Expats
Expats, Orientalism, and the Question of Identity
Things collide; or so I realized after I saw M Butterfly, started a grad school class on multicultural education and had to introduce myself “ethnically, racially, and culturally” in three minutes, and, by happen stance, in my effort to avoid grading finals, watched an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, in which he travels to Indonesia and only half jokes about giving it all up and “going bamboo.” It only took one clever comparison of Asia expats to Kurtz of Heart of Darkness (who he erroneously refers to as “Colonel Kurtz,” who is actually a character from Apocalypse Now, the film adaptation of the novel) to send me into a fervent reflection on established social and literary theory and my own place in this caricatural landscape of oppressor versus oppressed and the white male being lured into the dark, exotic jungle. I am not white (okay, half), not male, and was certainly never lured anywhere. But when I unpack my own feelings about wanting to move back to Vietnam, the whys of it, I cannot help but feel a little like Kurtz, a man “gone native” but one who feeds off the sense of power he gets by virtue of his utter foreignness and the superiority that entails.
I moved to Vietnam when I was nine, but by then it was already a huge part of my life. It all began with a mother dangerously attracted to war zones, and by the time I opened my eyes to the world, our family, which I completed as the tenth child, was inextricably tied to Vietnam–by time, by work, and by blood. I first stepped foot in Vietnam as a 6 year-old, and I celebrated my 7th birthday at the Thang Long Hotel in Hanoi. It’s funny how that sounds so Marguerite Duras. My childhood in Vietnam. But it wasn’t like that. My sister and I arrived with New Kids on the Block t-shirts and boom boxes. Remember, this was the 80s and early 90s. But actually it was a little like Duras because this was before the US lifted its embargo; there were very few foreigners in the country, and we were usually the only white faces to be seen.
I always remember this as a more innocent time because there wasn’t an expat or tourist culture in place yet; it was just us, and we became truly immersed in Vietnam. I remember how much more “Soviet” it seemed. There is no doubt that Hanoi has a distinct French flair, from its Opera House and St. Joseph’s Cathedral, to the oft-celebrated “cafe culture” and tree-shaded boulevards. But then those things were somewhat buried by a society that had been closed off from the outside world for 13 years. They had not yet polished off these tourist-enticing jewels, learned how to sell them to the world.
Now, if the government is still ambivalent on this matter, local and expat businesses are not. The city is replete with faux-French flair in equal parts to match the real French influence. For every impoverished banh mi seller there is a newly-opened French cafe, complete with quaint mini chalkboard propped outside to announce the soup du jour. If I sound overly sarcastic, I’m not trying to be. After all, it’s why I absolutely love Hanoi; I too have been pulled into the colonial romance of it all. But my memories of the old days are different. I remember bomb craters filled with rain water littering the ricefields from Vinh to Quang Ngai. I remember chintzy discotheques and whores (sorry, dancing girls) in cheap Chinese ball gowns. People and places are the stories we tell of them; as Edward Said says, they are largely social constructions: we see what we want to see.
Edward Said also defines the Orient as the “Other,” everything that it not the West, everything that is exotic but also inferior. But for expats there is a privilege in being another kind of “Other.” And so my experience is a strange inversion of what it should be. Here, in my grad school class for instance, they look to me, a “minority,” (although I am just as much my white mother as I am my Indian father, I suppose) for an experience of being oppressed. They talk of their “white middle class guilt.” And this just deepens my guilt. Not only have I benefited from being part of an elite minority, I can’t even empathize with my fellow “people of color.” For my early arrival into a country I would call home for the next 12 years did not make me anymore Vietnamese. And subsequent membership into a tight-knit international expat community somewhat negated my previous ties to what was “really” Vietnamese.
For the longest time, I thought the reason I didn’t believe racism existed was because I went to a UN international school where 40 nationalities coexisted beautifully; now I think that it’s because I was part of an elite, privileged minority that, though we did “our part” by volunteering and celebrating our “host culture,” took for granted our endless stream of money, maids, drivers, swimming pools, computers, clothes, and frequent vacations to all corners of the globe. That was my childhood. Not because we were exceptionally wealthy but because we were expats.
So what is it that I want to go back to? Is it being the “Other” that attracts me? In part. It is also my personal experience and memory of Hanoi. But it is a constructed, romanticized view I have of Hanoi, like Said’s exoticized Orient. It is a Hanoi I created and that was in part created for me by people like me. I am treated differently in Vietnam. “We”–this elite minority of expats–are treated differently. It is because of our money but also because of a history of colonization, invasion, and Orientalist paradigm that has led the oppressed themselves to treat their oppressors with reverence, if not overtly, then subtly, and if not on an individual level, then on an institutional, societal one.
