Andrew Lee Nicole Cardoza Andrew Lee Nicole Cardoza

End anti-Asian stereotypes in media.

Marvel’s Shang-Chi and the Legend of Ten Rings opens this week, the first Marvel film to feature a predominantly Asian cast. When screenwriters scripted the movie, based on a 1970s comic book character, they went so far as to write a “physical list” of racist parts of the story “we were looking to destroy” (Inverse). This highlights the long history of anti-Asian stereotypes in American pop culture — depictions that carry through to the present day.

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  • Support the Foundation for Asian American Independent Media and other Asian media initiatives.
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  • Consider: How are people from your racial, ethnic, or cultural background portrayed in popular media? What about people from other communities? Do these depictions influence how you think about people from other backgrounds or yourself? How might they determine people’s safety, well-being, and access to resources and decision-making power? How can we modify, add to, support, or reject these depictions?

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By Andrew Lee (he/him)

Marvel’s Shang-Chi and the Legend of Ten Rings opens this week, the first Marvel film to feature a predominantly Asian cast. When screenwriters scripted the movie, based on a 1970s comic book character, they went so far as to write a “physical list” of racist parts of the story “we were looking to destroy” (Inverse). This highlights the long history of anti-Asian stereotypes in American pop culture — depictions that carry through to the present day.
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In the original comics, Shang-Chi’s father is Fu Manchu, an evil magician plotting to take over the West. According to a description written by the creator in a 1913 novel, Fu Manchu possesses “all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources of science past and present … Imagine that awful being, and you have a picture of Dr. Fu Manchu, the yellow peril incarnate in one man” (Inverse).

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Yellow peril refers to the long-held white American fear that “Asians, in particular the Chinese, would invade their lands and disrupt Western values, such as democracy, Christianity, and technological innovation” (BGSU). The fear of the yellow peril presented by Asian people was borne out of labor competition between white and Chinese workers, eugenicist fears about “race-mixing,” and supposed “moral degeneracy” (Association for Asian Studies).

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When such depictions are criticized, we’re often told that they were mere “products of their time.” This is always a bad-faith retort for two reasons. First is that Asian people, including Asian people in America, are not some sort of recent invention. We had been here for generations when the first Fu Manchu book was published, and it was as hateful in the early twentieth century as it is today. 1913 also saw the passage of the California Alien Land Law to ban Asian people in California from owning or leasing land (Immigration History). Anti-Asian beliefs fuel anti-Asian practices.

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The second reason why the “product of their time” rebuttal falls short is that such stereotypes don’t suddenly disappear. Stereotypical depictions of Asian sex workers led some to make jokes mocking the deaths of six women in the Atlanta shootings (Variety). A 2013 General Motors ad called China “land of Fu Manchu” where people say “ching ching, chop suey” (SCMP). The myth of the yellow peril continues to this day. Today, nine out of ten Americans view China as “a threat” (Pew Research) though China is, in fact, the United States’ largest trading partner (Forbes). The American right crows about “kung flu” and the “China virus.” One in four Americans has seen someone blame Asian people for Covid-19 (USA Today). Eight out of ten Asian-Americans report that violence against us is increasing (Pew Research).
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The fact is that Asian stereotypes — along with risks to Asian people — persist in the United States. In the words of Shang-Chi actor Simu Liu, “As a progressive Asian American man, I’ve always wanted to shatter barriers and expectations of what Asian men are and be very aware of the boxes that we’re put into — martial artists, sidekicks, exotic, or Orientalist… But I grew up watching Jet Li and Jackie Chan, and I remember the immense amount of pride that I felt watching them kick ass. I think Shang-Chi can absolutely be that for Asian Americans. It means that kids growing up today will have what we never did — the ability to watch the screen and to really feel seen” (Swift Headline).

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Asian artists are dismantling stereotypes while Asian communities are organizing and standing in solidarity with other communities of color, as well. Groups around the country are organizing for health, disability, economic, and language justice.

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The Black Power movement inspired student activists to coin the phrase and political category “Asian-American.” This wasn’t merely a demographic self-identifier, but a way to join diverse Asian immigrant movements together in a political struggle against white supremacy (Time).

