Pacific Ties Spring 2018: Bodies

bodies Pacific Ties Newsmagazine at UCLA Spring 2018 Issue

editor’s note Coming to UCLA as a freshman, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of clubs and organizations on campus. As a pre-med student, I immediately joined a pre-med club, meeting a community of like-minded individuals striving towards the same career.

However, I wanted to join something other than a career-oriented club: I wanted to find a group that would allow me to learn about my culture and explore my identity.

It wasn’t until my first Asian American studies course in the fall quarter of my second year that I heard about Pacific Ties Newsmagazine. A staff writer at the time advertised it as a place to improve your writing skills and become a part of a community. Sure, I was very “south campus,” but I thought it couldn’t hurt to speak with the Editor-in-Chief at the time, Karin Chan, and learn more about joining. What I had intended to be a five-minute visit asking about the application turned into a half-hour discussion about Asian Americans in the country today and the importance of publications like Pacific Ties in bringing representation to the Asian American Pacific Islander Desi American (APIDA) community on campus. A week later, I received my acceptance as a copy editor for the magazine. It has been over two years since I have joined, and within the small staff, I was happy to find a community that embraced my individuality and a space to explore my identity, share my thoughts, and learn about the experiences of my peers and others in the APIDA community.

As a publication, Pacific Ties strives to highlight the diverse stories of the APIDA community on campus and in Los Angeles through articles that showcase arts and culture and present critical issues affecting APIDAs all over the country.

With this year’s theme—“Bodies”— our staff hopes to show the multifaceted nature of the theme by covering a wide range of ideas, with our three main focuses being identity, community and displacement, and health of the body and mind. Through a collection of articles and personal pieces, we highlight APIDA stories of struggle and exclusion, but also discovery and acceptance. We look into the intersectional identities held by people in the APIDA community as well as the formation of and displacement from the physical spaces to which our communities belong. To end our issue, we focus on the somewhat more obvious definition of “bodies” in the mental and physical sense, featuring pieces on mental health and a series of stories on how we embrace our cultures and identities through our cuisine.

Through this issue, we aim to not only capture the sentiment of inclusivity and finding a space on campus as the APIDA newsmagazine at UCLA, but also to explore the various aspects of bodies, both physical and non-physical, through showcasing the rich experiences and stories of APIDA individuals and communities.

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Sincerely,

Serena Siu Photo: Victor Tran

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Pink Box, Checkered Past: Doughnuts and Displacement

6 8 9 10

A Letter to My Father “U.S. History” When My Life Finally Began Coming to Terms with Identity and History: The Indo-Fijian Diaspora

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Developing Chinatown What’s an Arts District with no Artists?: The Displacement of Japanese American Artists in the LA Arts District

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Perspectives on the Mind: Seeking Psychological Care in Chinese Culture

17 “TEN TIMES” 18 #PACTIESEATS

A Taste of Beijing Wrapped in History Smashed (Salad) Never Tasted Better

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#PACTIESEATS Recipes Staff & Acknowledgements

Cover Photos: Amanda Leutmixay

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Pink Box, Checkered Past: Doughnuts and Displacement

BY JAMIE THOMAS

Familiarity with life in Southern California comes with an understanding of our small selection of regional comfort foods. Beside the In-N-Out and the baconwrapped hot dog cart stands the humble mom-and-pop doughnut shop, equipped with a dairy-filled cooler, small Buddhist shrine, and a plexiglass case filled with rows of golden, puffy, sugarcoated treasures that come in pink boxes. Rare is the SoCal native who does not salivate at the sight of a pink box.

Behind the average counter is a woman of small stature, hair pulled neatly back and secured above a worn, white collar. Her weathered smile is full of life, and her daughter and granddaughter can be seen methodically folding the

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iconic boxes on a table in the backroom. She and her family, like many other Cambodian refugees, built their American dream on resilience in the face of genocide and a mountain of ring-shaped pastries.

The Khmer Rouge was a deadly wave that rose from Eastern Cambodia, taking the lives of millions and displacing millions more throughout Asia and the world beginning in the late 1960s. Literally meaning “Red Cambodia/ns,” the Khmer Rouge was a communist party that opposed the military dictatorship that was installed and reinforced by the United States in 1970— and so they engaged in a civil war that replaced it with a repressive, isolationist government touting the need

for agrarian socialism.

Led by Pol Pot and others, the new Cambodian government began to purge major cities of their inhabitants in an attempt at “social engineering.” They began with people having any political connections to adversaries, then professors and producers of media, then religious, linguistic and ethnic minorities until roughly half of the country’s population had either been executed, starved to death, or succumbed to curable diseases due to a lack of healthcare.

As schools were retrofitted into prisons, government buildings were reimagined into centers of torture to extract information from “guilty”

“She and her family, like many other Cambodian refugees, built their American dream on resilience in the face of genocide and a mountain of ring-shaped pastries.” citizens. Executions became so common that the regime traded their bullets for pickaxes to conserve resources — a fact uncovered by the more than 20,000 mass grave sites they left behind.

Those lucky enough to escape this fate often faced a series of daunting marches from refugee camp to refugee camp, which itself took the lives of many more before any type of semi-permanent settlement was reached.

Melissa Eap, of Simone’s Doughnuts in Long Beach, details the trials her Cambodian father, Roger Eap, and others in her family faced on their eventual journey to the United States: “My grandfather died during the Rouge. He wasn’t killed, but he was very sick. I’ve had family members who were killed, but most that died were starving and really sick.”

The remaining members of her family managed to stay together as they fled the country.

“My dad and his family, those that were still alive, ended up in a refugee camp in Thailand,” she recalls. As she begins speaking about the camp itself, it is clear that she grew up hearing this story in a positive light. Without

it, after all, she wouldn’t be here.

“My mom’s uncle was a general in the camp. There was a restaurant there, and my mom would help as a hostess and my dad got a job as a waiter. That’s where they met. They fell in love and then were apart for a year and a half when my dad left for America. When my mom finally came to America, they were married right away.”

After a short period of living in Michigan with the family that sponsored his journey through the Red Cross, Roger and his wife received a phone call from an old friend in Cambodia who had made it to California—he beckoned to them, saying, “There are a ton of jobs for us here!”

