Looking Beyond the “Asian American” Label in the Midwest

Growing up in the Midwest as a first-generation Vietnamese American, I always felt like an outsider. My English-speaking abilities were nonexistent, and I spoke with a heavy accent. My predominantly white classmates would grimace and ask why I sounded strange. Shame would wash over me. I wanted to be more like them. I wanted to be part of the class, to belong. My classmates often made fun of my lunches. They plugged their noses and groaned about the stinky seaweed, bizarre white mush of rice, and exotic-looking pork belly. As time passed, I started to feel ashamed about my culture.

Then, my elementary school hosted its first International Night, where students created booths to represent their cultural heritage. The school encouraged us to learn about different cultures and educate ourselves. Jumping at this opportunity, I went all out with an ao dai (a traditional dress) and Vietnamese decorations like hand fans and mini carved sculptures. For the first time in my life, I felt a spark of pride for being Vietnamese.

It did not last long.

When I met other Vietnamese American students throughout middle school and high school, I discovered most of them did not know any traditions, holidays, or even the language. My family made it a tradition to teach all the kids how to properly celebrate Tết, the Vietnamese New Year, and Đám Giỗ, also known as the death anniversary of our ancestors. We learned how to pray, how to make offerings, how to ensure blessings for good fortune, and more. However, other parents deterred their kids from learning the culture in order to Americanize and assimilate them into American society. My heart ached for them and for myself. As I grew up, my family, too, no longer conversed in Vietnamese; instead, we eventually only spoke in English, my mother tongue no longer practiced and soon forgotten. Why had we become so ashamed of our culture?

It didn’t help that other Asian Americans repeatedly claimed that people like myself were whitewashed for not participating in all the traditions, holidays, and other cultural aspects. I could understand Vietnamese, but since I could only reply in English, that made me not Vietnamese enough. I didn’t know how to eat bitter melon soup or durian. My taste buds were Americanized, yet at the same time, the white kids taunted my “smelly” lunches. My own community gatekept who counted as Asian and who counted as American, that it was “too late” for us to be “true” Asians, yet we were too Asian and “not American enough” for everyone else.

By the time college applications rolled around, I knew I wanted to attend a place where I could explore and embrace my heritage. Staying in the same predominantly white community made me want to leave to experience a more diverse and vibrant campus environment. I strived to attend a university that valued diversity, offered cultural courses, and provided a genuine sense of belonging. I knew it was never too late to rediscover and connect back to your roots, that we needed to break the stigma of being whitewashed and not being Asian enough.

Stepping foot onto the University of Wisconsin campus, I never expected to discover such a culturally diverse environment within the Midwest. The campus welcomed students of varying backgrounds and celebrated cultural differences by offering various Asian language courses ranging from Hmong to Tagalog to Mandarin and more. To feel closer to my heritage, I took a leap of faith and enrolled in a first-semester Vietnamese class. My wonderful Vietnamese professor never judged whether you were already fluent and aiming for professional proficiency or if you were learning Vietnamese for the first time, even if it wasn’t part of your heritage. What mattered most to her was having the aptitude to learn and a positive attitude. Without Vietnamese class, I would never have discovered my support group or rediscovered my dormant first language lost through time. 

Unlike my middle school and high school experiences, I found that university spaces have become more welcoming by offering diverse student organizations that focus on fostering connections and building community. I soon discovered the Asian American Student Union, also known as AASU, which serves as a safe, inclusive space for all, whether you are Asian, Asian American, or not. As a clueless freshman, my friend pulled me to an AASU event for free boba. To my astonishment, there were countless students with diverse backgrounds and interests, yet the term Asian American brought them together. Just like me, they wanted to find and be part of a community. For several semesters, I attended every event I possibly could. My favorite has and will always be the AASU Night Market: an event where AASU collaborated with other cultural organizations to put on various game booths, whether it was Kingyo-sukui or a chopstick racing relay. Countless beloved Asian snacks and raffle prizes were waiting to be given out. It was always one of the more popular events.

Before I knew it, I wanted to be part of their executive board and to give back to the community that served as a safe space. At first, I didn’t know what role I wanted to apply for until I saw the media chair position. I wanted to tell other students about these amazing events hosted by AASU. I also wanted to preserve and document all the connections, memories, and people for future generations to see that our community has always come together. As media chair during my senior year, I took photographs and I designed and pushed out social media content to generate publicity for our events.

Through Instagram, I discovered that there was an annual conference called the Midwest Asian American Conference (MAASU) where several universities came together to learn from other campuses, to equip us with the skills and resources to fight for change, and to create everlasting connections. I worked with another board member on never-ending paperwork for countless hours to make it possible for us to attend. For the first time in almost a decade, UW-Madison’s AASU attended the MAASU. Without this conference, I would have never known how vast the Asian American community is and how much the community cares about its younger generations.

While university spaces might offer a safe and inclusive space, the reality outside of these spaces often feels different. Historically, Asian Americans have been excluded from diversity conversations, but under the recent administration, we now suddenly count. So, where does that leave Asian Americans? Society casts Asian Americans into this model minority role, yet we may never be fully considered as “American” in their eyes. There is immense pressure for Asian Americans to meet unattainable expectations of success, only to be weaponized against other minority groups against each other. Moreover, this idea of model minority erases and silences the various struggles that Asian Americans face by overlooking the socioeconomic, educational, and cultural disparities. 

I will always be forever grateful to AASU for allowing me to pay it forward and giving me an opportunity for AASU to attend this year’s MAASU. AASU has been my safe space during my time at college, and I hope that it will be someone else’s. In a world where we still have to navigate racism and cultural erasure, I hope we will continue to create a community where we share both common and unique experiences growing up, and support and uplift each other.

It’s time to debunk the stereotype that we must perfectly embody our culture to validate our identity and experiences. Being Asian American does not have a linear definition or a singular defined experience. To me, being Asian American does not solely define who you are as a person, but is simply one facet of who you are. I am Asian American, but I am so much more than that. I am a proud Midwesterner, and I am also proud that I am Vietnamese.

Cover illustration by Kaayla Lee.