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A picture of Richard Aoki man holding a sign reading “Yellow Peril Supports Black Power” has been resonating with a new generation of activists (Huffington Post). It’s not a picture with an uncomplicated legacy, especially since Aoki — the only Asian American person in Party leadership — was revealed to be an FBI informant (NBC News). But building on a history of struggle, inter-racial solidarity, and deconstructing negative stereotypes and the violence they facilitate are all steps in creating a world where all of our communities have safety, power, and dignity.

Key Takeaways

  • The original Shang-Chi character was the son of Fu Manchu, one example of the idea of the yellow peril.

  • The yellow peril myth described Asian people as immoral foreign invaders.

  • Permutations of the yellow peril myth and other anti-Asian stereotypes persist to this day. Artists and organizations are working to build safety and community in the place of stereotypes and fear.

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Nicole Cardoza Nicole Cardoza Nicole Cardoza Nicole Cardoza

Unpack superheroes and the American Dream.

Last week, actor Ray Fisher shared the racism and inappropriate conduct he experienced while working onset for several superhero movies (The Hollywood Reporter). One of his allegations references discrimination that he heard happened on the set Krypton, a Syfy series that focuses on Seg-El, Superman’s grandfather. Actor Regé-Jean Page, the star of Netflix phenomenon Bridgerton, had auditioned for the role. But the producer rescinded, stating that Superman could not have a Black grandfather.

Happy Friday, yall. I spent too much time on this email, mainly because it felt more manageable than processing the slew of police brutality news from this week. When I saw the news referenced below, it reminded me how society gravitates to escapism in times of social and economic turmoil. And even these fantasy worlds are often limited to the scope of the white gaze. There’s something particularly damning about robbing people – kids – of color of their right to be heroes when their livelihood is constantly at risk.

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Superheroes:

  • Consider: how does your notion of superheroes shape your perception of truth and justice? Who is narrating those stories? What virtues do they center?

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By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

Last week, actor Ray Fisher shared the racism and inappropriate conduct he experienced while working onset for several superhero movies (The Hollywood Reporter). One of his allegations references discrimination that he heard happened on the set Krypton, a Syfy series that focuses on Seg-El, Superman’s grandfather. Actor Regé-Jean Page, the star of Netflix phenomenon Bridgerton, had auditioned for the role. But the producer rescinded, stating that Superman could not have a Black grandfather. The role was ultimately given to Cameron Cuffe, and the show was canceled after two seasons. 

This particular bit of the story circulated widely on social media, perhaps because of the new fandom Page has accumulated since Bridgerton. It only emphasized a long-standing frustration with the superhero canon, that its characters are overwhelmingly white, male, and heterosexual. Characters of color, like The Avengers’ Nick Fury, Man of Steel’s Perry White, and Captain America: Winter Soldier’s Sam Wilson, are all secondary characters, never the lead (Harvard Political Review). And many of the few non-white superheroes have been played by white actors, only exacerbating the erasure (Quartz).

But the controversy was also accelerated by the absurdity of it. People were quick to note that both Superman and his grandfather aren’t actually white men, but a fictional alien species where race and genetics don’t have to work within the lens of human evolution. There’s no reason why Superman or his grandfather, or any Kryptonian, have to be depicted as Caucasian. 

However, in today’s day and age, Superman doesn’t just look like a white man. He represents whiteness – and the carefully constructed ideals and values that come with it. Superman was an essential symbol of the American dream, and as he grew as a cultural icon, helped to protect it. 

Ironically, Superman wasn’t initially built in this image. The character was created by two Jewish teens from Cleveland, writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster. Both children of Jewish immigrants, the duo created a superhero that wasn’t afraid of his differences and unafraid to stand against injustice. Superman particularly stood against antisemitism, even confronting Hitler on the atrocities inflicted on the Jewish people of Europe (Ohio History).
 

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Superman! Champion of the oppressed. The physical marvel who had sworn to devote his existence to helping those in need.