Off they went, and Seaside Doughnuts (the result of a community-based partnership and the first of Eap’s establishments) was opened in Newport Beach a few short years later in 1985. They had joined the surge of survivorsturned-business-owners that rose above poverty and made the pink box and golden, glazed halos an essential part of Californian comfort cuisine.

Pink, not white, was the color of choice in the Cambodian doughnut shop.

It has been sung that Ted Ngoy—a now-famous refugee, entrepreneur, Winchell’strained doughnut maker, and community enabler—simply called the box company and asked for anything that might be cheaper than the thencustomary white.

While there was certainly an economic component to the decision to stray from the standard, what often goes unspoken is the cultural aspect that sparked the desire to change—to anything at all, any cheap material will do.

In the regions affected by the Rouge, white is the color of mourning. For a member of this embattled community to package these fried gems, these fundamental avenues for advancement within the American economy, in a shroud of death was difficult.

One attempt at cheap red boxes, a color of luck in Cambodian culture, resulted in a more faded pink, which was embraced by the community and eventually worldwide. But underneath every pink box is a story of sorrow, loss, and triumph in the face of a fascist regime.

Illustration: Sylvia Li

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A Letter to My Father

BY BRITTNEY LE

To My Father: “Your legs look fat.” When you said this to me in Vietnamese while I was happily getting ready for a high school club banquet, a darkness suddenly loomed over me. It was nothing new.

I grew up my entire life hearing comments from you and other relatives on my weight. A person’s spirit eventually becomes crushed enough to the point where it only stings a little the next time they hear it because they’ve heard it so many times before already. I’ve come to expect it.

I know that being Vietnamese comes with a certain standard of beauty that women are held to, and I don’t meet that super skinny standard. My strange relationship with food throughout my life has complicated my struggles with my weight.

You know that Mom gave me freedom in my dietary choices when I grew out of my digestive sickness that I had as a toddler. She felt bad for me because growing up, I could barely eat anything without vomiting. Once I could finally keep my food down, she was so happy I could finally enjoy food. How can you take away something from someone you love if they finally get a taste of it after being deprived for so long? I know you understand, too.

I don’t know if you know, but my weight gain took a toll on my self-esteem. I remember posing for a picture on Twin Day in elementary school with my cousin in our matching outfits, and someone asked me why I was sticking my stomach out. But I wasn’t. I feel like this was a tangible moment to which I could trace my complicated relationship with food. I went through elementary and middle school always believing I wasn’t skinny enough. It didn’t help to hear it from you and my aunts and uncles all the time, too.

Even when I was at my fittest, playing basketball in high school and getting daily exercise, I was still uncomfortable with my body. And being upset about my weight made me want to eat more. I would go through periods of binge eating, feeling guilty and starving myself, and then going “f*ck it” and binge eating all over again, in a vicious cycle. I don’t know if you know, but I had a phase a couple years ago where I wanted to force myself to vomit after binge eating.

And occasionally I still do have these moments. It’s hard to get over it, but I don’t blame you for my struggles. I never really told you how damaging your words were to me. But I think we’re starting to come to an understanding, as I become more confident in myself and you’re taking notice of it.

I’m trying to change. I’m trying to accept my body as it is. I’m trying to snap myself out of that poisonous mindset that I need to starve to be pretty. And I know you’re trying to accept me for who I am, too, even if I don’t exactly fit your mold of “pretty.”

What we need to remember is to listen to our bodies and respect them. I forget this all too often.

But my life experiences have definitely made me accepting of others and their bodies, and I hope that everyone can learn to love their bodies like I’m slowly learning to do. I just hope that, one day, I’ll be able to tell you that I’m happy with myself, and I hope you’ll be happy with me, too.

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What is "positive body image" to you? How has your upbringing potentially influenced your perspective on body image today, and what do you think Asian Americans see as "ideal"?

To me, I think that “positive body image” is having a positive outlook on your physical characteristics and being able to love and respect how you look regardless of whether you want to physically change something about yourself or not. I grew up in a household where we would strive to maintain a healthy lifestyle which includes eating well and exercising often. With respect to body image in general, it is important to note that people will have different body types depending on their lifestyles, and as such, one should really only focus on their own body image. But often times that is not the case. Especially in the movie industries, Asian males are depicted as extremely fit and often quite muscular which may influence the “ideal” body image under which many Asian Americans pursue.

Kevin Shih, fourth-year molecular, cell, and developmental biology major

Raised in a Vietnamese American culture, beauty was defined in multiple ways. My eldest relatives wanted me to be skinny but not too skinny, white but not too pasty, and athletic but not too bulky. My American side wanted me to be fit and tan with all the right curves. Growing up, I always tried to satisfy everyone, but to no avail. To me, beauty is "positive body image,” which is to be as healthy as you can, to accept your body and to be comfortable in your own clothes. Positive body image lies in yourself, for no one can make you feel inferior. Today, everyone still defines beauty in different ways. My body is not that of a typical Vietnamese girl. I'm a little darker and a little thicker, but I'm also a girl and an athlete.

Jocelyn To, fourth-year biochemistry major Photo: Steven Du

Jocelyn To & Alex Do I know that in an ideal world, a positive body image would be whatever body you felt comfortable in, but growing up as an Asian American male, it meant being tall, muscular, having prominent bone structure, and nice double eyelids. Growing up being teased for my height from both my friends and their parents, I didn't think I'd ever reach the glorious standard. However, my dad has been a great role model in that he taught me that height isn't an impossible obstacle and that it isn't everything. He taught me to jump higher than any hurdle, be confident in everything else I had to offer, and live life knowing that change is still possible in better endeavors.

Alex Do, fourth-year biology major and society & genetics minor

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“Now let’s turn the page to” And i searched For where was i in American history Told by him not her

By Her not her For where was i in American history

Told by U.S. not us

By Some not all

Ourstory

BY LUCY MA

Where was Mystory?

Ourstory?

From Jim Crow to The Chinese Exclusion Acts From Japanese Incarceration to The Muslim Bans What are we taught about them?

