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Posts Tagged ‘ethnicity’

“Welcoming Ceremonies for the Governor” (detail). Attr. Kim Hongdo (1745-c. 1806). National Museum of Korea. Seen on loan at the Asian Art Museum, San Francisco.

Up until now, I’ve been relying on review essays I wrote last year, while in the process of doing these readings. But, now, I realize (remember) that for the rest of my China-related readings, I didn’t actually produce such review essays. So the next few blog posts are going to have to be based on my notes, not taking essays and merely fixing them up a little, but rather writing them anew. So, if there’s an even greater slowdown than usual in my getting these out, that’s why. Bear with me. Cheers.

Today, I’m discussing an article by Adam Bohnet, entitled “Ruling Ideology and Marginal Subjects: Ming Loyalism and Foreign Lineages in Late Chosŏn Korea.” I must admit, for the longest time, as a student interested in Japan, and then as a young emerging scholar of Japanese Studies, I was never really so interested in Korea (or China, for that matter) – it was Japan I was interested in. I don’t mean for it to be a political thing – not hardly; it’s just that we each have our interests, and our specialties. France scholars don’t necessarily have to have an interest in England, and vice versa, and the same for specialists in Spanish or Italian history. We each have our personal reasons that one place or culture or history has grabbed our attention more than others… though I’m sure that the prominence of Japan in the pop culture and general American consciousness during my younger years, and the relative absence of Korea in that consciousness (which has grown by leaps and bounds since then), had some significant influence. In any case, since I began studying Ryûkyû (and perhaps not coincidentally, since K-dramas and K-pop and so forth, and Korea Foundation-funded exhibitions at major US art museums, have started becoming much more prominent in popular consciousness) I have started to become a lot more interested in Korea.

Like Ryûkyû, Korea was also a Confucian kingdom, heavily influenced by China, and with considerable cultural exchange with Japan, yet politically independent, and culturally distinct, unique, in myriad important ways. Like Ryûkyû, Joseon/Chosŏn Dynasty Korea sent tributary missions to Beijing, and received investiture from the Ming and Qing in return, and like Ryûkyû, Chŏson sent missions to Edo. Thus, not only are there numerous parallels of direct relevance to my research, but beyond that, Korea simply presents, as Ryûkyû does, another interesting variation on the East Asian theme, without being the oh-so-standard elephant in the room, China. Plus, it is an essential part of the broader East Asian “world order,” a vital piece of the puzzle towards understanding the so-called “tribute system.”

I have in recent years grown more and more interested to simply learn more about Korean history in general, overall. I know so little, after all, and so the basic overall narrative, from pre-history, through the Three Kingdoms, United Silla, Koryŏ, and Chosŏn, to the Colonial Period and today, would all be new and interesting to me. But, one thing that I have been particularly eager to learn about is how the idea of the Ming Dynasty, as the greatest and the last true Chinese dynasty (in contrast to the “barbarian” Qing Dynasty of the Manchus) was conceived and acted upon in Korea, Ryûkyû, and Japan. Adam Bohnet’s article was, thus, my first exploration of this subject as it pertains to Korea, and one of my first times delving into Chosŏn history;1 there are entire books on Korean history on my list right now, and I eagerly look forward to getting around to getting into them. This also provides a thought-provoking contrast, or contribution, to my thinking about this alongside Yingkit Chan’s work on Ming-Ryûkyû relations. Though Chan only talks about the Ming period, and not the Qing, I think that along with what I know about Ryûkyû from some other sources – and just given the fact that Ryûkyû continued to employ Ming costume and other aspects of Ming court practice well into the Qing period, never adopting Qing practices – it’s safe to say that there are some potentially very valid parallels to be drawn here.

The Center for Korean Studies building at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, based on the Gyeongbok Palace, the main royal palace of the Joseon dynasty.

Let’s get to it, properly. Bohnet explains that prior to the fall of the Ming, people of Chinese descent who resided within Korea were grouped together with Jurchens, Japanese, and certain other ethnic groups under the Korean term hwang hwain. Bohnet translates this term very roughly as “submitting foreigners,” i.e. foreigners who submit(ted) to the authority of the Korean court. A little deductive Googling reveals this is equivalent to the Chinese term xiàng huà rén (or xiàng huá rén), but Bohnet does not give the Chinese characters (K: hanja) for any of his terms, making it difficult for someone like myself, who does not know Korean, to figure out whether hwang hwain refers to “people leaning towards transformation” (向化人) or “people leaning towards civilization” (向華人). I find this terribly frustrating. More works need to provide the characters, to give a clearer indication as to the etymologies, or meanings, of terms.

But, regardless of precisely which term it may be, this is really interesting: the Koreans had essentially adopted the Chinese, or perhaps simply Confucian, notion of foreigners traveling to the imperial (or royal) center, recognizing it as a civilizational center, and seeking to be transformed, or civilized. This is something which comes up in Hevia’s Cherishing Men from Afar (which, I know, I still haven’t reviewed. Maybe I should do that one next) and elsewhere – the traditional Chinese idea of the civilizing force which extends from the Emperor in all directions. It is closely tied into the rhetoric or logics of the tribute system (in which missions from other lands are said to be coming of their own free will, to pay homage and tribute, in recognition of the Emperor as source of superior civilization), and of the Sinocentric vision of the world as concentric circles, growing more barbaric, or less civilized, the further one moved from the Imperial center.

So, the Chinese were originally, in the 16th-17th centuries, “submitting foreigners,” or hwang hwain, leaning towards transformation, or civilization, a notion which placed Korean culture at a civilizational zenith. Korea represented itself as an exceptionally civilized kingdom, i.e. in terms of Confucian civilization.

Right: A statue of Samyeongdang, first Korean ambassador to the Tokugawa shogunate, at the Buddhist temple Honpô-ji in Kyoto.

