This week's poem is by Minneapolis poet Bao Phi. I can't quite believe I've known Bao since he was a Macalester student back in the 90s. He was a promising young poet back then; he's a powerhouse poet now. Enjoy.
No Question by Bao Phi
to the white girl who saw a
bunch of us little Southeast Asian kids watch her brother play a video game in
the Asian grocery and said "these gooks are surrounding us."
Did
we douse you in chemicals that twisted your future generations
to
flesh pretzels
strip
mine your resources
then
fusion fuck your family dinner
Did
we light garlands of fire
onto
your sacred mountains,
push
your people to tiny fingers of dry land
explore
what was already found
then
name your beautiful landmarks
after
ourselves
Did
we push your people into jobs
where
toxic fumes turned your lungs to scorched wings
your
nails breaking on our skin
to
paint ours pretty
Did
we spin your history to smoke
Hook
you on snorting the ashes
Did
we convince the entire world your men
have
cocks small as minnows
scar
barbed wire borders using plastic surgery
break
your legs to
make
you taller
Did
we gentrify your love life
Did
we convince your people
that
we taught them the word love
and
what it means to be free
Did
we redefine torture
for
our own benefit
Did
we measure ourselves in fathoms
then
force you to swim in us
until
you drown?
these gooks are surrounding
us
if
only
that
were true.
In
this week’s sharp and stunning poem by Bao Phi, lots of things are
happening. But I want to begin
with the title, something I probably haven’t spent enough time on in earlier
posts about other poems. The title
to Phi’s poem is “No Question” which is interesting right from the start. After the poem’s ‘dedication’, the
first line begins, “Did we….” clearly a question. This structure, beginning each new stanza with the question
starting “Did we” is repeated nine times.
Immediately, then, the reader sees the contradiction between what the
title claims and the poem’s structure. So, if the poem is in fact a series of
questions, what does the title mean and what is it doing?
I
would answer that by asking who questions and who doesn’t. The speakers in the
poem—it’s written in first person plural—are clearly trying to raise questions
for the girl in the grocery store who has made the racist remark that starts
the poem. They certainly have questions
for her. It is she who is so unaware that she is without question: her own
‘knowing’ is such that she doesn’t have to let a question cross her mind. (Somehow I am suddenly reminded of
Michele Bachmann, but I’ll just let that thought pass on by….) Because she has
made a racist remark and is without question, the speakers’ response to her is
furious, rightfully so. Why is it that the ones who continually have to
question are the ones who live face to face with bigotry and racism? Why are
the perpetrators so unaware of the lives of the people they name and hate? As
we ponder the hard questions the poem raises, we see the irony of that title in
full force.
Each
of the questions the speakers ask is rhetorical. The speakers know the answers even if the girl they are
addressed to doesn’t. And each query forces the reader (if not the girl
herself) to contend with the long history of colonialism, war, and racism Asian Americans, in this case Vietnamese Americans, have endured. By beginning with “Did we douse you in
chemicals that twisted your future generations/to flesh pretzels” the speakers
immediately make the setting clear: this country is Vietnam, and the chemical
is Agent Orange. The next few lines further the violation. Not only were the
Vietnamese burned by chemicals, the country’s resources were “strip
mine[d]” and even the most
intimate part of a culture—it’s food—has been colonized in the service of high
end restaurants who often serve their food to rich, white Americans.
Each
of the following stanzas takes on similar issue, posing as questions the facts
of Vietnamese American experience that are largely invisible in our culture:
nail salons’ toxic working environment, cosmetic surgery to change faces to
look more Caucasian, the eroticizing of the Asian woman and concurrent emasculation
of the Asian man. By asking
repeatedly “did we” do this to you, the reader more and more confronts the only
possible answer: no, America did it to you. Even writing this I squirm a bit. I
should probably write, “No, we did this to you.” That is after all the structural shape
the answer should take. And therein lies Phi’s genius. The reader empathizes
with the poem’s speaker; the reader knows the girl in the store is the bad
guy. "I’m with you!" the reader
wants to say to the speakers.
And
yet. For this reader, at any rate, a pause. Hasn't my whiteness granted me the privilege of ignorance? the choice to avoid the difficult questions raised by the speakers in the poem? I don’t want to be the “we” in the answer
to the questions. I want “them” to be responsible. But Phi understands that
until the reality of racism is seared into us, causing us real discomfort, we
won’t understand. And until
everyone feels its burn, racism will exist. The calling of names, the
stereotyping, is easy when we don’t ask questions. Luckily, Phi is there,
pushing us forward with beautiful, difficult poems. No one gets off the hook
here. No question.
Bao
has a great website where you can read more of his stuff, find out about his
book, and generally enjoy his all-around wonderfulness.
and here's a link to his book:
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