For the ones buried under those tracks (like water under the bridge) For the ALL the unsung patriots (no glory, no pay) For the imprisoned American people (in body and heart) For the children who are (yet again) trapped by history, Do you dare tell their stories?

A collage of pictures Dates and some facts One- or two-sentence-long explanations “But don’t forget to memorize the definition from the glossary!

It’ll be on the test.”

“American and national identity; migration and settlement; politics and power; work, exchange, and technology; America in the world; geography and the environment; culture and society” — are themes you must know for the exam. But do we really know history. the People’s History?

Where is ourstory?

Where am i in U.S. history?

When

When

When When

I was born?

On American soil but seen as alien my parents moved?

Away from their homes in search of a Dream World War II ended and began?

Colonization and Imperialism rule?

When?

When we, the brave, unfold the tales When we, the free, tell the untold This is Our Story, listen.

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When My Life Finally Began

BY JUSTIN TRAN Living in a society that constantly tries to dictate who individuals may share their love and intimacy with has become so common, that many who identify as queer become fearful of accepting their true sexual identity. Being “trapped in the closet” feels like walking on eggshells— everything one has worked hard to maintain can shatter in one instant due to a single mistake.

Many feel they must set aside their happiness to fulfill heteronormative roles so that they may feel accepted. This secrecy and lack of true self-identity can cause individuals to feel as though their minds and souls are trapped in a prison for a crime they did not wish to commit.

Due to these circumstances, many Asian Americans who identify as being part of the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) community have once felt, and continue to feel, a sense of fear of coming out— at the chance of being rejected by their loved ones. The tension between an individual’s sexual and ethnic identity can be seen distinctively depending on the location of where a family decides to call home, whether it be in an ethnic enclave or a suburb that lacks cultural diversity.

Thanh Nguyen, 23, is a firstgeneration Vietnamese American who grew up in Chinatown, Los Angeles, where almost all of his

neighbors and classmates were Asian American. When asked about the challenges he faced regarding his sexuality, he said many of the problems stemmed from his parents’ religion and lack of education as well as his not being able to fully communicate his sexual identity to them because of language barriers.

These various disagreements were the breaking point for the relationship between Nguyen and his parents.

Before coming out, Nguyen explained that his parents “worked tirelessly as garment workers, sometimes making less than bare minimum, just to ensure a future for [him].”

The main reason why he kept his sexuality a secret for so long was because he did not want to disappoint his parents and make them feel as though their investment in him was for nothing.

He got to the point in his life where he started to realize he couldn’t keep living a life to please others. “I wanted to fall in love, but I wanted it to be with someone that I genuinely had feelings for, not someone I forced myself to be with in order to uphold [my parents’]expectations of who they wanted me to be.”

Nguyen’s parents only spoke Vietnamese, and he expressed that it was hard for him to properly translate the depression and

anxiety he had been feeling, as there wasn’t really a way to say it in the language.

Nguyen’s parents reacted the way he hoped they wouldn’t, and his father told Nguyen to pack his bags and get out of his house unless he was willing to change.

This marked the last day in four years that Nguyen ever spoke to his father.

Though Nguyen does not have any relationship with his parents anymore, he stated that he was able to find a niche of people in his community that have gone through similar experiences. Because he grew up with people of similar ethnic backgrounds, many of his peers were able to show empathy towards the obstacles and prejudices of being both a minority and queer. Nguyen also states that he has no regrets from coming out, as doing so made him feel empowered to live his truth. Before coming out, Nguyen felt suffocated having to lie not only to everyone around him, but also to himself. He now lives a life where he can express himself freely without having to face any consequences and can use his experience on how he coped with unaccepting parents to aid those who are in his shoes.

“I feel like my life finally began at 23,” Nguyen continued, with a bright smile on his face.

“Being ‘trapped in the closet’ feels like walking on eggshells...”

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Coming to Terms with Identity and History: The Indo-Fijian Diaspora

BY SHAYLEEN SINGH

Photo: Shayleen Singh

“If we’re Indian, why aren’t we from India?”

I asked my grandma as a kid. “We do Indian things. We wear Indian clothes. We speak a language that’s spoken in India. But you aren’t from India. Mom and Dad aren’t from India. Why?” My grandma responded with a story of my great-grandmother, who embarked on a long, adventurous journey. She was from Calcutta, India and boarded a ship to travel to the Fiji Islands. There, along with other Indians who accompanied her on the trip, she created a new home, chopping down big trees and building houses made of thatch and

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straw. I admired my greatgrandma for going on this long voyage and for starting a new life on a new island.

Growing up, I was always confused about my ethnicity and didn’t know how to identify myself. I grew up watching Bollywood movies. From “Sholay” to “Kabhie Khushi Kabhi Gham,” I was raised with such classic films, and I continue to keep track of new releases today. I’m fluent in Hindi and it was my first language. I picked it up as a toddler since it is the language spoken among my family. When I watched Bollywood movies with my family, I could understand most of what was going on. However, I found myself needing subtitles or asking my parents what the charac-

ters were saying since there were certain words or phrases that I didn’t understand.

I eat homemade Indian food practically everyday at home. However, I didn’t know what chicken tikka masala was until my family and I went to an Indian restaurant. Why did the chicken curry at this restaurant taste different from my mom’s curry? Yes, there are many different ways to cook a particular food item, but the consistency and ingredients were different. My family and I also eat food such as chicken curry made with coconut milk and boiled taro, or making lovo, a Fijian method of cooking food underground, covered by rocks and banana leaves. Why weren’t these items on the menu?

When asked the “what are you?” question, I’d alternate between saying I was Indian or Fijian to simplify things. I didn’t know how to communicate to others that while I am Indian, my parents, grandparents, and a few past generations of ancestors were born and raised in Fiji. In response to identifying as Indian, people would ask, “what part of India are you from?” and I wouldn’t know how to answer.

In response to identifying as Fijian, people would say, “I thought you were Indian. Why is your last name ‘Singh’?”

There didn’t seem to be a right answer. It wasn’t until when I was in high school that I began doing research about the history of Indians in Fiji in order to find a label I could comfortably identify with, and find out how and why my ancestors arrived to this island in the first place.

I came across “Indo-Fijian,” and with that, I also came to learn about the real reason my great-grandmother had boarded a ship to Fiji.