But, then, following the fall of the Ming in 1644 to Manchu invaders, some one hundred years later, the Chosŏn court redefined the Han Chinese people under its rulership no longer as “submitting foreigners” there to be civilized or culturally transformed by Korea’s Confucian royal graces, but rather as remnants of the Great Ming, as people whose presence in the kingdom and whose participation in Ming loyalist rituals at the royal palace represented Ming support for the legitimacy of Chosŏn rule, and represented their approval of Chosŏn as the continuation of the proper “high” “great” Confucian civilization. Throughout the region, the Ming represented the last, greatest, true form of Chinese Confucian civilization. The Ming had fallen to barbarian invaders from the north, and while the Korean and Ryukyuan courts, and Confucian scholarly communities in Japan, all turned to the Qing to one extent or another, they also all developed rhetoric that represented their own country as the true successor of the Ming, the true protector and maintainer of proper Ming high civilization. In Ryukyu, this is most clearly seen in the court’s continued use of Ming robes and various other aspects of Ming court culture, never adopting Qing robes or customs in most respects. In Japan, Confucian scholars & kangakusha (“scholars of Chinese Studies”) kept up with the latest philosophical trends in Qing Confucianism, even going so far as to assert their superiority over Korean Confucians who held to woefully outdated Ming notions, and were thus seen as far behind on the latest developments; yet, even so, they too crafted narratives and explanations of how Ming high civilization survived best in Japan, i.e. how Japan was the greatest or truest Confucian country in the region (and thus, in the world).

Korean Confucian official’s robe, bearing a “mandarin square” or “chest badge,” patterned after the Ming practice and indicating he wearer’s rank. Asian Art Museum of San Francisco.

In Korea, even as the court eventually (sometime after Ryukyu) switched its allegiances from Ming loyalists and pretenders in southern China & Taiwan to re-establishing formal tributary relations with the Qing, by 1750 or so, it simultaneously constructed a discourse of Chosŏn Korea as the true inheritor of Ming civilization, where proper high Confucian civilization was maintained and continued. Ambassadors to Japan during this period scoffed at Japanese scholars, with their degraded, barbarian-influenced, Qing Confucianism, declaring themselves to be upholding the true, great, un-corrupted Ming forms of Confucian philosophy and culture. Shrines were established within the royal palace grounds, dedicated to Ming emperors, and rituals were devised to pay homage and demonstrate loyalty to the Ming. Chinese people resident in Korea, and their descendants, up until then considered hwang hwain, were now to be considered remnants of the Great Ming – representatives, in a sense, of the Great Ming, who by their presence could represent Ming approval of Korea’s claims to Confucian civilizational superiority (or centrality).

Yet, what makes this even more interesting is that most of these Chinese were not in fact Confucian scholars of the Ming court – not really representatives of the Ming court or Confucian authority at all. And many were not even from what we might today call “China proper.” Many were Liaodongese, or from other border/frontier identities, and many were descended from those who, in one way or another, to one extent or another, lived or served under the Jurchens or the Manchus for years (if not generations) even before the Qing conquest. Ethnicity is a complex thing, defined not, in fact, purely by descent or genetics, but actually by cultural and political associations, and so it’s hard to say whether we should consider them to have been “Chinese” or “Han Chinese” by our modern definitions, or another ethnicity; and we’ll discuss the fuzzy category that is the Liaodongese when we get to discussing Pamela Crossley. But, whoever these “Chinese” people were, they were hardly “loyal” “remnants” of the Ming. And yet, they served that purpose for the Korean court.

Ethnicity is socially constructed, flexible, and often changed to suit political purposes. In East Asia, where tensions based on ethnic nationalisms are so strong, and where the politics of today so color people’s visions of the past, it is important to look back at the ways in which ethnicity was defined and changed over time. What did it mean to be “Chinese” in 17th century Korea, and then in 18th century Korea? What did it mean to be “Korean” or “Japanese” prior to the 7th century? I’ll bet you that if those sorts of identity concepts even existed at all, they meant something very very different from what they do today. When we get to Pamela Crossley, we’ll talk about the 17th century invention of the Manchu people, a group which never existed before that, and a group whose 17th-19th century history continues to be heavily colored by anachronistically applied ideas of the 1900-1911 era.

So that, basically, in a nutshell, is Bohnet’s argument in this one journal article. It certainly got me thinking about ethnicity, and also filled me in a bit on how Ming loyalism played out in the Korean court. I definitely need to read more, though – my knowledge of Korean history is pretty embarrassingly minimal.

All photos my own.

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(1) See earlier posts on Korean art exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum and San Francisco’s Asian Art Museum. For the moment, my other sources of knowledge on Chosŏn are mostly books and articles about the missions to Japan (K: Chosŏn tongsinsa; J: Chôsen tsûshinshi), though I have read a good few of these; I’ve found them fascinating, and have learned a lot, but I am still learning.

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What with exams and everything, the links have really piled up. So, here we are, two (somewhat?) recent articles from around the Internet. I shall endeavor to keep my commentary short, but, we all know I will fail to do so.

To start off, we have a sort of masterpost by Ube Empress on “An Exploration of Orientalism & Asian Cultural Appropriation as Found in American Music (And Why Being a Non-Asian POC Doesn’t Excuse You).” In this lengthy and extensive post, Ube Empress covers everything from Geisha to Bindi – and I am so glad she does, because, surprise, not all cultures are the same! and not all appropriation is the same! – and then lists out a long list of celebrities (mainly in Western pop music), from Gwen Stefani and Katy Perry to Nicki Minaj and Beyonce, who have arguably committed crimes of cultural appropriation in their music videos and performances.

There’s still a lot to be said here. But it’s a really good foundational post, from which we can springboard and ask further questions. If appropriation is all about “taking intellectual property, traditional knowledge, cultural expressions, or artifacts from someone else’s culture without permission,” then whose permission is necessary? Who stands as representative of the culture, and arbiter of the appropriate? In some cases, it’s a bit easier, as there are traditional practitioners well-respected, well-established, or even officially licensed, as “teachers”, who can provide that permission. But, in other cases, if one group of POC friends gives permission, and another group of POC individuals say it’s offensive, are you in the right, or in the wrong, for having performed that thing? And if you are of that heritage yourself, and someone else of the same heritage says it’s inappropriate & offensive, that you should be ashamed of yourself, and/or that you’re perpetuating negative stereotypes, who is in the right? Do you, as a member of that identity, have the right to perform that identity how you wish, based on what being of that heritage means to you? Or are the other people in the right? Who gets to play appropriation police?

