In the last few years, there has been a big push for more racial diversity in Western media. This isn't a new topic to most people. There have been cries for representation for years, but usually when you do see racially diverse characters in media, the stereotypes pressed upon those characters are so clear that it's almost painful to watch. The push for inclusivity has been only semi-successful so far, though some progress has been made. There is still quite a ways to go, however, before minorities can say they are being truthfully represented.
I was lucky enough to be introduced rather early to media that wasn't Western made. The greatest example would be the first time I listened to Yoon Mi-rae, otherwise known as Tasha. It was 2007, and she had just released the music video for her hit song 'Black Happiness'; one of the songs that would help put her on the map in South Korean media. I was 10 at the time, and though I didn't understand anything she was saying, I thought she was amazing. In my eyes, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Today, I still consider her so. This song would later play a huge role in the beginning of my road to self-discovery and introduction to the entertainment world outside of the purely black and white Western media.
Yoon Mi-rae's mother is Korean, and her father is Black. During her childhood, she was bullied and harassed for her mixed race in both the USA where she was raised and later in South Korea where she would end up overcoming the odds and building her career as the country's most successful and popular female rapper. Her song 'Black Happiness' is about her experience growing up being rejected by two different racial communities for being of mixed race, something she had no control over. This video was the first time I had ever seen a Korean person, or even really an Asian person, being portrayed as someone cool and unique; someone you would want to emulate.
Unlike Yoon Mi-rae, I was adopted as a baby from South Korea and grew up with a Korean adoptee sister and three other Korean adoptee friends. While I always knew I looked different, for the early years of my life, I was blissfully unaware of the fact that people viewed me as different purely because of my looks. I was home-schooled for most of grade school, but after starting college in 2012, I was taken aback from constantly being asked questions like the following:
- "Where are you from?"
"No, where are you really from?" or "Oh, well, where are your parents from?"
- "Oh, you're from Korea? How do you say _____ in Korean?"
- "I heard that Chinese people eat dogs. Is that true? Have you ever eaten dog?"
- "Wow, you look just like that girl from Suite Life of Zack an Cody!"
Do any of these sound familiar? Or have you ever asked someone these questions? I learned to be really good at hiding what I was really thinking when I was being asked these questions that I would prefer to never hear again. But throw these questions about my race on top of the ones I was already asked all the time because I am adopted, the child of a pastor, and home-schooled, and you have a perfectly confused (and thoroughly annoyed) young person with no idea where she belonged.
Though Yoon Mi-rae lived a life completely different from mine, I realized that I could still identify with her struggles. I held on to the same hope that she did that I could someday be able to find acceptance and use the hard times I faced to push beyond the stereotypes of my race. Following along with her success in the South Korean entertainment industry made me want to be like her that much more. I wanted to see more people like her, people who looked like me, and people who experienced the same things I did.
After discovering 'Black Happiness', I quickly thrust myself fully into the world of Korean entertainment. I loved listening to Korean pop songs and watching the videos of perfectly made up Korean idols dancing and singing their way across big stages with flashy lights and coordinating outfits. It was different, and I was obsessed, to put it simply. I was completely mesmerized.
It's easy to look at young people, and not-so-young people, and laugh at their obsession with singers, artists, movie/TV actors, fictional characters, etc. It seems silly that people are willing to dedicate so much time from their lives to people they don't know and probably will never meet. While I do laugh at myself now for being so invested in the lives of Korean idols and entertainers, I also look back thinking about how lucky I was to have access to YouTube, and later the general internet, during a time when being Asian wasn't desirable or something that people envied in the West. Perhaps one of the reasons I was so thoroughly invested in the lives of people that lived on the other side of the world was because there was no one at home that was like me to look up to.
I had the privilege of seeing Yoon Mi-rae live in concert in Seoul, South Korea this past summer. It had been ten years in the making, but I remember standing there in the crowd thinking, "
This is it. I'm really going to see her live." I was shaking. Even though I wasn't close to the stage, it was the mere fact that I was about to see, in person, someone I had admired for so long that overwhelmed me. When she came onto the stage, my heart was pounding. She performed 'Black Happiness', a song about her struggle for acceptance, while being cheered on by a hoard of adoring fans: people who didn't care what she looked like. I will never forget it. After the show ended, I immediately turned to my friend and burst into tears. I left the venue still crying, and those who know me know that I'm not someone who cries easily.
I know I will most likely never meet Yoon Mi-rae. She'll most likely never know what she means to me, and that's okay. She doesn't have to, because irregardless, I will be forever grateful to her for pushing through the hardships she faced to be who she is today. Without her courage, I may not have become the person that I am today. I may not have ever traveled to South Korea on my own and met the amazing people that I did. I may not have ever started learning Korean. But most importantly, I may not have ever met my birth family, something that will continue to change the dynamic of my life forever.
All this to say, this is why diversity in media is so important, for young people especially. It’s so important to be able to look up to people that are more than glorified props or the brunt of a low-reaching joke. The media is extremely powerful in persuading how people should be viewed, which makes it that much more important to show the beautiful diversity that is present not only in the USA but also around the world. Different people all have something unique to offer, and that's what I hope the world will continue to learn.
Of course, there are non-Asians that I look up to just as much, but there's something about seeing someone like you on the screen that makes that much more of an impact. Watching people who looked like me perform on those big stages and be cheered on by thousands of screaming fans that also resembled me in some way helped me finally realize that being Korean maybe isn’t a bad thing as I had believed for a long time growing up. It took a long time, and I’m still processing, but I believe I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m comfortable with who I am and my racial identity.
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"Sometimes it’s hard to see all the good things in your life
But you gotta be strong and you gotta hold on and love yourself"
Yoon Mi-rae/윤미래 - 'Black Happiness'