In 1874, Fiji became a British colony, and there was a shortage of plantation labor.

As a result, the British Empire turned to India as one of the countries to fill this need for cheap labor. Over 3 million Indians were displaced around the globe under the

system of indentured servitude. Between 1879 and 1916, a total of 60,965 Indians were shipped to the Fiji Islands as indentured labourers, with Calcutta being one of the main ports from which they came. The group of laborers were known as girmityas, derived from the term “girmit” meaning “agreement.”

They signed 5-year contracts and were promised a better life full of new opportunities and wealth. However, they were met with the opposite.

I realized that my grandmother’s epic story about my great-grandmother’s voyage to a tropical island was a guise, hiding history and trauma.

Since Calcutta was just a major port, I didn’t know what region of India my greatgrandmother or other ancestors were from after all.

While some Indians had the agency to sign the indenture contract in hopes of making it big, many others were illiterate, poor, or both, and they were manipulated into signing the contracts by false promises. These people were exploited for their labor and received little pay for working long hours under strenuous and harsh conditions.

After their contracts ended, the girmityas had the option to return to India on their own expenses, but because

they had received very little compensation for their labor, many decided not to leave and to instead build their future in Fiji. Some also opted to remain in Fiji because they saw it as their new home and had little to no relations in India.

Both colonialism and displacement, first from India to Fiji, and then from Fiji to the U.S. brought upon a loss of familial history, intergenerational trauma, and a sort of “othering” from the rest of the South Asian community due to later generations not being directly from the subcontinent, my ancestors created not only a whole new culture and identity, but an entire diaspora, out of resilience, adversity, resistance, and hope. A new language, cuisine, music, traditions, and so much more was born with both Indian and Fijian influences. Today, Indians make up about 40% of the population of Fiji, and FijiHindi, a combination of multiple dialects from Fiji and the various languages spoken in India, is recognized as one of the official languages of Fiji.

The hardships that my greatgrandmother and other ancestors faced affect and shaped me into who I am today. The strength of my community, both in the U.S. and in Fiji, keep me grounded and going.

“...my ancestors created not only a whole new culture and identity, but an entire diaspora, out of resilience, adversity, resistance, and hope.”

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“[Who] wants to come to Chinatown to see Walmart?”

For many locals and tourists, Chinatown in Los Angeles has become a hipster place where you can “hang” and get dim sum with boba.

You can buy expensive art in galleries while wearing a $20 suit that you bought from the vendors out on the streets — all of this comes with the package of visiting Chinatown and learning about the culture and history of Chinese Americans, which can be read on placards posted on power poles along the sidewalks.

It might be convenient for a visitor to find the “history” of Chinatown, but where do we find its future?

Today, the majority of the population living in Chinatown is made up of low-income, immigrant, and elderly residents who face uncertainties about the enclave’s changing landscape.

In 2013, 47% to 57% of residents were rent-burdened, spending more than 30% of their household income on rent.

Big corporations’ various developments, including the trendy new apartment complexes and mainstream, chef-driven eateries, are slowly taking over, affecting the local economy through the displacement of residents and mom-and-pop shops.

One such “development” was the opening of a Walmart in Chinatown.

At the time, King Cheung and his colleagues founded China-

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Developing Chinat

BY LUCY MA

town Community for Equitable Developement (CCED) as a way to organize and protest against the opening of the chain store because it would destroy small, local business, not to mention the store’s expansion would bring its harmful exploitative labor trends, to which Cheung summarizes, “they pay their workers pennies.”

Cheung continues, “because Walmart was such a big thing… it gave a lot of energy for people to organize and fight,” and it was not just locals and stakeholders of Chinatown who fought — labor unions, community lead-

ers, and even students came together to prevent the chain store from opening.

In the Summer of 2013, Walmart opened its Chinatown store on the first floor of an apartment for senior citizens.

One might argue that these trends such as the opening of large corporations like Walmart are just the natural course of competition in a free market, but is Chinatown the one benefiting from this or the corporations? And will Chnatown still be Chinatown as the people living there slowly disappears?

Developers say that the expensive cost of housing will

town will naturally drop as there is a greater number of residential units available. Under a free market assumption, the demand of housing is supposed to lower as the supply of units increase, thereby lowering the costs in the process.

However, the invisible hand is not moving fast enough, and landlords can keep the market rate price high even at the cost of creating empty spaces and vacant lots.

Only two years after its opening, the Walmart branch in Chinatown closed down, as the minimum wage in Los Angeles rose to $15 per hour.

Some say the protestors

Coming to the United States at the age of 17 through family reunification, King Cheung is a lifelong activist in the Asian American community. He has been volunteering in community based organizations like Resthaven since the 1970s, and he supervised a statewide special unit for the Garment Manufacturing and Agriculture division of the Labor Commission during the infamous El Monte Thai Workers Case in 1995.

Even after retiring, Cheung continues to lead the community by example through his work with Chinatown Community for Equitable Development (CCED), a Los Angeles Chinatown-based organization.

CCED was founded in March 2012, riding on the momentum of the protests against the opening of a Walmart in Chinatown, and its core mission today is to “build grassroots power with low-income Photos: Lucy Ma and immigrant communities through organizing, education, lost the battle but won the and mutual help.� war, but the reality is that Walmart came, created problems, and left inconveniences If you are interested in getting for its customers and employ- involved or becoming a volunteer ees, leaving the space it once at CCED, please call (213) 986-8897 occupied empty and unutilized or email ccedchinatown@gmail. in any way by the community. com. Cantonese, Mandarin, Spanish, While Chinatown is a place Toisan, and Vietnamese speakers are welcomed! If you are interested where different ideals and in learning more about CCED: forces can meet, it is imporServices: Letter reading, referrals tant to recognize that the for social services so-called developments are Languages: Cantonese and strategies to change the face Mandarin of Chinatown from its people to its businesses, and from its Hours: Every 3rd Sunday from 1-4PM culture to its consumption.

Location: 418 Bamboo Lane, Suite A, Los Angeles, CA 90012

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What’s an Arts District with no Artists?