I wish, too, that Ube Empress had gone further to say just a little more boldly, a little more explicitly, why being a Person of Color is not a transitive quality – why it’s not only whites who are horrible when they appropriate, and that being Latino or black doesn’t give you the right to appropriate elements of Asian or any other culture. Because it’s not about being a fellow minority, or sharing in having been oppressed. It’s about having proper respect for other cultures, and borrowing elements in ways that are respectful, knowledgeable, and appropriate within that culture. This is the same reason that Gananath Obeyesekere’s arguments that as a Sri Lankan he has some special insight into Hawaiian culture, as a fellow non-white/non-Westerner, are, frankly, bullshit. Every culture has different attitudes about what is sacred and what is not, what “sacred” means and how it works, what is and is not offensive, what is and is not deeply associated exclusively with particular purposes or occasions, and should not be performed outside of those contexts. A kimono is not a qipao is not a bindi is not a hula skirt, and being black or Latino does not mean you have any more intimate knowledge than the average white person as to the precise meanings and connotations of elements of particular cultures.

The comments on this article are quite interesting too (though, of course there’s also plenty of racist bullshit mixed in), as some people have expanded on the post, and even offered corrections. Nicki Minaj, of course, is not simply black, but of Trinidadian background, which is a particular thing, different from mainland US African-American background, and she’s apparently 1/4 Indian, which some argue in the comments makes her a fellow “Asian.” Yeah, no. You don’t get a free pass simply for being “Asian.” You cannot go on TV talk shows and talk about how Miley Cyrus twerking is cultural appropriation,1 and then go dress as a geisha in your music videos, followed by a sequence of a karate dojo with all (seemingly, apparently) black participants and no Japanese or Okinawans in sight, as if being 1/4 Indian gives you some special permission or authenticity in Japanese culture.

That said, though, life is complicated. Our identities, our lives, are complicated, and as I return to this post to edit it for the umpteenth time and prepare it for final “publication,” so to speak, I hesitate to even post it at all; I hesitate to contribute to a discourse that says we can (and should!) make assumptions and attack people without considering all the possibilities and asking all the right questions. Are there plenty of cases out there that are just straight-up gross examples of cultural appropriation, in which someone (and their production teams, costumers, choreographers, whomever) just blatantly took cultural elements out of context and used them just for their aesthetic, or worse, to play to certain stereotypes? YES. There absolutely, absolutely, are. And I do not mean to excuse or condone those acts one bit.

But, as I looked for additional photos with which to pepper this post, I came across the following two from Beyonce’s own Tumblr.

In the first, Beyonce is wearing a so-called “coolie hat,” and a yellow top that seems to recall elements of the aesthetic of Qing Dynasty robes. Plus, she’s making a very stereotypical gesture. Very easy to jump on this and just cry “appropriation.” I very nearly used this at the very top of this post, with a caption simply reading “Seriously, B? Really?” But, you know what, we don’t know anything about the context of this photo. Beyonce’s a world traveler – I could absolutely believe that this might have been taken in China, or Vietnam, or Taiwan, and that the local people right there could have been perfectly fine with it. We have no idea who gave her cultural “permission,” and we have no idea the context within which this took place. Maybe people did use that hand gesture with her, in that part of China, to show appreciation, and encouraged her to do the same. Maybe they didn’t.

Here’s another question. Plenty of tourist sites around the world give tourists the opportunity to “dress up” in traditional clothing. I’ve certainly done it once or twice, but I’ve also declined to walk around in public in kimono, outside of cosplay conventions + traditional festivals (when everyone else was also wearing yukata). If Beyonce were wearing something culturally authentic, as part of taking part in a demonstration or workshop, or even just as a touristy “dress up” thing, but totally authorized by the local tourist site, and with the clothes provided by the tourist site, would that be okay? Would it not? Given that the clothes she’s wearing in this picture are terribly inauthentic, but are clearly only inspired by Qing fashions, does that excuse it (how can it be appropriation if it’s not even all that close to the real thing)? Or does it make it worse? I don’t really know…

In the second picture, she’s wearing a hula skirt, and seemingly dancing the hula, or at least trying to. First thing I did was look on her biography on Wikipedia to see if she has any Polynesian ethnic background, or if she lived in the islands for any amount of time. Teen Vogue recently got chewed out on Twitter for using a light-skinned model with dreads, and talking to her about dreads. Well, surprise, the girl is half-Fijian, coming from a culture that has been wearing dreads for centuries. So, it pays to ask questions, and to not just jump to conclusions. In the second half of this post, I return to the point that a “black/white” dichotomy conception of race excludes, erases, the great diversity of other racial/ethnic identities that exist in the world, such as Fijian.

Returning to Beyonce’s photo, the leis, aloha shirts, and white slacks on the musicians in the background lead me to believe this is not just some backyard party, but that this is likely taking place in Hawaii (or another Pacific Island), and that these gentlemen are hired professional musicians. Thus, there is the possibility that there is an authentic kumu hula (hula instructor) present. Again, Beyonce is a professional musician & dancer, and a world traveler, and I really don’t think it out of the realm of possibility that she’s receiving proper formal hula lessons, even if only for a one-time workshop, and that she at least tried to be respectful, best as she knew how. Granted, she’s also extremely wealthy and I wouldn’t put it past her to have all kinds of lavish expensive parties (e.g. renting a beachhouse on Maui and then having a “Hawaiian” party). So, it could go either way. We don’t know.

To be clear, I’m not trying to argue against Ube Empress at all. Quite the contrary, I’m sharing her post in order to promote it. She does a really good job of explaining out the intricacies and complexities of cultural appropriation – what it is, why it’s wrong, how it varies from case to case, because not every cultural element is equally sensitive, sacred, or meaningful – and calling out a long list of very prominent celebrities who I think are almost unquestionably guilty. Perhaps most importantly, she holds non-white celebrities to the same standards. Being black or Latina or 1/4 Asian Indian does not give you any extra claim, or rights, to other cultures, any more so than being white.

When cultural appropriation is taking place in an offensive way, it is offensive. Period. And it should be stopped. But, all I mean to say with these Beyonce pictures, and with the Teen Vogue Twitter link, is that culture and identity are complicated. Really complicated. Cultural appropriation is not as simple as “if it looks like a duck.” We need to ask questions, before we condemn someone. Who is the person doing it? What potential cultural authority or rightful claims might they have to these cultural elements? What is the context? Who might have given them permission? And then, if the answers to these questions are that the person does not have rightful claims to authority, and do not have permission, and if the act is offensive to the culture in question, because of the way the cultural element is used or because of the stereotypes it perpetuates, then it is cultural appropriation, and should be lambasted with all due piss and vinegar.