But through this crust of guilty realization bubbles up something else. Memories of hoa sua scented nights, listening to Tu Anh strum his guitar by candlelight when the power went out, eating buckets of clams with lime and salt on a boat in Ha Long. I have just as much right to those places, those things as any “Hanoian.” Vietnam will never be my birthplace, my motherland. But it will always be home. So, in the next few months, as I think about where I’m going, I must continually ask myself what it is I’m going to back to. Who was I then? Who am I now? Who will I become?
Discussion
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Interesting.
While I may not entirely agree about the ‘oppressed treating their (former) oppressors with reverence’ bit, after all that is much too much a broad generalization and in some ways reminds me of the argument that black slaves adopting Christianity was some sort of Uncle Tom maneuver.
I came to VN as an expat because I am different. I have a wealth of experience that is compensated at a certain level in the States but that same experience is compensated much more highly (I hope!) in VN.
A very thoughtful read, so thanks for that. I wonder what additional thoughts you would have penned if your folks’ racial makeup was switched and your Mom was the “other.”
You’re right; it is a generalization, as is much of what comes out when we try to write about what we don’t quite know and are just trying to figure out. I should have cited specific examples, like that of my Vietnamese friend being treated like a pariah by the Vietnamese staff of the Sheraton Hotel in Hanoi when he tried to celebrate his grandmother’s birthday there or my father being refused entry into an expat establishment in Calcutta .
As for postulating about a reverse situation, I have no idea. I have friends with Asian mothers and white fathers; I have a white brother with an Asian wife and mixed kids. I really can’t say how their experiences are different.
Thanks for reading.
Lots of food for thought here. This really opened up my definition of expat and what that means depending on which country you ended up becoming an expat in.
I look forward to reading your thoughts on this and following your adventures!
Shelley–thank you. I wonder what it feels like to be European expat, following in the footsteps of “the lost generation,” haha.
why not call your other other “the one.”just kidding.
seriously, this is why i sometimes get pissed when i read expat blogs, people who say and stupidly believe that theirs is an objective view of blah blah country, i believe descriptions even in blogs are subjective, colored by class, own culture, etc.
Hiya mad brown woman (sounds somehow more grave when you separate it out like that), I think it’s hard because we can never be “local,” but we do create our own culture that is a blend of expat and local.
Gosh Preya this is beautiful. I am in an internet cafe on Phan Thiet beach (amazingly beautiful) but when your daughter starts quoting Edward Said you know you have done something right. I can’t take credit for it but I met Ed as he liked to be called about six months before his death. He was the most remarkably calm laid back person with a fine mind. We came here and are staying in a villa near Vu’s fathers place, it is just beautiful and I can’t believe that even small seaside places such this is in Viet Nam have gone through such a boom. The villas look as though we could be in Vegas or Arizona, outstanding. Unfortunately we have only a glimpse of the sea from our balcony, boo hoo. Love, Mom
This is a reply to the first comment. Preya was absolutely right when she wrote that sentence - in Vietnam’s case anyway. I grew up in Vietnamese society, but spent a big trunk of my life in the UK and then came back as an expat in VN. From my viewpoint what she said was not a sweeping generalisation but a good observation. It might sound unPC but the more you spend time with VNmese the more you realise that the idea is both deep-rooted and universal. And it is not limited to Vietnam-you will find that in other Asian countries also but to a lesser extent. Having spent a long period as one of the poorest countries in the world, the Vn looked up to the West as their superior both economically and socially. That will change with the rise of the Vn economy, naturally. However at the moment Preya’s statement still holds true.
Hi Alex–thanks for adding your thoughts. Which Alex are you? I know two who could fit your exact description of yourself!
Good God, there are two of me around? My name is short for Alexandra. The other Alex is a woman too? Let’s hope the other Alex doesn’t spell chunk as trunk as I did.
The other Alex if he/she can be mistaken as me, he/she must be interesting…..How did you know the other Alex?
Okay, so you’re not Alex (Alexandra too) my best friend who grew up in VN/moved to England. Or the other Alex (guy) who grew in VN with us and moved to Europe (not sure about the England part, but I wasn’t sure.) There’s actually another Alex who comments on this blog from time to time who went to the same school I did in VN and now lives in Europe I think. Wow. You can see why I was confused!
Blimey, I’m gonna change my name.
Writing this as an idea popped into my head.