The Displacement of Japanese American Artists in the LA Arts District

BY KRISTY PHAN

Photos: Kristy Phan

If you’ve explored Los Angeles nightlife, chances are you’ve been to or at least heard of the Arts District in Downtown LA. Young crowds flock there to check out its cultural fare, consisting of taco trucks, breweries, murals, and more. Living just down the street from popular spots such as Angel City Brewery, Umami Burger, Wurstkuche, and The Pie Hole are the artists who put the “art” in Arts District — some of whom are currently fighting eviction from their homes.

Two Japanese American artists, Jaimee Itagaki and Nancy Uyemura, are residents of 800 Traction Avenue and are currently being evicted by DLJ

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Capital Partners, a real estate firm that bought the building for $20 million in May 2017.

Itagaki and Uyemura are just two of many in Los Angeles’ arts community who are facing displacement, as part of the larger LA housing crisis. The area was originally designated the Arts District in 1991 to recognize a growing artist community that started settling in the area in the 1970s. With evictions, these artist communities who make significant contributions to LA’s culture are under threat.

“In the beginning, I didn’t think there was anything I could do,” said Uyemura.

When talking about her eviction notice with her friend,

the friend mentioned that a mutual friend, Taiji Miyagawa, was involved in anti-eviction campaigns in other Los Angeles neighborhoods. “I never knew he was a community activist…

She gave me his info, I called Taiji and this was how it all got started. He was instrumental in pushing it through. One by one people started coming together.” Residents and community members came together as the 800 Traction Committee.

The committee organized various events to fight against eviction. They held a rally in June 29, 2017, with the slogan, “What’s an Arts District without artists?”, where they talked about LA’s housing crisis, the importance of artist communi-

ties, and the hypocrisy of calling the area an “arts district” even as its local artists were being pushed out. In November 2017, they held an “eviction march,” where supporters marched with banners and floats around the Arts District and Little Tokyo to raise awareness of the issue. In October and December 2017, they spoke up at the City’s Cultural Heritage (CHC) Commission meeting to contest DLJ’s application for historic landmark status, which left out the contributions that Japanese Americans and other artists of color made to the Arts District.

After the application was approved, the discussion moved to the City’s Planning and Land Use Management (PLUM) Commission in February 2018, where the committee successfully organized to have the names of Japanese American and Latino artists added to the application. In addition to rallies, the committee gained support by hosting art parties for the public. Finally, they also used online petitions and social media to spread awareness.

After months of organizing, the 800 Traction residents will have to move out after reaching a settlement with DLJ in February. Although it may seem like a loss, Miyagawa pointed to many bright moments and successes because of the committee’s hard work over several months.

First, they received broad support from people in Chinatown, Boyle Heights, the LA Tenants Union, and the broader artist community, creating

interethnic solidarity between working-class communities of color affected by similar issues.

Second, they successfully fought against DLJ from erasing Japanese American history in DLJ’s application for 800 Traction to receive fought against DLJ from erasing Japanese American history in DLJ’s application for 800 Traction to receive Historic-Cultural Monument status. In future murals or plaques, the significance of Japanese American artists and other artists of color will be included. It is “now in public record that the building is part of Little Tokyo history… we don’t have to fight as hard to validate [that].” Lastly, residents won compensation and settlement.

“With the first eviction, there was no legal obligation for DLJ to give them a dime. This was only possible with public pressure,” Miyagawa explained.

Uyemura and Itagaki felt surprised and empowered as the campaigns started wrapping up.

“I’ve been active in this community for years. Every little thing I might have helped somebody with, they all came out to help. You really felt there was a community out there and that it was important to people and that we could have a voice and we could sort of fight this.... We didn’t realize it would take on this sort of life,” said Uyemura.

“Because of community support… it made me as an individual realize the power of it all, what you can do by protesting,

and by having intelligence… I call them the three pillars,” Itagaki joked, referring to community organizers in the committee with her.

Despite the evictions going forward, 800 Traction Support Committee members are still organizing for social change.

Itagaki, Miyagawa, and other committee members are currently involved in an arts-activist group in Los Angeles. According to Itagaki, the purpose of this group is to “[create] community spaces for art making and art showing, like popup galleries… spaces where we can continually show art [from] multi-generational people of color and... [learn] about art as a profession and business.”

In the midst of pervasive displacement and eviction of working-class communities of color in Los Angeles, Miyagawa urges young people to ask themselves: “What kind of world do [you] want to live in?

Do you have enough capital and downpayment for the house of your dreams, [or to pay an] average of $2200 for one bedroom? What kind of community do you want to be a part of?”

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Perspective on the Mind

Seeking Psychological Care in Chinese Culture

BY SNOW ZHENG

When I was in the eighth grade in China, I went to psychological counseling because I was stressed about schoolwork and test preparation. As I walked into the psychiatrist’s office in the hospital, I found that although it was a large hospital, there was only one psychiatrist, and it was only recently that the psychiatrist’s office was put in place. This newly furnished office consisted of only two small rooms while the dental office opposite to it was at least three times larger.

Why hadn’t the hospital hired a psychiatrist sooner? Maybe it’s because few people have asked for psychiatric care, so the hospital did not feel a need to hire one. Why don’t Chinese people seek professional counseling more often? China has over a billion people and a strong economy, yet it seems so behind in providing psychiatric services.

Culture may play a role in hindering Chinese people from seeking counseling. There is an old Chinese saying that goes, “Harmony is first; individual is second.” Many people relate mental health problems to madness, and many are discouraged from continuing with treatment when they find that their parents or spouses dislike the idea.

To many Chinese parents, including my own, psychological counseling is just spending money

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to chat with someone for an hour.

Seeing a psychologist is often seen as shameful and not something to be proud of or shared with others. Even today, my parents have not told anyone—neither friends nor relatives—about my seeking of psychological counseling, and they said that if others knew I went to see a psychologist, they would think that my parents abused me or that there’s something wrong with me. It would make me and my parents look bad.

Samanda Hu, a first-year math major at UCLA, was born in China and went to middle school in Norway, so she has observed the different views on mental health from these three countries. When Hu was in elementary school in China, she was teased by a classmate because of her parents’ marital status, and the teacher punished her classmate aloud, making the situation known to the whole class.

