By Ella Nguyen
Growing up in a house that leaned into the hill, I learned early how to adjust to imbalance. A crooked kitchen floorboard tripped me year after year; I knew exactly where to step so I wouldn’t fall. This was my form of adapting. That same careful footing followed me as I tried to balance two cultures, two languages, and two versions of myself. Believing assimilation would bring acceptance, I laughed off jokes of “dog-eating” and small, slanted eyes despite my discomfort. That tension didn’t clear up until I read Viet Thanh Nguyen’s op-ed, “The Beautiful, Flawed Fiction of ‘Asian American’.” I finally grasped the “contradiction between American aspiration and American reality.” Written at the height of the COVID-era and anti-Asian hate crimes, Nguyen articulated the complexity I had been living with.
Originally coined to reject the Western label “Orientals,” the term Asian American represents an act of resistance by reclaiming identity through self-definition. Learning that the term emerged as retaliation against dehumanizing media portrayals of Asians as villains or caricatures deepened my pride in my culture.
I agree with Nguyen that the term built unification not through biology or stereotype, but through collective action to challenge injustice. He writes, “That will to find kinship can be the basis for further solidarities…” This perspective helped me reinterpret my San Jose neighborhood. The Mestizo (“mix”) food trucks blending Asian and Latino flavors, once awkward to me, became examples of different communities coming together. Nguyen further explains that “This is the only way that an Asian American-Pacific Islander coalition makes sense — pointing the way toward alliances with other groups, from Black Americans to Muslims, Latinos to L.G.B.T.Q. people.” With this lens, it became clearer to me why marginalized groups become allies after everything they’ve all gone through.
Although Nguyen eloquently reflects solidarity in the term Asian American, his message can be viewed as destructive because it collapses distinct cultures, histories, and experiences into a single category. As he highlights the political power of an intentional Asian American identity, I disagree with this generalization. Nguyen overlooks the different lived experiences of each community. The varied migration histories from early Chinese laborers in the 1800s to the wave of Indian immigrants in the late 1990s during the dot-com rise. These experiences have shaped each group’s values, languages, and traditions. His singular classification of “Asian American” feels too broad and imposing.
But his oversimplification isn’t the only problem. While I understand Nguyen’s call for outside reinforcement, it ultimately creates more division. He ends the article by dividing the country into two opposing sides: an “us” of Asian communities and other marginalized groups, versus white Americans and the white power structure. For example, Nguyen could have examined the experiences of Vietnamese and Korean immigrants who came to the United States after the very different outcomes of the wars in their home countries. This could have shown solidarity without reinforcing division. Each Asian community carries a different story.
I understand why he sees it this way; history gives plenty of reasons for people to band together for the power of many. Nguyen depicts this fight between the underdog and the bully. While that story feels true, it can’t lead to any kind of lasting change. It has to come from something bigger like the willingness to see others beyond the narrow viewpoints they were taught.
Reading Nguyen’s article, I agree that “we raise each other up through networking — in the hope that embracing global capitalism, the idea of meritocracy and corporate culture will make us belong in the United States." At the same time, Nguyen cites concern that relying on capitalism could create exclusionism. However, I believe a balance is needed, not the fear that Nguyen’s warning might provoke. At school, my Vietnamese Culture Club connected with the Business Club to bring in Asian American leaders and hear about their inspiring careers. This small moment, but it showed me how cultural and professional exchange can inspire students.
As my identity is shaped by the long and complicated Vietnamese history, I have come to realize that being “Asian American” is layered beyond labels. As communities evolve and become more diverse, that identity should be open to change and willing to be questioned. What I’ve learned is that belonging doesn’t come from trying to blend in. It comes from valuing the differences we bring and recognizing the persistence we share.
As Nguyen implies, the Asian American identity is rooted in imperfections. Its unevenness and contradictions gives us the freedom to define ourselves, rather than being defined by others. Like my house, my life may never be straight. Yet through these slants, I’ve found what it means to live in a way that feels like me.