Jerry Siegel, Action Comics issue #1 (Ohio History)


Superman became an influential figure during World War II. Comics during that time didn’t place him directly on the battlefield, but he was still fighting against supervillains that bore a significant resemblance to Nazis. The creators worked closely with the U.S. government to handle these topics and ensured they were aligned with their goals and objectives in the war. These comics became essential forms of wartime propaganda; one in four magazines shipped to troops overseas was a comic. Superman wasn’t alone. Captain America, Batman, and Robin all appeared in solidarity with the U.S. war efforts (liveaboutdotcom).

But Superman’s narrative didn’t back down from home-grown threats, either. In the summer of 1946, the radio serial Adventures of Superman played a 16-part series called “Clan of the Fiery Cross,” which depicted Superman taking down a racist, bigoted group of terrorists based on the real-life Ku Klux Klan. The series used real intel collected by activist Stetson Kennedy, who had infiltrated the KKK. He provided real Klan rituals and secret code words to the show producers, who exposed them live on-air through the narrative. The show significantly damaged the group’s reputation and led to a steep decline in membership (Inverse). “Superman Smashes the Klan,” by Chinese American cartoonist Gene Luen Yang, revisits this narrative from a modern-day perspective (DC Comics).

But in the 1950s, Superman’s focus went from fighting against external threats to fighting for America. This was accelerated by the paranoia of the Cold War era and the rise of anti-war sentiment after the end of World War II. It was also prompted by his introduction to a new channel, television, in 1952, which meant that he needed a more family-friendly appeal. His mainstream identity evolved to become more accessible, friendly, and gentle (he stopped killing his villains, and sometimes they even knocked themselves out, so he didn’t have to be violent). His tagline changed to “...a never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way!” (McGill Tribune).

Instead of focusing on systemic issues like he had before, Superman was now focused on protecting his city from one isolated “bad guy” at a time. Many of these were caricatures of villains to minimize causing fear in young viewers. Some perpetuated stereotypes of communities of color (Gizmodo). But the prominent narratives looked at isolated acts of threat instead of systemic or coordinated attacks. 

It also doubled-down on the main narrative of Superman, reinforcing the story of the American dream: A young, orphaned boy from a small town who makes it to the big city and achieves greatness. An “immigrant” from another planet who was able to assimilate to a foreign society and take on the responsibility of protecting it. And, above all, a “man” who loves his wife, his family, and his community. In essence, the embodiment of the American dream: that anyone, regardless of where they were born or what class they were born into, can attain their own version of success in society. Superheroes included. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the American dream, of course. But we know that the U.S. doesn’t allow that dream to become a reality for everyone (The Atlantic) and leverages that dream to perpetuate racism and systemic oppression (Time). 

Perhaps that’s partially why interest in the hero waned in the late 80s. By then, Superman had a long-standing cartoon series Super Friends for years and was depicted in three feature-length movies by Christopher Reeves as a romantic, thoughtful leader (Rolling Stone). Meanwhile, a new narrative of superheroes was emerging, led by Alan Moore's Watchmen and Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns. These stories, in contrast, were dark and gritty, both set in alternative realities that were far grimmer than the bright, idealized world Superman protected. The heroes these stories centered were far more complex and flawed than Superman’s simplistic narrative. In 1992, DC Comics decided to kill off Superman, which felt equal parts narrative and publicity stunt (Polygon). He was, of course, resurrected shortly after.

Since the early 2000s, few Superman stories have reached critical acclaim. The show Smallville, which hones in on Superman’s upbringing, was a commercial success. But major motion pictures depicting Superman have faltered, especially in comparison to blockbuster superhero films like The Avengers, Black Panther, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier – stories reshaping the definition of what superheroes look like in today’s age. I really enjoyed this interview on the role of Black superheroes in today’s time.

What does it mean to fight for “truth, justice, and the American way” in today’s time? What role, if any, does Superman play in the future we’re envisioning? Is it possible for Superman to rise to this challenge, and is what he represents the future we need? I don’t have the answers to these questions. However, I am excited to see that author Ta-Nehisi Coates, whose work analyzes the fallacies of the American Dream, is writing a reboot of Superman for 2023.

But we also need to answer the questions and make these decisions for ourselves. We don’t need to be super to be the heroes our community deserves. And we can choose what kinds of heroes we emulate in our lives, protect in our communities, and allow us to shape our identities. After all, unlike the comics, no one is coming to save us.

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Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

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