“I don’t understand how teachers can be so oblivious in protecting students’ mental health, especially given that people’s personalities are mostly shaped during elementary school,” Hu explains as she recalls how her teacher seemed to ignore how uncomfortable and stressed that situation made her.

In the school she attended in Norway, which offered kindergarten through the 12th grade, there

was a health station that provided free, confidential psychological counseling, which offered resources similar to UCLA’s Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS).

Hu also explained that there is a Norwegian website created by the Department of Childhood, Youth and Family Affairs that contains information for K-12 students on how to protect their minds and bodies with topics ranging from mental health to bullying. These resources show Norway’s value of protecting people’s physical as well as mental wellbeing.

When comparing mental healthcare in the three countries, Hu attributes differences to culture: “Chinese society believes that anomaly is abnormality.

Anything that’s different is wrong, and what is wrong should be prevented.” She continues, “From a social point of view, people want to blend in with the crowd and be accepted by others.”

As some of the countries that UCLA’s international students come from may not have psychological services as ubiquitous or developed as in the United States, it is important to make these services accessible on campus and to tell these students to not be afraid to seek professional help for their mental health issues.

TEN TIMES MEN MADE ME UNCOMFORTABLE *Trigger warning for harrassment

BY AMANDA LEUTMIXAY

C

oyly closing the door, leaving the two of us alone in a room.

O

bviously taking advantage of the fact that I am a woman and you are much bigger than me.

N

ot letting go when I was trying to pull away.

T

aking credit for helping me achieve X when it was my hard work that got me where I am today.

R

efusing to acknowledge me as a strong, independent woman who does not want your attention.

A

cting as if you cannot see the fear in my eyes because I was thinking, “Oh God, please not me.”

V

iolating my comfort and taking weird pictures of me without my permission.

E

nveloping me in your creepiness.

N

ot recognizing how inappropriate your actions are for your age--not that that’s an excuse. xpecting me to return when I ran straight to my mom and told her I wanted to go home.

E

CONTRAVENE, AS DEFINED BY THE MERRIAM-WEBSTER DICTIONARY, MEANS “TO GO OR ACT CONTRARY TO : VIOLATE”

Photo: Amanda Leutmixay

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#PACTIESEATS

A TASTE OF BEIJING

BY SNOW ZHENG As one of the most famous and recognizable foods in Chinese cuisine, Peking roast duck has a long cultural history that dates back to the Ming Dynasty.

The rise in popularity of Peking roast duck can be traced to the emperor of the Ming Dynasty, who loved Nanjing roast duck and was known to eat roast duck every day. The royal chefs continuously worked to improve the taste of the roast duck in order to please the emperor. In the late Ming Dynasty, one of the new emperors changed the capital city from Nanjing to Peking (now Beijing), and roast duck became a cuisine for both royal families and peasants of Peking alike. Peking roast duck gradually replaced the previously popular Nanjing roast duck, becoming the symbolic Chinese dish that it is today.

When I was 11 years old, I tried Peking roast duck for the first time. The restaurant I went to is called Quan Ju De in Beijing, China, famous for making Peking roast duck since 1864.

I watched the chef push a cart into the room, lifting the cover and revealing the famous roast duck. The duck is cooked whole, its skin glistening and roasted to a reddish-orange color. The chef

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swiftly cut the duck into thin slices and carefully arranged the pieces onto a plate for us.

His adept and delicate knife work made me think that he was performing a show rather than preparing food.

The duck skin was crispy yet chewy, and the meat was fatty but not greasy. I wrapped the meat in a steamed flatbread, added cucumber and onion slices, and topped it off with a special sweet sauce. While I was busily eating, the chef finished his show and left with the duck bones. As we were finishing up the Peking duck, the chef came back with a soup made with the duck bones. The soup neutralized the meat’s oil, hydrated our mouths, and filled the whole room with a delightful aroma.

After leaving Beijing, I always think about the Peking roast duck. However, I don’t know when I will be able to visit next, as it is a two-hour flight between my hometown and Beijing.

A year later, I had almost forgot about it until my father went to Beijing for a business trip. I told him on the phone that I was jealous he could eat the Peking roast

duck again, and he asked me if I wanted him to bring one back.

I said “yes,” but I didn’t take it seriously, as it isn’t convenient to bring cooked food from somewhere that far. Plus, I didn’t expect my father to remember my request while he was busy working in another city.

To my surprise, my father arrived at home, bringing back the Peking roast duck. My mom teased him for going to somewhere that far just for a duck, but I could see that she was also excited to eat it again. We ate the duck at home, and my dad invited my grandparents to come over. Although it had been several hours since the duck came out of the oven and my mom’s knife work was not as professional as the chef at Quan Ju De, everyone enjoyed the meal together.

It has been many years since then and I have tried Peking roast duck numerous times in both China and the U.S. The taste of roast duck is no longer new to me, but I still remember how grateful I was when my dad took my wish seriously and managed to fulfill it.

#PACTIESEATS

WRAPPED IN HISTORY

BY SERENA SIU Wrapped tightly in bamboo leaves and filled to the brim with various ingredients, the Chinese dish 粽 (pronounced joong) is like a delicious little surprise, a package that can come in both savory and sweet varieties and containing different combinations of fillings. Beneath the fragrant bamboo leaves of my grandmother’s joong, one can expect to find fatty pork, salted egg yolk, and dried baby shrimp among other ingredients, all enveloped by a generous helping of glutinous rice.

Looking over the little plates of ingredients laying before me on two folding tables pushed together, I couldn’t help but feel both nervous and excited to learn for the very first time how to assemble the joong, one of my childhood favorites. Ever since I was young, my grandmother always gave me a bag of joong when I went to visit her, a dozen individual pieces tied daintily with kitchen twine. After so many years of enjoying the dish, I never questioned the amount of preparation and care that went into making them.

But finally, I found a Saturday afternoon where my grandmother, mother, and I were free to just sit down and make joong together. It was quite an idyllic scene: three generations of women huddled over several dishes of fillings, learning how to cook a genera-

tions-old recipe that has traveled over 8000 miles from my grandmother’s hometown of Toisan in southern China. Sitting in the kitchen of my grandmother’s apartment were three generations of women of vastly different ages and experiences, coming together over their common tie to this savory dish.

