just say that whether you’re black, white, Hispanic, or sorority-plauged, if you were as loud, beastly, and uncivil as those Asians, I’d want to punch you in the face, too. Growing up, I was the only Asian-American living in a predominantly Puerto Rican neighborhood and the only Asian-American student in my middle school. I knew the definition of “minority” at age two, and it has since developed into this convoluted term far beyond black and white.

In response to this phenomenon, Syracuse University created a Multicultural Spring Program (MSP) in a lame attempt to welcome admitted students from “underrepresented races and/or ethnicities” to stay at the university for two days and two nights. I attended. The program included a dinner with academic deans and an MSP cultural show, followed by a reception—boring. By nightfall, I meandered my way onto the university’s campus and inhaled the sweet scent of freedom. I stopped by several dorms with my newfound MSP friends before finding my way to the Phi Iota Alpha house, a Latino fraternity. I’m dancing now, and yeah, it’s dirty. The bass is up so high I don’t realize the oddity of the scene: I’m the only Asian in a crowd of blacks, Hispanics, and yes, even white people. My yellow kinfolk are nowhere to be found. Multicultural program, my ass.

But I decided to attend Syracuse despite the lack of familiar faces. Three years have passed and I’ve befriended more Asian people than I could have ever predicted. I surveyed these Asians in my environment—the ones from the villages southeast of Beijing, from the vibrant city of Seoul, and from the heart of New York City (that’s me). We’re all the same, but we’re all really different.

As of fall 2010, the total SU enrollment was 20,407. Minority students represent 23 percent of the total university population, 7.6 percent of which are Asian-Americans—not Asians. No wonder Asians don’t chill with other Asians on this campus. Sure, the language barrier presents a problem, but where are the programs on campus joining all the yellow faces together? We have Asian Students in America (ASIA), Chinese Students and Scholars Association (CSSA), and Hong Kong Cultural Organization (HKCO). Oh, and don’t forget the Korean-American Student Association (KASA) and Korean Student Association (KSA). Seriously, what’s the damn difference?

We—Asians and Asian-Americans—segregate ourselves from one another, waging some passive-aggressive Civil War. Yes, I have an Asian-American pack of friends. Hell, my two best friends are Chinese-Americans, but I hardly know any Asians straight from the homeland. These “cultural” associations tout multiculturalism but fortify racism within a race. Thank you, but I’d rather not associate myself with that.