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What’s “Hapa”-ning: The Development of Communities without Borders

“Alright everyone, stay in your seats. I want to try something different today.

Everyone that is not white can go and get their lunches first…Julia, you too.”

A day that could have passed like any other in my grade three class has since become a memory that manifestly embodies the anxiety I have felt regarding my ethnic and racial identity, both before and after that particular incident. I have rationalized that the teacher’s intention was to illustrate to the class that those who are not white can “go first,” presumably in circumstances other than retrieving their lunch. What her exercise made clear in my eight year old mind, however, was that the world could be divided into two groups; the white group and the other group. And I am not white; I am the “other.”

As a child, whenever I was confronted with the question “what are you?” I would reply indignantly “Canadian,” which was usually followed by, “yeah, but what are you?”

At one time my answer to the second question would reduce me to a pie chart: “I am one- half Japanese, one-quarter Ukrainian, one-eighth German, one-sixteenth Irish, one sixteenth Welsh.” However, I was well aware that what I was actually being asked was

“why are you different?” because little interest was paid to anything I had said beyond “I am one-half Japanese.” As a matter of expediency, I eventually took to the habit of answering, “what are you?” and its deceptively less offensive cousin, “what is your background?” with “half-Japanese.”

Although it wasn’t until recently that I became truly aware (I make no claims of being truly informed) of the politicized nature of these questions, I was constantly 2 unsettled by the need for others to put me racially in a particular context. (I often wonder when someone asks immediately upon meeting me what my racial background is what kinds of associations and presumptions that person will attach to me). What is intriguing is that some people have an almost inherent need to engage in racial taxonomy, and furthermore, my European background is taken for granted (the Occidental is incidental, if you will) and my Japanese background allows me to be dispensed easily into the

“other” bin.

At the age of nineteen I went for the first time to Japan and experienced a different kind of “otherness.” My father warned me before I went that I would be considered a “geigin” (the derogatory form of “geikokugin,” meaning “foreigner” in

Japanese), although I could not help my lofty anticipation of the discovery of exactly who

(or “what”) I am, which of course eluded me. During my encounters with many relatives

I realized that in Japan it is my Japanese background that is of little consequence and my

Canadian heritage that defines me. My experiences up until this point had led me to believe that communities are exclusionary; they are largely defined by what they are not.

When someone asks me what I am, it is what makes me different from them that is of interest and not what we may have in common.

My discovery of the word “hapa” put that theory into question. The word hapa comes from the Hawaiian term “hapa haole” which was originally a derogatory term meaning “half white/foreigner.” Again, in this instance a person’s native background is assumed to be understood and it is that person’s “otherness” that is made explicit.

However, many people of mixed race have claimed the word and it is often asserted that it no longer carries its previous negative connotations. In fact, in much of the 3 contemporary discourse surrounding “hapa” the term is defended on the merit of being inclusive. Japanese Canadian and Asian Canadian publications such as The Bulletin and

Rice Paper have dedicated entire issues to the word and its recent rise into public discourse. Articles in those magazines have been written by or about people of mixed

Asian, Asian and European, African and Asian, and African and European descent, and it is made clear that these are by no means restrictions on what it is to be “hapa.”

“Hapa” the word and its associations with particular organizations (such as the

Powell Street Festival and the aforementioned publications) gave me a sense of grounding; finally I belong! I am no longer banished to the black void of cultural and ethnic ambiguity! Unfortunately, several nagging questions cut the honeymoon short: if the term is all-inclusive, can a community of hapas ever be positively defined? And furthermore, without proper infrastructure, such as channels of communication, does that community actually exist? Ultimately I began to question whether the term “hapa” would only temporarily pacify my need to belong and would eventually become as hollow and insignificant as the terms “Eurasian” or “Amerasian.”

I use the term “positive definition” with a hint of irony. As I mentioned previously, my experiences as an “other” had led me to believe that communities are defined not by what they are, but by what they are not. In order to define the hapa community in a similar way, my “positive” description of the hapa community would be rife with negative statements: hapas are of Pacific Islander and Caucasian descent and therefore cannot be of African descent. But why would I want that? The ambiguity of the term may be considered a threat to its existence or a sign of impracticality, but it may also be (and here I again show my lofty idealism) a challenge to the very way “we” (as North 4

Americans or global citizens) view what a community is. The hapa community is global, it is diffuse, it is racially inclusive and it is indiscriminate. It is largely a community of people who have been somehow excluded and, in my opinion, the term would become meaningless if it were to hypocritically exclude.

My concern for the lack of infrastructure is similarly rooted in the currently accepted idea of what a community is. The infrastructure that binds a community is generally hierarchal and centralized, and the hapa community is neither. This is not to say that there is no dialogue within the larger hapa community, although a contestation of ideas is mostly at a local level. An internet search for “hapa” a couple of years ago would have only retrieved a handful of sites, but the same exercise today would result in tens of thousands of related sites. People who identify themselves as hapa in numerous countries are making local efforts to increase awareness and dialogue surrounding issues of mix- race identities and the internet has provided a forum for contrasting and assessing those ideas. My participation in the hapa community has been through involvement with the

Powell Street Festival, a Japanese Canadian arts and cultural festival, which has provided me with the opportunity to explore what it means to me to be simultaneously of Japanese and European descent. Thereby, I am able to grapple with my own particular identity (not just “mixed,” but Japanese Canadian) and my experiences contribute to the larger debate of what it is to be hapa.

It is most likely obvious that my third anxiety over the term “hapa,” that it will eventually be relegated into obscurity, has also been pacified. Terms such as “Eurasian” and “Amerasian” are exclusive, locally defined and have imperialist connotations and therefore have not been able to withstand the forces of globalization and post-colonial 5 theory. “Hapa,” however, has the unique opportunity of providing a haven for all those tired of being defined by their “otherness” by creating a community that is inclusive and celebrates diversity.