My mother has made joong before. I looked over and watched her hands as she delicately folded the bamboo leaves, overflowing with rice and fillings, and tied the bundle together tightly. I looked over to my grandmother as she folded the bundles neatly and quickly; her decades of making the dish was apparent in her dexterity. After watching my grandmother and mother, it was my turn to try. I held the bamboo leaves in my hand, forming the pieces into a cup and filling it with rice and various meats. My grandmother instructed me on how to fold and tie the leaves in a way that keeps everything in so that the bundle does not burst when it is being steamed. My clumsy hands followed along, and after a few minutes of fumbling with the leafy wrap, my joong came together into a messy little package.

That summer afternoon, sitting and cooking with the two

women I love and respect the most, was a day when I learned more than just how to make one of my favorite foods. It was an afternoon where I was engaged in a family culinary tradition, making a variation of the joong specific to my great-grandmother, who passed down her special recipe to my grandmother by wordof-mouth. To me, this recipe is somewhat of a family relic, one that I graciously accept after it has been passed down for generations by mouth and then finally written down by my mother to preserve the oral tradition in a tangible way.

The recipe is so much more than just instructions on how to make a delicious and traditional Chinese food; wrapped up tightly within those bamboo leaves is a record of my culture, history, and most importantly, my family. At the end of that afternoon, I still couldn’t fold the joong as neatly and presentably as my grandmother or mother, but I felt thankful that I was able to learn how to make the dish from my grandmother firsthand and proud that I have become a part of continuing my family’s culinary tradition.

Illustrations: Sylvia Li

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#PACTIESEATS

SMASHED (SALAD) NEVER TASTED BETTER

BY AMANDA LEUTMIXAY My mouth feels like it is on fire.

“I only put in five small Thai chili peppers from your dad’s garden,” my mom said between breaths of air to cool down her own mouth and with a finger pinch full of the papaya that is responsible for our pain.

But I love it.

This is the dish I miss most when I’m away from home, Som Tum (specifically the Lao-style of papaya salad) paired with sticky rice and my mom’s famous chicken katsu. Talk about foodgasm.

There are family pictures of me eating Hot Cheetos when I was four years old. I like to think that my family groomed me to handle my spice. My mother said she craved papaya salad throughout the nine months I was incubating in her stomach. Coincidence much?

According to my parents, I had my first Lao papaya salad when I was five. I nipped a few small strands of papaya and dipped my sticky rice in the spicy sauce.

My parents called me daring and laughed as I ran to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The greatest memories I’ve had growing up surrounds Som Tum: making a huge portion of it with my mom and aunts at a family gathering, eating this dish with well-done and perfectly sliced BBQ at birthday parties and potlucks, experimenting with my cousin because we wanted to serve actual food at our imaginary

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restaurant when we were both eight…

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve had this dish throughout my life; I will never regret satisfying my stomach’s cravings by setting my mouth on fire.

Som Tum, otherwise known as Papaya Salad, is a popular and pungent dish in Laos and Thailand. However, the two neighboring countries have their own distinct spins on the dish. The Lao version contains a fermented fish sauce and shrimp paste base with a load of spice while the Thai version includes dried shrimp and crushed peanuts.

It is the equivalent of salsa as a side dish in my culture.

Every Lao household will have Som Tum for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and at every celebration.

Of all popular Southeast Asian dishes, I believe Som Tum is totally underrated.

The dish can be consumed as is, but to ease the spice attack in your mouth, it is typically consumed with rice (ideally sticky, glutinous rice but steamed white/

brown jasmine rice works too) or stir fried noodles and grilled or fried protein (like fried eggs or grilled chicken).

If you were to be invited to a party thrown by a Lao family, you will most likely encounter a large bowl of Som Tum right beside the platter of sliced BBQ and Lao yum salad. If you aren’t Laotian, the host and the Lao natives will most likely encourage you to try a bit of the delicacy. However, it is a hit or miss.

Understandably, Som Tum probably isn’t mainstream because of how pungent it is. However it will always be my favorite.

There are different variations of this recipe, depending on family and taste/spice preferences, and there typically aren’t exact measurements. With that being said, I have included my mother’s recipe, but feel free to Google recipes because there are different household variations of this dish.

Oh, and be sure to have a large mortar and pestle ready.

Illustration: Sylvia Li

#PACTIESEATS RECIPES

PEKING ROAST DUCK RECIPE PROVIDED BY COOKING CHANNEL TV

(TOTAL TIME: 10 HOURS)

INGREDIENTS • • • •

One 5 to 6-pound whole duck Sea salt Freshly ground white pepper 6 tablespoons honey 4 tablespoons • Chinese five-spice powder • 2 tablespoons dark soy sauce

• • • • • • •

2 1 6 6 2 1 1

tablespoons brown sugar tablespoon cornstarch tablespoons hoisin sauce tablespoons superfine sugar tablespoons sesame oil tablespoon dark soy sauce package Chinese/Mandarin-

style pancakes, to serve • 3 scallions, sliced into long thin strips, for garnish • 1 cucumber, cored and sliced into long thin strips, for garnish

DIRECTIONS 1. Prick the duck all over with a small knife or fork. Carefully pour hot water over the duck to rinse. Discard the hot water. Place the duck on a rack in a roasting pan and dry all over by patting it with paper towels. Sprinkle the duck with salt and pepper and leave it in the roasting pan until ready to cook.

2. In a small bowl, mix together the honey, 6 tablespoons water, five-spice, soy sauce and brown sugar. Brush the duck all over, inside and out. Let dry for about 10 minutes and then brush again. Repeat this process until you have used all but 4 to 5 tablespoons of the glaze (reserve this glaze). Ideally, let the glaze marinate on the duck overnight, leaving it uncovered in the fridge.

3. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Place the duck in the oven and cook for 45 minutes. Flip the duck over, baste with the reserved glaze

and cook until the skin is crisp and golden brown, another 45 minutes. Make sure you check halfway through that it is not getting too dark. If it is getting too dark before half the cook time is up, turn your heat down and lower the rack in the oven. When the duck is cooked, remove from the oven and let rest while you make your sauce.