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Okay. So, let’s move on. On a somewhat related topic, we have an article from the Good Men Project by Warren Blumenfeld, on the In-Between “Racialized” Category of European-Heritage Jews. In this excerpt from a longer essay, published in the book Everyday white people confront racial & social injustice: 15 stories, he discusses something I have touched upon before, when I asked Are Ashkenazi Jews White?.

I’m not sure I have anything much to add to what Blumenfeld has to say, except to quote some choice bits from his article, and invite you to read more if you are so inclined.

…the workshop would concentrate on the concepts of “race” and dialogue across racial divides, and include two separate panels of participant volunteers: one composed of four people of color, the other of four white people. … As she explained the intended focus and agenda, great confusion came over me: Should I volunteer? Well, maybe, but I really can’t because I’m not sure if either of the categories on which the panels are organized include me. I know for certain that I am not eligible to volunteer for the “persons of color” panel. But, also, I feel as if I somehow don’t belong on the “white persons” panel either.

I think this speaks to a lot more than just the Jewish experience alone. Our society is incredibly diverse, ranging from Irish-, Italian-, and Anglo-Americans to blacks of slave ancestry, both from the mainland US and the very different circumstances of the Caribbean; blacks with no slave ancestry, coming more recently from Africa, and from very different parts of that massive continent; Arabs; Turks; Ashkenazi, Sephardic, and Mizrahi Jews; Persians; Tamils, Sinhalese, Bengali, Gujarati and Punjabi; Mexican, Guatemalan, Chilean; Chinese, Japanese, and Korean; Samoan, Chamorro, and Hawaiian; Thai, Cambodian, Vietnamese; Haida, Lakota, and Muscogee; and so on and so forth. And yet, our discourse on race in this country, all too often, is very black and white (plus Latinos). Where do all of these people fit? Are all People of Color, in all their diversity, all essentially the same, a single category situated oppositionally against Whites?

Blumenfeld suggests a different model:

As a visual organizer, imagine a vertical line dissected by a short vertical line. Below the left side of the vertical line, write “People of Color,” and below the right side, write “White.” Now imagine how your society constructs or places identity groups upon the top side of the vertical line, including such groups as, for example, English American Protestants, Irish American Catholics, Italian American Catholics, Greek American Christian Orthodox, Polish American Catholics, Mexican American Catholics, Puerto Rican Catholics, Argentinian American Catholics, Afro-Caribbean Americans, Cuban Americans, African American Protestants, African American Jews, recent African immigrants to the United States, Native Americans, Chinese American Catholics, Indian American Hindus, Jewish American Ashkenazim, Jewish Ethiopian Americans, Jewish American Sephardim, Iranian American Muslims, Iranian American Christians, African American Muslims, Honduran American Atheists, Atheists of any ethnicity, and so on.

I see Ashkenazim primarily constructed in the U.S. today on the “white” side of the horizontal line upon the vertical continuum, and I contend that we definitely have white privilege vis-a-vis all the groups placed on the left side of the horizontal line of “people of color.” I argue, however, that we do not have the degree and extent of white privilege in many sections of this country as white mainline Protestants, or other white non-Jews. In fact, in some countries, for example, in Eastern Europe still today, we are not constructed as “white.” Obviously, so-called white supremacists believe this as well in the United States.

All of this, of course, is an ongoing conversation. I hope I have spurred some thought, or at least just provided some interesting articles. None of this is my complete or definitive word on the subject… and my own thoughts and attitudes on these exceptionally complex and touchy subjects are constantly shifting, too, as I read and think and learn more. Let us all give one another the benefit of the doubt, yes?

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(1) Okay, I admit, I’m stretching it a bit. I can’t seem to find a clip of Minaj really talking at any length about appropriation. But, still, the point remains the same. We could instead cite Azealia Banks, who has been quite vocal about appropriation of black music, of twerking, and so forth, and who then goes and wears bindis and the like all over the place.

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An image from the 1901-1906 Jewish Encyclopedia, depicting “French Jews.” Public domain image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Hila Hershkoviz posted an interesting op-ed/blog post in the Times of Israel recently, arguing that Ashkenazi Jews (i.e. of Eastern European, rather than Mediterranean or Middle Eastern descent) are not white, and should stop self-identifying as such.

(This, in response to a Haaretz article on the somewhat separate but also powerfully important subject of “Jews, white privilege and the fight against racism in America” – in short, why Jews as white elites aren’t as active as we should be in continuing to fight racism, oppression, and discrimination against others, esp. as it pertains to Ferguson protests & systematic racism against blacks in our law enforcement & justice systems.)

I’m not sure I agree with everything Hershkoviz says here – in the end, I think the answer is more complicated than a simple white/non-white binary – but it’s certainly interesting to think about.

*First, let me begin with two critiques, or critical thoughts. One, while who we self-identify as is important, who others identify us as is equally powerful, if not more so, operating upon our conception of ourselves, and upon our interactions and position in society in different ways, on different planes. Regardless of how I identify, with whatever nuance I might use to describe my own identity to others, so long as others perceive me as “white” in a myriad of everyday interactions and systematic ways, I will benefit from, and be accused of, white privilege. White privilege is real, and I have genuinely benefited from it, both in my socio-economic status, and in how people regard me in everyday interactions.

It doesn’t matter if I carry around a copy of Hershkoviz’s article to show people. It doesn’t matter – and I say this genuinely, and not sarcastically or by way of complaint – that my grandparents were survivors of one of the worst attempted genocides in world history explicitly because they were not “white.” It doesn’t matter that no one in my family was in the US before 1900, and that I have no direct familial/ancestral ties to any of the whites who were responsible for the worst parts of our country’s history (e.g. seizing of Native American lands, black slavery, etc.). What matters is the fact that I’m here now, and that for three generations, my family has benefited from others perceiving us as white, in everything from bank loans to how we’re treated in the classroom. It doesn’t matter if “white” is an artificial category, which changes over time, and which cannot necessarily be too easily defined. This has real impacts in our society. Even if I’m not “really” white, as articulated by Hershkoviz, for all intents and purposes in our racialized society, I might as well be; or, to put it another way, since race is socially constructed, so long as society sees me as white, I /am/ white – that is the identity category that society places me in.

