Good Asian Drivers

This is a very long but very necessary post. Please bear with me.

Kit and I have been a little bit pissed off lately. The reason for this was our recent visit to the NACA Mid-Atlantic Conference. We walked in excited, energetic, and hopeful, and we walked out slightly bruised, frustrated, and smelling of poop. For those not familiar with NACA, it stood for the National Association for Campus Activities, and it strived to connect artists with Student Activities boards at colleges. 

The conference was designed to be like a trade show for artists. You paid for a booth, you put up your banner, handed out flyers, and talked to students who passed by to try to get them interested in what you have to offer and convince them to have you come to their campus. It took place over three days in a middle-of-nowhere town called Lancaster, PA. Kit and I had been preparing for months now, enlisting Keri to build a gigantic sign, spending all night burning promo DVDs for our media stations, and stuffing red envelopes full of candy and business cards. We had a positive outlook for the conference, so much so that when we stepped out of the car, we ignored the pervasive odor of horse manure that seemed to characterize this town.

Upon arrival, I spent 15 minutes decorating our booth. Banner, media stations, candy in red envelopes. Glued to the front of our booth was a rainbow sticker with the words “Celebrate Diversity”. In case anyone didn’t get it right off the bat, we were obviously Asian, and obviously queer.

The one thing that we noticed immediately and couldn’t seem to ignore for the rest of the conference was the overall racial homogeny of the attendees. Out of the 700-1000 students attending, almost everyone was white. There were small groups of African-American students and probably a total of five Asian-American students, no exaggeration. We sat down at the opening dinner (they served Kit 3 pathetic slices of zucchini, by the way) with a NACA staff member who’s black, and she said that NACA Mid-Atlantic was the most conservative out of all of the conferences.

The first hour when the students started trickling in was not all that bad. We smiled a lot. We gave out a lot of brochures. We tried our best to tell folks about what we did. We tried to direct people towards our tour scrapbook (really fun, by the way!) and our videos. And honestly, it wasn’t just about the money. Our pitch was genuine. We weren’t familiar with most of these schools (located in the PA, NY, MD, VA areas), and it seemed to me that they probably didn’t have a lot of queer Asian programming there, and that we would play an important role in increasing diversity, safety, and acceptance on campus. Our smiles were sincere, and I discovered coming out from within me a real sense of earnestness each time I spoke about our act and the ways in which we could enrich their school. 

But during the second hour, little things started to wear on me. Like when people started walking by and chuckling at our name. Granted, we had a funny name. But after the 20th chuckle, one started to wonder exactly why they were laughing. What racist assumptions were they harboring in their heads?  Perhaps they were chuckling because they felt like they were so progressive that they’re in on the joke? Whatever it was, it didn’t inspire them to stop curiously and ask for more details on who we were and what we did. They just chuckled and passed by without so much as another glance, as if pegging us as two slanty-eyed comedians with only one overused punch-line. Some guy walked by and said repeatedly, “Good Asian Drivers? There’s no such thing.” And kept saying it. Then he took some candy and walked away. I’m sorry, man, but you’ve clearly missed the point. 

By 11 o’clock on the first evening of the conference, it became abundantly clear to us that most of these schools didn’t really care about diversity. We even tried a different tactic by asking schools point blank whether or not they were looking for diversity programming. Everyone nodded their heads eagerly as if any hint of apathy in their response would brand them as racist. But the truth was that when it came down to it, they’d rather book the white boy rock band who whined about heartbreak than two queer Asians who made art that challenged the comfort of their existence. And right now, you’re not just hearing the voice of an embittered musician who others deemed untalented or unqualified. I am not stroking my own ego when I say that we are just as good as everyone else at the conference. I am just stating the facts. My music is as polished and as universally appealing as any other acoustic performer at the conference, and Kit’s poetry and stage presence can match any other spoken word artist there. I have been performing for over 8 years of my life at this point. Kit for over 6. This is not about lack of talent or experience. This is about indifference. This is about ignorance. This is about racism. This is about homophobia. This is about people in power who are unwilling to step outside of their bubble to give a very marginalized community a voice. 

After that first night, the poop smell started to slowly get on our nerves. It permeated our car and made its way onto every article of clothing we wore. We weren’t looking forward to the rest of the conference.