I first came across your blog five or six months ago - maybe a bit longer. This was the first time I knew I had an acronym! Lord - all these years and I never there was a name for me. Or a reason I liked airports so much. Or why I am really only happy when in a country where I cannot understand a word anyone is saying:)
From your blog I went to other spots and found my favorite quote from Notes from a Travelling Childhood - “I have sauntered away with riches.”
I am an earlier generation of TCK - and one of my countries was VietNam - in 1969 and 1970 - my family lived in Saigon. I have never lost my passion for this country. Indeed when I got off the plane in 2001 I had tears streaming down my face - much to the bewilderment of my fellow passengers.
I am writing all of this because of my “idea” - after my third cup of coffee this morning and a long conversation with someone on the phone about the pitfalls and foibles of translation. So this is the story. Our youngest daughter was born in Lang Son in 2001. We are going to VietNam for Christmas this year and part of the trip will be to visit our daughter’s foster mother. We have had ongoing communication with this amazing woman over the past six years. My idea was that perhaps, just maybe, it was possible that you or someone you know or someone they know would know someone who had the language skills to do translation and some appreciation of how significant the issues are both for the foster mom (who had wanted to adopt our daughter herself) and for our daughter because of the information that may well be available through this woman. And I thought there is no harm asking. As as a mother I am shameless in my asking:)
I still really don’t know how this blog stuff works. Will leaving this post give you my email address? hmmm.
Mary
Hey Preya, I like this post a lot. I think it takes a period of non-expatness to realize the things that you write about.
Take care.
Mary–thanks for your comment; could you please email me at Preyanka@gmail.com I can provide more info that way.
Sao Mai! How are you? I think you’re right about having to be “repatriated”; I don’t know that we ever were taught to see things from this perspective at UNIS.
Wow, I had no idea your Blog attraced so many Alexes (Alexi?).
Great post, as usual. So good that I have nothing to add. Except for this: Insert wise remark here _____________.
- Alex #3
I’ve been sporadically reading this blog ever since I first signed up to spend this summer in Hanoi. I, too, am a TCK (Venezuela, 7-14) of possibly similar familial leanings as you, as my parents were leftist/grassroots community organizers that raised us in poor urban slums (the largest difference would probably be that we did not live a “privileged” life in Venezuela…. we were obviously fantastically wealthy compared to our poor neighbors, but my brothers and I attended local schools and we lived in a shack, and our friends and life were those of our neighbors).
I don’t have much to say about Said, as I left critical theory behind when I left undergrad (thankfully!). But I do have to say that Hanoi is a lovely, lovely place, and that part of that is the lifestyle that Hanoi affords me as a Westerner, and the level of authority and respect that I enjoy here.
The question for me is whether that is a bad thing. While I recognize the impulse that drives Orientalism and other post-colonial analysis of unequal power relationships, I have to also recognize that we live in a world of unequal power relationships and that such things are inevitable. Evolution, in its wisdom or lack thereof, has granted humans hierarchical social structures. Is that so wrong? And if it is wrong to perpetuate it in the case of westerners vs. post-colonial people, why then is acceptable within post-colonial (or pre-colonial) cultures? And, why do we care so much in the first place?
Life is too short for such gnashing of teeth. There is a difference between being a slave-trader and someone who enjoys the feeling of being a powerful benefactor when he pays 50 cents to have someone shine his shoes, three times the rate that they would get from a local. Leave it at that and move on… most Vietnamese seem to me happier than the drones in the US, particularly as they grow economically and integrate into the world market. Who is Said to dictate the relationship between me and my eager shoeshine boy? Can’t we create those terms without his input?
And Hanoi is a really easy place to fall in love with. I’d have a much better time rumbling through its food stalls with Bourdain than with Said.
So would I, Dave, but according to my Mom “Ed” was a very chill person, too.
However, I disagree with you that unequal power relationships are okay because they’re inevitable! I know you’re saying this thinking of the nonmalevolent relationships you have in Vietnam, but that kind of ideology, when extrapolated, is troublesome.
And it’s not so much your individual relationship with your shoeshine boy that I’m worried about…it’s a broader (and more deeply-rooted) issue that is based on historical and current socio-economic relationships. Of course you enjoy that part of the lifestyle which you say “being a Westerner affords you” in Hanoi; why wouldn’t you?
I, at least, feel the need to question (notice I ended my post with questions, not criticisms) my own such privileges and why I deserve them and how I also (might) abuse them. Privilege is not a bad thing, but privilege can easily be abused, especially when you begin to look at those who are on the other side of the coin: those without the same privileges: why don’t they also have them?
Sometimes this manifests itself not so much in “things” (material) but in perceptions and attitudes. Such was the case of my Vietnamese friend, who went to the same international school I did, being treated like vermin by the Sheraton Hotel staff because he did not have the privilege of being considered worthy of respect, even though he was paying the same amount of money; I doubt he would adopt your nonchalance regarding power relationships.