Two, Hershkoviz’s assertions about who we really are as Jews, compelling though these narratives may be, are ultimately problematic. Identity is constructed and constantly being renegotiated. It’s tempting to want to look back across centuries or even millenia of history and think, this is who we are, this is who we have always been. To think that we are a “tribe,” as Hershkoviz asserts, following certain ideas of identity and membership millenia old. But is Hershkoviz’s idea of tribal identity, what it means and how it works, only a 21st century idea? Would the Zionists of pre-1948 Palestine have agreed? Would Herzl? How would Maimonides describe his identity, in terms of religion, ethnicity, nation, or tribe? Seven, eight hundred years ago, the dominant idea in Western Europe as to identity was not race, ethnicity, or nationality, but religion. Europe was “Christendom,” more so than it was anything else, and while the Europeans certainly also saw themselves as Franks, and the Muslims as “Turks,” “Saracens,” or by a variety of other names which might be said to be ethnic identifiers, the dominant worldview was still one of religious spheres, not one of nations or ethnicities. A few hundred years later, even as national identities (e.g. French, Dutch, English, Spanish) began to emerge more solidly, identity as part of the Catholic world or of the Prostestant world, remained extremely powerful. Today, there are countless groups around the world reimagining, reasserting, their identities in various ways – indigenous groups, new nation-states… In short, how we identify – and what the relevant categories are – changes over time. In all times, we assert that our identities are true, stretching back centuries. But in all times, these identities are constructed more by the needs, and the terminologies, of a given time, than by the past. Just as Japanese look to defeat in World War II and the subsequent turn to pacifism of their nation, among many other things, as key to how they define their identity today; just as the Hawaiians look to the overthrow of their kingdom and the current illegal US occupation of their land as fundamental to their identity; so too do we as 21st century Jews look to the Holocaust, the state of Israel, worldwide anti-Semitism, and our personal or familial experiences of immigration and diaspora, for our constructions of identity, and we shouldn’t pretend otherwise – we shouldn’t pretend that our identity as Jews is just as it has always been, stretching back unaltered, as if none of these more recent events/experiences, nor the needs & desires of our contemporary political situation, have any impact.

That said, I think there are a lot of intriguing and thought-provoking aspects of this article.

*I find Hershkoviz’ idea that we need to “decolonize our minds” intriguing. Like Okinawans raised in the Japanese education system (I know it’s an odd example to choose, but it’s one I know better than most), we Ashkenazi Jews are similarly raised in the US (and I would imagine the same goes in Western Europe and many other places, with variation) to think of England, and to only a slightly lesser degree France, Spain, Italy, Holland, and Germany, as the source of our heritage. Now, granted, there is an argument to be made that the United States /is/ founded upon Western European ideas and culture, that that is the majority culture into which we have assimilated, and that it is a major part of who we are as Americans regardless of where we come from – and that while you get your American education in public school (and from peers, media, and so on), you can still get your Jewish identity, heritage, and education from your parents, and from synagogue, Hebrew school, etc. I imagine much the same could be said for Vietnamese-, Indian-, and African-Americans, not to mention just about everyone else – even the Irish- and Italian-Americans get some different identity from their parents, church, etc. in addition to and separate from the public education “American” identity.

But, at the same time, I think there’s something valuable and interesting in the idea that we need to remind ourselves that we do indeed come from a different heritage, that we are immigrants to this land, and that in a sense, really, we Eastern European Jews, descendants of Kiev, Lvov, and Krakow, have no more connection to the heritage of London, Paris, and Rome than do the Asian-Americans. I have no doubt that the latter have no trouble understanding this.

Roger Shimomura’s “Shimomura Crossing the Delaware.”

*Identity and history is complex, and this issue of us being not a religion, not a race, but a Tribe, and having particular ideas of identity and membership as a result, brings up a much broader issue – broader beyond the topic of the Jewish people – which is that in our ever-increasingly globalized world, how much else has been homogenized into global/modern conceptions and categories? How much cultural diversity has been erased by those categories, even as we use those categories to celebrate diversity? We take it for granted today that the hundreds of national flags represent a great diversity of nations in our world. But where does the idea that a nation must have a flag, and that it must be rectangular, come from? What about all the many traditions and histories in which national identity was expressed otherwise? Here too we have homogeneity masquerading as diversity. There are thousands of languages on this planet, hundreds of countries. Does everyone, from the French to the Saudis to the Hawaiians, from the Catholics to the Sikhs to the Quechua, have the same ideas of what it means to be(long to) a religion, a nation, an ethnicity? Surely we Jews are not the only people who assert an identity that does not neatly fall into the global/modern categories of religion, race, ethnicity, nationality.

Of course, there is a need for globally agreed-upon notions, to a certain extent, for the sake of passports and treaties and national representation in the UN, census statistics, and all sorts of things. But, imagine if we more consciously and explicitly acknowledged a wider diversity of ways of thinking about identity, and didn’t insist to other people that their own identity categories don’t make sense, or aren’t real. Imagine if we didn’t force all people all around the world to conform to /our/ conceptions of how identity works. What a world that would be.

Flags at the United Nations, New York. Photo my own.

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Sometimes you write a post thinking you’re really sort of contributing something to a conversation… and then afterwards, you read it over and the whole thing seems so atari-mae, so obvious, like it really goes without saying. Hm… But, given how many articles I see every week emphasizing career prospects and monetary earning, maybe there is some value in stating what I think should be a rather common sense idea.

An article in TIME magazine from this week asks “What Colleges Will Teach in 2025.”

This is just the latest in a slew of articles on the subject of what colleges should be teaching, what the purpose of college is, what the end goal of attending college is, and how we should be evaluating academic quality or success.

In addressing these questions, countless commentators focus on professional training, and monetary success following graduation. Another major thread focuses on creative thinking skills. I cannot fault either of these, and of course agree that both of these are of great importance. However, recently, increasingly, I have come to believe that college needs to pick up the slack and take up the role once associated chiefly with high school – namely, turning out informed citizens.

I don’t know how much high school curricula have changed in the last (nearly) 15 years since I completed high school, but in my personal experience, there is so much I have learned in college and in graduate school about identity politics, race, (post)colonialism, and feminism and gender relations, and indeed about law, politics, and economics (in short, “civics”) that I never learned in high school.

There is a logic, an underlying reasoning, behind public education in general, and behind the teaching of civics, of US history, world religions, etc. at the high school level in particular, that speaks to the great importance of having our neighbors, our countrymen, ourselves, be informed members of society. Critical thinking skills are a big part of this, but so too are historical/cultural knowledge, among other subjects. I can certainly appreciate why World Religions, for example, might be seen by students, and by many commentators, as somewhat frivolous, as somewhat extra, as not essential for someone’s professional training into being a scientist, lawyer, doctor, or whathaveyou. The classic argument of “when am I going to use this?” The answer: every day.

