ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Any book worth reading must be the expression of a desire to become indebted to others. Whether this is such a book is not for me to decide, but I am lucky to have accumulated the tally that follows. As always, the greatest debts remain unaccounted and nameless.
Over the years, my teachers have given me more than a student should ask, particularly one so incorrigible as myself. I am honored by their patience and friendship, and grateful for their steadfast kindness through adversity. Joycelyn Moody taught me that reading could be a calling, and the pursuit of literacy a life’s task; I am still learning. Chandan Reddy’s terrifying intellect is surpassed only by his inexhaustible generosity, and I am better for having drawn upon both. From Johnnella Butler I learned that integrity can be sustained with grace at the highest levels of institutions not designed for your survival, a reminder that has saved me on more than a few occasions. Vince Rafael is the most literary thinker I have been fortunate to meet, and his restless mind pushed this project in profound ways. Eva Cherniavsky’s steady and exemplary mentorship steered me through many difficult challenges.
Kiko Benitez was an invaluable guide to my early incursions into Filipino literatures, and Alys Weinbaum showed me how to draw my first maps of the planet Du Bois. Steve Sumida, Gail Nomura, Peter Kwong, and Dušanka Miščević have been generous and supportive since my undergraduate years. Student organizers at the University of Washington and Oberlin, including Diem Nguyen, Genji Terasaki, Robin Russell, Marc Philpart, Dana Arviso, and many others provided me with the greater part of my education. I will never be done thanking my old friends from GO-MAP, especially Jerry Pangilinan and Cynthia Morales. In and beyond Seattle, Jeff Chiu, Amy Reddinger and Rhonda Mellinger, Lesley Larkin, Seema Sohi, Caroline Yang, Andrea Opitz and Stacy Grooters, Marites Mendoza, Ryan Burt, Trang Ta, and Keith Feldman allowed me to understand friendship as a form of study. Tamiko Nimura continues to show me the way forward. As a teacher, I have been fortunate to learn alongside many fine students, including Jacquelin Magby Baker, Rhassan Hill, Claire Schwartz, Charlotte Silverman, Kaveh Landsverk, Naima McFarland, Lauren Zachary, Christopher Holland, Sophia Rosenfeld, Jackie Harris, Logan Lawson, Alina and Amber Penny, and too many others to name.
Much love and respect to the Willliamstown diaspora, and to those still holding it down in the Berkshires: Tracey and Devyn Spence Benson, Stéphane Robolin and Evie Shockley, Travis and Jessica Gosa, Neil Roberts and Karima Barrow, Jackie Hidalgo and Sourena Parham, Kiara Vigil and Blake Johnson, Jennifer Randall Crosby, Lillian-Yvonne Bertram, and Manu Vimalassery. The peerless Joyce Foster, learned and wise, is a beacon to me, as to many. Dorothy Wang is fearless and always true. Laylah Ali, Allan Isaac, Wendy Raymond, Greg Robinson, Lisa Lowe, and Elena Creef offered timely encouragement. Mike Phillips, Rebecca Zorach, and Cauleen Smith swung through town when I needed them most.
I am fortunate for the refuge provided, as this book neared completion, by Sarita See and her formidable crew at the Center for Art and Thought: Jan Christian Bernabe, Clare Counihan, and Sarah Lozier. Thanks, too, to Juan Guerro and everyone at UW’s department of American Ethnic Studies; to Nayan Shah, Viet Nguyen, and Lanita Jacobs at USC’s Department of American Studies and Ethnicity; Christina Hanhardt and everyone at the first Critical Ethnic Studies Association Summer Institute; Vince Rafael and everyone at the Carlos Bulosan centennial conference in Seattle; and Joe Jeon, Yoon Sun Lee, and the participants in the 2014 AALAC workshop at Wellesley, for sanctuary and fellowship.
Daphne Brooks’s enthusiasm for this project could not have been more timely. I am honored to have worked with Matt Jacobson, Eric Zinner, Alicia Nadkarni, and everyone at NYU Press. Joe Ponce and Brent Edwards kindly shared their thoughts on a version of the entire manuscript. Amy Reddinger, Ryan Burt, Trevor Griffey, Irena Percinkova-Patton, Georgia Roberts, and Trang Ta also provided helpful feedback on various manifestations of this research. Conversations and collaborations with Keith Feldman, Andrea Opitz, and Dalila Scruggs helped me elaborate its consequences. Brian Norman’s advice on an early version of Chapter 5 was invaluable.
Working with Michelle May-Curry and Taylor Bundy, brilliant research assistants, was an honor. Support for this project was provided by the Hellman Fellows Fund, the Oakley Center at Williams College, and the Simpson Center and the English Department at the University of Washington. Essential logistical help was provided by Pat Malanga, Robin Keller, Krista Birch, Susan Williams, Annee Fisher, and Kathy Mork. I am indebted to Lori DuBois of the Williams College Libraries, and to the Special Collections staff at the University of Washington Libraries. This book would not have been possible without the work of gifted teachers at the Preschool at Claremont United Methodist Church and at the Williams College Children’s Center, especially Shana Shippee and Ellen Richardson.
My late grandparents, Rose and Vince Tajiri, have been a tangible presence in the writing of these pages. The love and support of Sarah and Brad DeKoter, Midori Tajiri-Byrd and Marc Byrd, Rea Tajiri, Brion Tajiri, Rev. Dae Yong and Youngsook Um, and my mother, Caryn Schleitwiler, have never wavered. But what a small thing is a book! It seems redundant to acknowledge, in a book, those to whom I owe so much more.
As with Ji-Young Um, who has been central to all areas of my life, intellectual and otherwise, since before we went off to graduate school, and who has done more to bring this project into the world than anyone, including its author. Then there is Yuuna, who has been its most cherished impediment. For them both, I will be forever grateful.
Overture
The Good News of Empire
Diversity is America’s manifest destiny.
—Ronald T. Takaki
cipher
| They built a wall so they could keep him on the inside. | (Justice.) |
| From time to time they try to get him to come out. | (Love.) |
| When they see him they want to kill him. | (Justice.) |
| Instead they give him a woman, so they can imagine what he does to her. | (Love.) |
| Some of them think a blonde one is worth six of the black ones. | (Race.) |
| Some of them think that’s a poor trade. | (Gender.) |
| Now they want him on film. | (Love.) |
| Now they want him on stage. | (Justice.) |
| Now they want him in the air. | (Freedom.) |
| Now he is in the air. | |
| What happened to the women? What happened to the monkey? What happened to the cook? |
Somewhere on the island, the women all live together. There are caves and a hidden beach. Before they came here, they used to work as extras.
“Where have they taken him?” asks one.
“To their own home,” says another.
“Will he come back?” asks the one.
“I think they have killed him,” says another.
“Should we find a new one?” asks the one.
“They will make a new one,” says another.
“Will we protect him?” asks the one.
“He will find care,” says another.
“Where will he find