My experiences are in no way characteristic of my life in Hanoi, but by pointing out instances when these things did happen, I am able to recognize that they are symptomatic of real underlying issues and tensions.
I think you set up a straw man argument when you mention “gnashing of teeth” and “slave traders” because I certainly never brought any such emotion or sentiment into my writing. In fact, if you’ve read my other posts, I am not against Western presence, influence, or lifestyle in Vietnam–I do, however, tend to question the nature of that (and my own) presence, influence, and lifestyle.
Overall, I simply want to question my privilege and make sure I don’t abuse it. Notice no mention of YOU (you or your shoeshine boy!). I think this has a lot to do with the fact that I went to school in Hanoi and was part of a deeply rooted, less transient community. I don’t mean to say individual practices were in any way abusive (like having a maid, which I think is totally fine but is often considered “terrible” expat behavior).
And of course, I am always mired in such theoretical discussions, and find it inexorably interesting and, yes, even fun, so, to be honest, I’d prefer to hang out with Said (and others) AND Bourdain. Why choose when you can have both?
Dear Dave, enjoy your priviledges bringing to you by your ancestors going around killing and raping whilst they last. Look around you -especially in Chindia’s direction, Mr 50 -Cent-Benefactor, we live in a changing time. The next superpower will have a moral and intellectual infrastructure that will look mighty peculiar to those of us living in the west. They will redefine the rules of the game and decide who will have the privileges. Most likely you will see your offsprings or at the latest your grandchildren shoeshining for the people whose at the expense of you are enjoying your “authority and respect” right now. Amen to that.
I like your blog so much. So glad to know someone from another country considering hanoi as a ” home sweet home”!!! Take care and keep your good job, hugs.
Hang
I really enjoy your blog - especially as Hanoi is my favourite city in the world among those I’ve visited.
Though I am obviously a foreigner when traveling in Asia I don’t feel so acutely aware of it as some fellow tourists and expats I’ve met. Perhaps being a white person born and raised in Africa means that I’ve been used to it all my life. One of my sisters said, after returning from a visit to France, “How strange it was to look just like everyone else - and how awkward not to be able to speak the language when the locals mistake you for one of them!”
I love your blog- as a writer and a journalist of Indian-American heritage, I am dealing with a lot of these issues as part of my critique of the writings of westerners living in India. Unforunately, most of them are much less likely to acknowledge their privileged position than you; they seem to believe they understand “the real India” which is pretty depressing for people like myself who know differently.
Beautiful, brilliant, a teacher and an adventurer- it looks like you’ve got the total package. You don’t have any sisters back in the States do ya ;)?
Thanks Gautham! I have sisters, but they are taken!
I am interested in contributing to your blog because I am considering taking a teaching position in Hanoi in June, 2008 and am weighing the romanticized image I have of Hanoi against the concern of being an expat living within an expat bubble as a westerner (with all the implications the term westerner carries which have been described by yourself and others here).
In my experiences living and traveling abroad (Latin America), there are those westerners who love and respect the culture that is not their own and who try to enter into it, understand and contribute with an honest heart and embrace it (and recognize it has something that American culture sorely lacks). On the other hand, there are those who use and take what they want from the host culture to serve their needs, bolster their egos, and who see the culture and people as fun and entertaining but ultimately inferior and “backward”.
I believe one can go somewhere as an expat for the right reasons and behave with good intentions (with respect for the people and the culture and with something positive to offer the community) and remain conscious of and monitor his behavior and his place in the world (as no higher and no lower than any other)..and I acknowledge that one has to monitor and remind oneself of that.
As such, I don’t agree with the idea that such a person is simply taking advantage of the exploitative behavior of previous western governmental colonial actions and “riding that wave while it lasts”..to me, that is cynical and it is too simplistic.
We cannot control what governments before and ahead of our place in time have done and will do, but we can be conscious of what they have done (and perhaps might do), our behavior, our words and deeds…maybe we can contribute something that helps those in the culture and gain something from that culture that you may not find possible in your own (spiritually, emotionally)…in my own experience, having changed careers from lawyer to teacher, I’ve learned more valuable things from those in a humble status in society than I have from those with an inflated status in society.
kind regards to all.
Peter–thanks for your comment. I agree with you. My post ends with the realization that my experience of Hanoi, the place I call home, is different from that of the locals but is no less valid. I was born into expat life; I don’t know how to be anything other than an expat; but, I want to live consciously and not take my privileges for granted. Good luck in Hanoi!