I could write an entire post on just the value of being able to question your own religious beliefs in order to have a more meaningful relationship with your own upbringing, identity, tradition, and values. But, even putting that aside, if the type of education students receive in a World Religions class were more privileged, more emphasized – that is, if more college graduates, more members of our society, knew more about Islam, Hinduism, and Sikhism, than fewer people on our streets would get attacked for some perceived association with “terrorism.” Imagine where race relations could be today if more people in our society had taken more classes in Black Studies, Chicano Studies, Asian-American Studies, Indigenous Studies. And if students took more courses in History (or certain other fields, certain other departments), especially non-Western history, then, in their everyday lives, in speaking with one another, in writing opinion pieces, in voting for politicians or voting for policies, they could speak and act in a more informed, less misguided, manner, on a myriad of topics, from the war in Syria to atrocities in Africa to the perceived economic threat of China.

The potential topics are nearly endless. Stereotypes and misbeliefs abound in our society, as they do in all societies. Mistaken beliefs about what the Constitution says and what it means. Mistaken beliefs about the history and impact today of colonialism/imperialism. Mistaken beliefs about whites, blacks, Asians, Indians, Arabs, and Hispanics. Mistaken beliefs about Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists. Mistaken beliefs about gender and sex. Mistaken beliefs about the place of America in the world. The list goes on and on.

Of course, I want students to be financially successful, and to be successful in pursuing their career ambitions. And, of course, I want students to be able to think for themselves. And, I suppose that the idea of doing research, taking the initiative to learn about something, to analyze it critically, to choose to want to become informed, and then to do so, could all be included under the rubric of a curriculum that emphasizes critical thinking. But, that research, and the informed opinions that result, are essential; they are absolutely crucial, I believe, beyond the mere condition of being open-minded, and asking questions.

There are a multitude of things I do not understand, the fine intricacies of contemporary American politics, economics, law, health insurance policies, etc. certainly being among them. But, learning what I have in the last ten or so years about East Asian history, about Asian-American history, about Hawaiian/Pacific history, about colonialism/imperialism, about race/ethnicity/identity discourses, about media discourse, and about gender performance, has absolutely opened my eyes to all kinds of things in the world that are profoundly important to my being a more informed member of society – in how I see myself, and how I interact with other people, as well as in how I view political issues and how I act upon those views – and I have come to believe, more and more, that these kinds of things are truly crucial, essential, in the education of our next generation.

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I didn’t realize that I had so much to say about this exhibit, especially since I said so much already before even seeing the exhibition. But, since the review I posted yesterday ended up being so long, I broke it off and am now writing a Part Two, focusing on prominent Japanese-American artist Roger Shimomura.

Shimomura is, of course, one of the real stars of the show. Or, at least, it is to me, as I’ve heard of him before and really like his work. Much of the media for this show focuses on his piece Shimomura Crossing the Delaware, and I have already discussed it myself, too, so I’ll keep it limited. But, just two things about it that make that piece even more incredible than I thought originally – one, that the silhouette of the original piece (George Washington and friends, in their boat) can be seen in the background, a seemingly minor detail, perhaps, which actually alters the narrative of the piece fairly dramatically. Shimomura is not replacing Washington, after all, but only upstaging him. Throughout American history, Asian-Americans have been, essentially, also-rans, or footnotes. Here, Shimomura places himself in the forefront and in the spotlight, implying something about a narrative of American history in which Washington and his ilk are still present, and still play out their important and influential historical roles, but in which Asian-Americans are shown to be Americans as well, to be present in the narrative. On a second note, I really like that Shimomura made his piece on roughly the same scale as the original now hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. It gives his piece grandeur, power, and impact, and also, if we want to read into it, says something about his piece, himself, and Japanese-Americans, Asian-Americans in general, not being smaller or lesser.


In some of the other pieces included in the exhibition, Shimomura addresses American stereotypes of Japanese, along two different lines. In American Hello Kitty and American Pikachu, Shimomura incorporates a self-portrait into the iconic cartoon characters, commenting, I guess, on American associations of Japan with anime (above all else). Frankly, I’m not quite sure exactly what he’s going for here. Is it meant to be a criticism? Is it a bad thing to associate Japan primarily/chiefly with anime? The Japanese government has been actively pushing quote-unquote “Cool Japan” for the last several years, as part of a concerted effort to expand Japanese soft power, and to thereby increase pro-Japan sentiments. Would Shimomura prefer that we associate Japan instead with negative things? That is, unless Shimomura’s whole point is not about Japan, but is instead about how we associate Japanese-Americans with Japanese culture rather than with American identity. If that’s it, that makes a lot more sense… especially in consideration of the themes of his other works.


Another set of works, titled American vs Japs and American vs Japs 2 depict Shimomura, painted relatively realistically, punching and kicking cartoonish stereotypical “Japs” drawn in the style of 1940s American propaganda. My kneejerk reaction is to see this as a terribly outdated battle. It’s not the 1940s anymore, and depictions of Japan in US mass media today doesn’t resemble this propaganda at all. Yet, on second thought, I realize that there are far too many in this country who, sadly, have not gotten the memo, and still hold onto completely outdated notions of anti-Japanese hatred. Comments of “that was for Pearl Harbor” and the like, as well as much worse vitriol, have appeared in disgustingly vast numbers on Internet forums and the like during US-Japan sporting events, and, perhaps most upsettingly of all, during the 3/11 disaster. Is this what Shimomura is fighting against? Actually, I kind of doubt it. Perhaps he’s more fighting that he (and other Americans) be the target of these attitudes, moreso than actually fighting against those attitudes existing. This is just my guess, based on his personal history of having been imprisoned in the WWII-era Internment Camps, and all the surrounding issues of Japanese-Americans as loyal Americans, being continually seen as not American enough, or as still foreign. I don’t know how much Shimomura has any real connections with Japan… from what little I know about him and his work, he’s much more focused on Japanese-American issues.

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I posted a while ago about an exhibition of Asian-American art being held at the National Portrait Gallery in DC, and lamented that I wasn’t going to be around during the two months it was going to be showing. Well, it turns out that I misread the dates – Portraiture Now! Asian American Portraits of Encounter” didn’t run for two months; it runs for a year and two months, closing Oct 14, 2012.