Then there were the showcases. So NACA selected a number of acts to showcase on their main stage. This was one of the few ways in which interested schools could be exposed to supposedly the best and most diverse acts available in the college market. We’d applied to showcases all over the nation in all the NACA conferences and hadn’t gotten picked for even a single one. Whatever, that wasn’t a big deal. Perhaps the pool was just so wide and diverse and talented that we just didn’t get a chance to really stand out. That’s what we thought. Well, we had a chance to see some of the showcases while in Lancaster. Some were genuinely quite good. Some performances were engaging, polished, and exciting. Not all. Some were downright awful, offensive, and bland. There were plenty of comedians. Lots of singer-songwriters. A good number of bands. Novelty acts. The showcases gave us tremendous insight on what exactly NACA Mid-Atlantic felt was “diverse”. There were straight black comedians who made fun of themselves and white people too. (The white audience really enjoyed laughing at jokes directed towards other racist white people because by laughing at them, they felt like they were somehow superior.) There were gay white people, mostly comedians who made fun of being gay. (Again, another way for audiences to laugh at gay people without feeling homophobic.) There were straight Asian male comedians who made fun of themselves. One particularly awful comic even said aloud on stage, “There’s no such thing as good Asian drivers” to which the audience responded with raucous laughter. If this was what was considered “diversity”, then students of color at Mid-Atlantic schools were truly fucked.

Kit confessed to me that he was particularly disturbed at one point during the evening, when singer-songwriter Brienne Moore was performing on stage. She was a lovely woman, played her guitar softly, and seemed small on that enormous stage. The emcee had introduced her as “one of the fiiiiinest woman up in here” before she took the mic. During her Leona Lewis cover, one of the men sitting next to us turned to another man and asked, “How much does she cost?” to which the other man replied, “She’s only one thousand.” There was something inherently sexist and sleazy about the exchange that just didn’t sit right with us.

Before the rest of this blog inevitably drifts towards nothing more than another angry Asian girl’s bitter and frustrated rant (although I’m sure it’s already too late), I do want to say that there were many silver linings that made the conference a far less painful experience for us. They deserve bullet points.

1. Our Agents

We all know it’s relatively common for artists to bitch about their agents. That’s because they didn’t have ours. Our agents, Devon and Melissa from On That Note Entertainment, always worked hard on our behalf. We’d never felt neglected or forgotten, and by the end of this weekend any hint of doubt that they wholeheartedly cared about our career and believed in our work was completely eradicated. They provided encouragement constantly, offered positive advice, responded promptly to our calls, and never shied away from our identity as queer Asian artists. In fact, they embraced it, which was much needed during a weekend that was slowly chipping away at our self-esteem.  

2. Virginia Wesleyan

Although many schools feigned interest in having progressive programming at their school, it was Jamie and her fellow students at Virginia Wesleyan who really stepped up to the plate to make that happen. These were allies who realized the importance of visibility. I want to take this chance to applaud them (and the countless number of schools who have booked us or who are making plans to book us in the future) for wanting to positively transform their campus into a supportive space. Theirs is a show at which I’m honestly excited to be performing. We will give them our all.

3. Mara Levi

Ran into our friend Mara who set up a booth at the other side of the expo center. Queer singer-songwriter who was also a booking agent with trans folk and queer folk on her roster. She stayed positive and in turn helped us stay positive. We love Mara. Nuff said.

4. Upper Echelon (UE), aka Our New Hot Boyfriends

After the end of the first night, there was a reception we attended, mostly because Kit seriously needed a drink, and because I wanted to eat cauliflower and hot wings. We had already began to feel angry and insignificant, but felt the need to network with other artists and agents. Yet, we were fully aware that one bad conversation with anyone white or male would put us over the edge, and we’d probably end up on the evening news later that night. That’s when we met Caliph, Tunde, and Roger. Roger was an agent for Judah Tribe, an all black reggae group, and Caliph and Tunde were a hip-hop duo, Upper Echelon. There were no signs of male chauvinism in their behavior as we talked about music, performing, and the business of art. It was the best ending for a tough night. And although they were not selected for a showcase either, I left hoping that they would get all the attention and success they deserved.

All in all, this had been a great wake up call for us. 

Over the course of the three days, we spent over 6 and a half hours peddling ourselves to people who didn’t care. The rest of the time, we were sitting in our hotel rooms, having elaborate discussions about how to transform this anger and frustration into something positive. How do we transform this experience into a nation-wide movement on the collegiate level? How was it fair that Queer and Asian-American organizations that wanted to see a non-stereotypical portrayal of themselves had to scrape and save and scrounge together their tiny collective budgets to bring us to their campus, while Student Activities, without hesitation, were able to splurge thousands and thousands on booking Ben Folds Five or the latest band that had been featured on “The Hills”? Every queer student and every Asian-American student that felt even remotely frustrated by the lack of resources allocated to them needs to demand representation from Student Activities. You need to demand to be heard. Demand that they care. You pay tuition just like everyone else. You have the right to transform your campus into a place of which you’re proud to be a part. 

If you want to make a difference on your campus, if you want more visibility, and if you want to feel empowered, then please connect with us. We have a plan of action to set off a national movement where marginalized students demand change. This is not just about bringing us to your school or money in our pockets. We will find work no matter where we go, but it’s important to us to go to places where we’re really needed. We can’t do it all on our own and frankly, we’re sick and tired of not being heard. We need more voices.

Write us. If you feel the same, let’s do something about it.