4. For the sauce: In a small bowl, mix the cornstarch with 1 tablespoon cold water and set aside. Next, heat a pan or wok over medium heat and add the hoisin, sugar, sesame oil and soy sauce. When the sauce starts to bubble slightly, add the cornstarch mixture and stir well to thicken. Set aside and let cool. Carve and slice some duck. Place a teaspoon of the sauce in the center of each pancake, add a couple slices of duck, garnish with the scallions and cucumbers and serve immediately.

粽 (JOONG)

(MAKES 25 PIECES) RECIPE PROVIDED BY SERENA SIU

Joong is traditionally made for a traditional holiday known as the Duanwu Festival, which follows the legendary story of Qu Yuan, an ancient Chinese poet and advisor to king known for his unwavering loyalty and patriotism. Because other officials of the court were jealous of Qu Yuan’s position, he was accused of treason and was later exiled. During his exile, he wrote poetry about his love for and dedication to the country. When the capital of his state was captured and the king was killed, he was said to have been in such a state of despair that he committed suicide by jumping into the river. Because his body was never recovered, the townspeople threw joong into the river so that the fish would not eat his body. Now, on the fifth day of the fifth month on the lunar calendar, the day Qu Yuan committed suicide, people customarily throw joong into the river to commemorate this patriotic historical figure.

INGREDIENTS • • • •

Glutinous rice, 5 lb.

Chinese sausage, 8 pieces Pork belly, 2 lb.

Thick-cut ham, 1 lb

• • • •

Cured egg yolk, 2 yolk Dried baby shrimp, 1/2 lb Peanuts (unshelled), 10 oz Bamboo leaves, 1 pack

• Salt, 1 lb.

• Whole garlic • Kitchen twine

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#PACTIESEATS RECIPES INGREDIENTS PREP FOR 粽 • Cured egg yolk – Place 2 dozens of chicken eggs into a container with a lid. Fill with one pound of salt and add water until the eggs are covered. In 1-2 weeks, uncover the container and mix the salt and water mixture until the salt has dissolved. 40 days later, take the egg yolks out and put in a dry place for 24 hours before use.

DIRECTIONS FOR 粽

• Bamboo leaves – Soak the bamboo leaves for one week.

After one week, rinse the leaves. Place rinsed leaves in a large pot and add salt. Boil for 30 minutes.

• Chinese sausage – Cut into pieces about 1 inch in length.

• Dried baby shrimp – Soak dried baby shrimp until soft.

• Garlic – Mince garlic. Sauté until garlic is fragrant. Add

1. Take two bamboo leaves and overlap them slightly. Add a small amount of glutinous rice and use a third bamboo leaf to surround the first two pieces.

2. Place Chinese sausage, dried baby shrimp and garlic mixture, pork belly and ham, and egg yolk. Add more glutinous rice to cover the ingredients 3. Use a fourth bamboo leaf to cover the remaining side and secure the ingredients inside. With some kitchen twine, wrap the joong along the

dried baby shrimp until fragrant.

• Pork belly and ham – Cut both into 1-inch-long pieces. Add salt and let it cure over 1 week.

• Glutinous rice – Rinse the rice thoroughly. Add 1 tablespoon of salt and unshelled peanuts.

Mix well.

long side twice and around the short side several times. Tie the string tightly to prevent the joong from bursting.

4. Fill a large pot with water and bring to a boil.

When the water is boiling, place the joong inside the pot. Make sure there is enough water to cover all of the joong. Steam the joong in the pot on medium heat for 2.5 hours.

5. After 2.5 hours, remove the joong from the pot.

Cut the twine, open the leaves, and serve.

SOM TUM

(SERVES 2-5 PEOPLE) RECIPE PROVIDED BY AMANDA LEUTMIXAY

INGREDIENTS • 1-2 garlic cloves • 1 whole lime sliced • 2 cups of shredded unripe papaya (unripe papaya should be green with skin peeled off OR you can use any shredded vegetable of your choice like cucumbers or carrots)

• 3-5 Thai chilies (based on your spice preference) • 1 tablespoon of shrimp paste • 1 tablespoon of sugar • 1 tablespoon of fermented fish sauce (or use Padak, a very pungent fermented fish sauce)

• ¼ tablespoon of crab paste • ¼ tablespoon of salt • ¼ tablespoon of MSG (optional) • 4-6 cherry tomatoes quartered or a thinly sliced whole tomato

DIRECTIONS 1. In a large mortar, pound garlic, chili peppers, and salt together until it is a smooth paste.

2. Add shrimp paste, sugar, crab paste, MSG, fermented fish sauce, tomatoes, and lime. Smash until everything is thoroughly incorporated and smooth.

3. Taste and season to your preference (more lime if you want sour, sugar for less spice and more

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sweetness).

4. Then, add unripe papaya and pound to integrate everything in the sauce.

5. Afterwards, plate and enjoy! (bonus tip -- eating Som Tum with dried pork rinds work really well because you can basically use it to scoop up the papaya without getting your fingers dirty and the saltiness will masks the spice a little!)

PACIFIC TIES STAFF 2017-2018

Serena Siu

Amanda Leutmixay Managing Editor

Managing Editor

Brittney Le

Shayleen Singh

Snow Zheng

Editor-in-Chief

Copy Editor

Copy Editor

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS UCLA Student Media and Communications Board Asian American Studies Center Professor Mary Kao Sylvia Li Jamie Thomas Justin Tran Kristy Phan

Lucy Ma

Staff Writer

Pacific Ties is published and copyrighted by the ASUCLA Communications Board. All rights are reserved. Reprinting of any material in this publication without the written permission of the Communications Board is strictly prohibited. The ASUCLA Communications Board fully supports the University of California’s policy on non-discrimination. The student media reserve the right to reject or modify advertising whose content discriminates on the basis of ancestry, color, national origin, race, religion, disability, age, sex or sexual orientation. The ASUCLA Communications Board has a media grievance procedure for resolving complaints against any of its publications. For a copy of the complete procedure, contact the publications office at 118 Kerckhoff Hall @ 310825-9898.

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