By Justine Trinh
In Constellating Home: Trans and Queer Asian American Rhetorics, V. Jo Hsu asks, “How do trans and queer Asian Americans forge shared histories and politics from their constant and contradictory experiences?” Hsu does not come to a singular conclusion to this question, but rather, through their exploration of storytelling, shows that we exist in and as a “network of relations, survival strategies, and distinct, but interwoven memories, fantasies, and desires.” This is to say, the Asian American experience is not a monolith, and the idea of belonging, whether in regard to home, family, or nation, is affected by intertwining and conflicting concepts of race, migration, gender, and disability.
Hsu utilizes storytelling in relation to what they name as homing, a “critical
approach…that (re)makes family/home as ongoing practice.” They show us how to map out these narratives within a constellation that illuminates the multiplicity of these experiences and call for the practice of “diasporic listening” to these stories in order to place them within a constellation of belonging/homing. By paying attention to elements that are ignored and dismissed by heteronormative powers, diasporic listening highlights the contradictions of concepts used to justify the marginalization of communities. One example of diasporic listening happens within the second chapter when Hsu discusses the concept of resilience. Resilience is defined as “the ability of the individual to cope, adapt, or mobilize protective resources in the face of adversity.” Thus, it becomes the onus of the individual to persevere, rather than an institution’s responsibility to remedy these issues. Rather than focus on the individual’s need to be resilient, Hsu calls for collective resilience in order to survive.
Out of the four body chapters of this academic text, I really resonate with the fourth chapter “Moving Home/Homing Movements.” Hsu constellates their own personal experience in relation to the previous chapters about love, resilience, and kin and how it connects in a larger network. As they state in the introduction, their “approach does not dismiss the significance of the personal;” rather, the personal is used to come to new understandings. I also saw a connection to Mimi Khuc’s dear elia as Hsu discusses their academic journey in relation to what Khuc terms “unwellness.” While Constellating Home was published two years before dear elia, Hsu is critical of institutions like academia or the medical field that put the burden and onus of resilience onto the individual, as if becoming sick is one’s fault and finding a cure is on the individual. I saw my current experience within academia reflected and represented. I remember only hearing stories of success, and therefore I was held to a higher standard by the institution and myself who internalized these feelings without considering my marginalization at the intersection of race, gender, sexual orientation, and dis/ability. To be clear, Hsu and I do not share the same exact experience, but I could recognize the similarities as well as the same systems of oppression that cause and exacerbate our unwellness. So, how do we survive in a system that benefits from our constant marginalization and oppression? Both Hsu and Khuc answer, “collectively.”
The LGBTQ+ narratives are important as they show the wide range of Asian American
experiences. In the introduction, Hsu also brings up Viet Thanh Nguyen’s concept of “narrative scarcity,” or the lack of representation of characters who look like us (Asian), and those who do are not seen as fully human. As a result, we are defined by these narratives that label us as either the “model minority” and/or the “yellow peril” and nothing in between. However, this is not the case as not every Asian American falls under these stereotypical ideas, and having a variety of stories pushes back against these ideas and allows a person to be incomplete or mediocre as a person can change and develop over time.
For example, when I was in high school, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom was published. Consequently, my history teacher was convinced that the small population of Asian American students who attended this predominantly white school would do anything, including cheating, to maintain our model minority status and ignored the many different experiences my classmates and I had, as not all of us were straight A students. Yet, the representation Amy Chua describes in her book set the expectation that we were supposed to be these “model students.” Growing up in a conservative area and only being exposed to these ideas of Asianness, I thought I had to perform the heteronormative expectation put in place. I did not have the vocabulary to express my queer identity, the hurt I felt, or how overwhelming it was to succeed in traditional ways.
Hsu’s work shows that these narratives that speak differently from the norm are worthy of attention and shows how reading and listening are always rhetorical acts in which the audience comes to understand new knowledge in relation to their own beliefs and values. As a result, constellating, homing, diasporic listening, and storytelling all become important tools not only to locate our own narratives within a broader context, but also to foster mutual care that is not exploitative and to reveal the violence inflicted by society onto marginalized communities.
Justine Trinh is an English literature Ph.D. student at Washington State University. She graduated from the University of California, Irvine with B.A.s in Asian American studies and classical civilizations and a B.S. in mathematics. She then went on to earn her M.A. in Asian American studies, making her the first student to graduate from UCI Asian American Studies’ 4+1 B.A./M.A. program. Her research interests include Asian American literature, critical refugee studies, family and trauma, and forced departure and disownment.