So, when I walked into the National Portrait Gallery / American Art Museum a week ago to see the Art of Video Games exhibition, I was extremely pleasantly surprised that I was going to get to see this great Asian-American art show. Sadly, I once again have no photos to share with you; but, even if I did, as is so often the case with artworks, there are significant elements of the experience of seeing the works in-person that just cannot be captured on digital film. Some of the pieces, such as Roger Shimomura’s Shimomura Crossing the Delaware, are quite large, and so have quite an impact by their size and scale. Others, such as Shizu Saldamando’s works, painted on bare wood, are so much more beautiful and intriguing when their varied textures are seen in person. There is something cooly beautiful about plain, bare wood, and as smooth as it may be, contrast with the sleek shine of oil paints and gold leaf brings out the slightly rough and matte texture of the wood.


Zhang Chun Hong, who I don’t believe I mentioned in my previous post on the exhibit, is represented by a series of works in charcoal on paper hanging scrolls. Each depicts the long, flowing tresses of an Asian(-American) woman, combining the aesthetics of traditional Chinese ink painting with an astonishing idealized realism, in the individual fine strands of hair, and careful attention to how light reflects off of it. One of these pieces, titled My Life Strands, is meant to suggest the twists of one’s hair as symbol or metaphor for the twisting path one takes through life, from youth into adulthood. Another is titled Cyclone, a reference to Hong’s current base of operations in Lawrence, Kansas; though we may joke about Kansas being the middle of nowhere, the University of Kansas, based in that same town of Lawrence, along with its on-campus museum, are actually known as a major center for studying Asian art. In fact, Roger Shimomura, another artist featured in this exhibit, is also based in Lawrence (and teaches at U of K).

A massive series of photos by Korean-American artist CYJO takes up the entirety of the corridor (for the length of the exhibit; other exhibits lay beyond). Her KYOPO Project consists of over 200 photographs, each depicting a Korean-American individual, simply standing in front of a plain, simple background. Each is accompanied by a short statement, excerpted from interviews with the individual, commenting on their personal relationship with their identity as “Korean-American” or “Korean & American.” Each photo individually is a rather plain piece, but in aggregate they provide a fascinating glimpse into the incredible diversity of the Korean-American community(ies) and complexity of individuals’ identities. And, of course, as one might expect, what these people relate is perfectly translatable to the experience of any one of us. It’s about the specifics of the Korean / Korean-American circumstance, sure, but nearly everything here is equally applicable whether you’re Greek-American, Vietnamese-American, or Armenian-American. All of us have a side to our identity that’s “American,” that makes us feel at home within an American cultural context, i.e. when surrounded by other Americans, yet which sets us apart as different when in the land (or culture) of our ancestors, whether it be Peru, France, or Korea. And all of us have a side of ourselves that sets us apart from other Americans, and which makes us feel at home within the specific cultural context of our heritage, whether that be in Chinatown, at a Russian Orthodox Church, at a Japan Society event, or at a relative’s quinceañera.

There was a time when my biggest wish was to be as “American” as I could. When looking different first became a source of rejection, in some ways I rejected my heritage. But now that I’ve grown and started to raise my own family, I feel an undeniable sense of gratitude to my parents and the values they worked so hard to instill in me, values shaped by a country half a world away. I’ll always be grateful to America for being a place where part of what it means to be a proud American is the ability to be openly proud of being Korean.

I wish I had taken more notes about individuals’ lives and messages, but I remember some of the general trends. I read about people who felt extremely close to their Korean identity, and others with more or less no connection to Korea. Many resented their parents for not being able to speak better English, and had little interest in Korean culture when they were young, thinking it strange, embarrassing, old-fashioned, or just plain lame insofar as that American popular culture was the very definition of “cool”; it was only when they were older that they came to appreciate the Korean side of their heritage and identity. Many regretted not speaking Korean more fluently, or lamented how being Korean-American means always being thought of as “Korean” when among [non-Korean-]Americans, being seen as “American” when in Korea, and never really fitting in in either place. These are stories that I think many of us can relate to; the stories of the many people pictured share many common threads, collectively weaving together a colorful picture of the Korean-American experience. But, there was great diversity as well. Some were blond; some were adopted. One gentleman was, if I remember correctly, African-American, but adopted and raised by white parents in Korea, making him, actually, much closer to Korea as his home and as his culture than many of the Americans of Korean descent raised in the United States. Korean-American Esther Park Goodhart is a comedian, and Hebrew teacher at four different schools, and describes herself in her statement as “Queen of the Jews.” And Jun Choi spoke about being elected mayor of Edison, NJ, a beautiful example of the diversity and ideals of America, in how a young Korean-American man can be elected mayor in a primarily white/black/Hispanic city with no sizable Korean community. (Edison was 1.63% Korean according to the 2000 Census.) I imagine that if I were more involved and connected with Korean-American communities, I might recognize more prominent figures amongst those featured here, but as is I was excited to see Greg Pak and Daniel Dae Kim.

CYJO’s installation reminds me of a video on display at the Center for Jewish History here in New York as part of an exhibition on the history of Jews in New York (until Dec 31, 2012). In it, we see interviews with a handful of members of the community sharing their thoughts on what it means to be a New York Jew. Personally, I thought this video, and indeed the whole exhibit, fascinating, though I wonder how many others would. Korean-Americans are perpetually seen as different, as immigrants, and while that in itself is a problem that I believe many of the artists in “Portraiture Now!” address, I do think that this makes the Korean-American experience an interesting one for many people. I don’t want to get into the discourses of the “model minority,” or the touchy political complexities of how Koreans might be viewed (in general / stereotypically) in American society, i.e. those things that make Korean-Americans, perhaps, a perfect group to show in this exhibition. But, I really wonder, if this series of photographs depicted Jewish-Americans rather than Korean-Americans, what kind of attention would the (Jewish-American) artist receive? What kind of response would the exhibit receive? Would it even be shown? This may be controversial, but I have a sense that people think the Jewish story has already been told, or that because we are (most of us) white, that our story doesn’t matter, or that we don’t have a story, or that purely by virtue of being white we are either not immigrants, or that we are part of the privileged minority and thus can’t be considered a “minority.” Then, too, of course, there are all the complexities added in by the political controversies regarding Israel, and the complex of anti-Semitic stereotypes about Jews having too much power, too much money, too much influence. I don’t know how far anti-Korean sentiment might go here in the US, but I do know that there are whole swaths of society that would react negatively to the suggestion of anything asking them to identify with Jews, or to think the Jewish story worth hearing, or to think the Jewish story an integral part of the American story. … I see the connections. I look at Korean-American stories and think of my own stories. But as much as I would love to see an exhibition addressing the diversity of Jewish-American identity in this same way, I don’t think it can, or would, be shown, or would receive as positive (or at worst, neutral) a response as it being done with Korean-Americans, as part of an exhibit of Asian-American art. What do you think?

“Portraiture Now! Asian American Portraits of Encounter” shows at the National Portrait Gallery at Washington DC’s Gallery Place / Chinatown Metro stop until October 14, 2012. Admission is free.
More about this exhibit, here, within the next couple days.

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An article in the New York Times a few days ago, humorously and appropriately titled “The Elephant in the Map Room,” described the history of the borders of Jewish states in the Holy Land (or the Levant, or whatever politically correct term one wishes to use). Written much more from a cartography point of view than from a political one, I thought it a refreshing view, and a fun read. Very interesting.

In it, he cites Shlomo Sand’s book “The Invention of the Jewish People.” To be honest, growing up Jewish, I never once questioned that Jewish identity was genetic, a true ethnicity. That I, and most Jews around the world, possessed some percentage of our ethnic background tracing back to antiquity, to the ancient Israel of Biblical times. Now, I’ll admit I haven’t read Sand’s book, but, skimming the inside cover excerpt and such, I found the core of his argument quite eye-opening, or should I say shocking. As described in today’s NY Times article, Sand argues

that Judaism used to be a proselytizing religion like Christianity or Islam, and that consequently many of today’s Jewish Israelis are descendants of converts, without an ancestral link to Eretz-Israel. Inversely, many of the Palestinians may just be the descendants of the large Jewish community who remained to toil the land, even after the destruction of the Temple and the suppression of the Bar Kochba revolt in the first and second centuries, respectively — and who gradually converted to Islam in the centuries after the Arab conquest.

Well, yeah, I suppose that could be a possibility. It hadn’t really ever occurred to me. I’d never doubted my identity as ethnically Jewish. Just as Jewish as you, dear reader, might be Irish or Italian. If we are indeed descended overwhelmingly from converts, and not in fact genetically/ethnically related to the Hebrews of the Exodus, the Israelites of Biblical Judea and Samaria, then, that would have dramatic ramifications for our conceptions, or understandings, of our personal, individual, self-identity, and that of our people as a whole. Furthermore, if many Palestinians are indeed descended from the Hebrews or Israelites, who later converted to Islam, rather than, as I’d always assumed, descended from Arab invaders, or from Canaanites and other non-Hebrew peoples, that too would be a dramatic thing with great ramifications, in terms of political questions of legitimacy and heritage, among others.

An image from the 1901-1906 Jewish Encyclopedia, ostensibly depicting “French Jews,” but really symbolizing, for my purposes, the great diversity of Jews in the world. And yet, we are all Jews. We all share genetic/ethnic links to a single “Jewish people.” Public domain image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Sand’s assertion, on the surface, even without reading his whole argument, is quite compelling and thought-provoking. But, then, on the other hand, we have studies such as this one, which have revealed via genetics testing that there are in fact genetic elements that the vast majority of Jews share, regardless of the color of their skin. The study described at this link, led by Harry Ostrer of the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in New York, is not the only one I have heard about which has indicated that “the genomes of Jewish North African groups are distinct from one another, but that they show linkages to each other absent from their non-Jewish North African neighbors.” Ostrer is, in fact, quoted in the article as saying that

Virtually all the Jewish groups we’ve studied tend to be quite closely related to one another. It would seem for most Jewish groups, there is a biological basis for their Jewishness which is based on their sharing of DNA segments.

Groups such as the Abayudaya of Uganda, who trace their Jewishness to a single leader in the 1910s who declared himself and his followers Jewish, may be a different story, but groups as distant (racially/ethnically and geographically), removed and remote as the Lemba people of Zimbabwe have been confirmed by DNA tests to possess the Kohen gene in roughly the same demographic percentages as Ashkenazi (Eastern European), Sephardic (Mediterranean), and Mizrahi (Middle Eastern) Jews. Kohens (or Kohanim) are the Jewish priestly class, supposedly descended in a direct line from Moses’ brother Aaron; one generally knows to consider oneself a Kohen as a result of being told that their father is a Kohen. I guess we’d call that oral tradition. Many Kohanim also have the surname Cohen, or something similar – also passed down from father to son – further securing the suspicion, or traditional belief, that one belongs to that class or tribe. But, getting to the point, though I imagine there is extremely little historical evidence to prove that Moses or his brother Aaron actually existed, or that those who consider themselves Kohanim (members of the Jewish priestly class) are in fact descended directly from Aaron, tests have determined that the vast majority of Kohanim possess a given gene which other Jews (and the vast majority of non-Jews?) lack – a gene marking them as Kohanim and seemingly confirming the idea that Kohen identity is something genuinely inherited.

I met a lot of people in Hawaii who are “Jews by choice,” or “sons & daughters of Abraham & Sarah” – that is to say, they are converts, with no reason to believe they should possess genetically or ethnically Jewish identity. Perhaps in future this will become more common, at least in certain communities. But, while I think Sand’s assertions about the “invention” of the Jewish people are important in that they are thought-provoking and challenge the dominant discourse on the subject, it would seem there are some reassuring scientific, genetic facts which present problems for his theory.

All nations, all ethnic identities, are to one extent or another, modern inventions. Even the Japanese, who on the surface seem (and claim to be) pretty ethnically homogenous, are in fact not, for one thing, given the incorporation of Okinawans, Ainu, and some small number of Chinese, Koreans, Dutch, and others in the early modern & modern periods, not to mention the ethnically mixed origins of the Jômon/Yayoi/Yamato people back in the early centuries of the Common Era; and, perhaps more to the point, the concept of being “Japanese,” of belonging to a single ethnic identity shared by people all across the archipelago, is arguably a concept that didn’t quite exist as such prior to the 19th century. Yet, all of that said, there are, nevertheless, genuine underlying genetic truths to ethnic identity, in most cases.

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