Yellow Face

“One night in Shanghai, a city so futuristic it makes Blade Runner look quaint, another ‘waiguoren’—another ‘foreigner’—told me where I could find ‘the soul of China.’”

Marcus meets other foreigners in China who give him advice on where to find the “true” China. Shanghai, with its modern cityscape, upsets the tourists’ orientalist binary of the “East” as ancient and “exotic” and the “West” as modern and advanced. Marcus is directed to the remote highlands of the Dong as a location that represents the core of China’s identity with the assumption that because people in Shanghai live more modern lives, they are somehow less authentic.

“But for the most part, the story of a minor figure in a couple of discredited scandals disappeared after one or two press cycles. Blink and you would’ve missed it.”

DHH comments on how Asian Americans are rarely featured in the mainstream media and how the press and the general public can quickly lose interest in Asian American scandals. His statement alludes to the press coverage of his father and other Asian Americans during the campaign finance controversy of the late 1990s. Newspapers fanned anti-Chinese sentiments by featuring articles about contributions to the Democratic Party by Asian Americans who may have been working on behalf of China’s interests. For those Asian Americans whose names were released in the press, they may have only appeared as secondary figures, yet the brief coverage ruined their reputations and lives.

“FRANK CHIN. David Henry Hwang is a white racist asshole.”

Frank Chin’s insult is a joke that works on many levels while also enhancing the themes of the play. As a pioneer of Asian American theater, Chin was a trailblazer who paved the way for Hwang and other second-wave Asian American playwrights. Although Hwang was often the object of Chin’s criticism, their differences demonstrate the diversity of Asian American identities and the changing articulations of cultural identity. Chin was also a provocateur and like DHH, a person with flaws. He has accused commercially successful Asian American writers of being sell-outs, and the character of Marcus, a white man pretending to be Asian, reflects his criticism that Hwang is an Asian who is a “white racist” for producing works that reinforce stereotypes about Asian people.

“Asians have consistently been caricatured, denied the right even to play ourselves. Well, it’s a new day in America. We’re entering the 1990s, and all that stops now!”

In his acceptance speech at the Tony Awards, DHH makes an impassioned call to fight for Asian American representation and combat discrimination, offensive stereotypical roles, and yellowface. He is optimistic that his win represents a shift in American culture, and his attitude is similar to his father’s idealistic belief that his appearance in a Senate hearing will inspire Americans to end discrimination against all Asian Americans. However, both men’s visions are quickly dashed when they confront the persistent stereotypes that marginalize their voices and deny them agency. Hwang draws a connection between the persistence of yellowface performances with the pervasive “yellow peril” rhetoric of the late 1990s in US politics and highlights the historical contexts of Asian stereotypes.

“But this is America—they’re not gonna cast a white guy here.”

When DHH hears about the UK production of Miss Saigon coming to Broadway, he is confident that American producers and audiences will object to Pryce’s yellowface performance. He believes that American multiculturalism and the Asian American movement have made strides in creating a society sensitive to and celebratory of cultural differences. Although DHH’s faith in multiculturalism is proven wrong, his observations that race and cultural identity for the Asian diaspora is experienced differently in different countries acknowledge that there is no singular definition for what it means to be of Asian descent.

“You’re sure the actor’s white? Maybe he’s mixed race. Nowadays, it’s so hard to tell. He could have a Caucasian father, so his last name wouldn’t sound Asian or maybe he’s one of those Korean adoptees, or—.”

DHH references the multiplicity of Asian American identities when he discusses the various contexts in which a person could be identified or self-identify as Asian American. His claim that “it’s so hard to tell” alludes to the changing demographics in the US and the belief that multiracial identities and multiethnic families can usher in an era of a post-racial society. The joke here is that DHH invokes a multiracial identity with the hope of assigning any kind of Asian connection to Pryce’s identity to make his offensive performance more palatable. DHH’s half-hearted gesture to multiculturalism is ineffective in actually changing prejudice or preventing discrimination.

“Yellow face? In this day and age? It’s—it’s—did someone suddenly turn the clock back to 1920? Are we all going to smear shoe polish on our faces, and start singing ‘Mammy’?”

DHH is appalled that the yellowface performance in Miss Saigon will continue in the US and compares the offensive and outdated practice to blackface. He alludes to Al Jolson’s performance in the 1927 film The Jazz Singer in which he wore blackface and sang the song “My Mammy.” By contextualizing yellowface in the historical tradition of racist depictions in theater, DHH points out how Pryce’s performance is not an isolated incident or a faux pas, but a continuation of offensive practices that create and perpetuate stereotypes.

“CAMERON MACKINTOSH. This is a tempest in an Oriental teapot.”

During Hwang’s meeting with the Miss Saigon team to address yellowface, show producer Cameron Mackintosh trivializes the protest by using a racial pun on an idiom for overreaction. Mackintosh appears ignorant or indifferent to how his insensitive language demonstrates the very problem of stereotypes of Asian Americans. To Asian American activists and scholars, the term “oriental,” like the practice of yellowface, is an outdated term that connotes “exoticism" and colonialism. A common response to why some Asian Americans object to the label is that it describes a rug and not a people. Mackintosh’s use of “Oriental teapot” mocks the protesters for being “politically correct.”

“CAMERON MACKINTOSH. The gall of it, the sheer hypocrisy! […] And the fact that you have made a public spectacle of the issue—I don’t believe we can work any longer in this atmosphere. How can you support such a blatant restriction of artistic freedom?”

Mackintosh accuses Hwang and Actors’ Equity of censorship and refers to the “hypocrisy” of the protests as a type of reverse racism. Mackintosh ignores the systemic dynamic in theater and mainstream culture at large that has historically marginalized people of color and privileged white voices as “universal.” Hwang points out that Mackintosh’s objection is not so much about limiting artistic expression as it is about limiting his white privilege. He contends that he cannot work in “this atmosphere” where his artistic decisions are challenged, yet he expects Asian Americans and other artists of color to acquiesce to their own marginalization.

“RODNEY. America? Where I’ll always be a foreigner? Even before the war, people would ask me, ‘Where are you from?’ And I’d tell ’em, ‘Stockton, California.’ Then they’d say, ‘No. Where are you really from?’ And now, to them—I’m just another enemy Jap.”

In the play Go For Broke, Rodney’s character, Sergeant Watanabe, addresses the stereotype of the perpetual foreigner and the “yellow peril.” The play is based on the contributions of nisei (second-generation or US-born Japanese American) soldiers from the 442nd Infantry Regiment during World War II. Rodney’s character decries the incarceration of his family in concentration camps and proves his loyalty to America by fighting for the country despite propaganda and policies that depict Asian Americans as enemies. Hwang includes this history to foreshadow the return of “yellow peril” when the US government targets Asian Americans during the late 1990s Senate investigations to uncover Chinese spies. The shared experience of discrimination also provides a context for understanding how the umbrella category of “Asian American” unites Asian people of different ethnic backgrounds under a shared cause.

“JANE. Well, before this, you’ve probably only gotten to play waiters and laundrymen and take-out delivery boys. 

MARCUS. No, not really. Actually, I’ve played lots of parts.”

Jane Krakowski, who stars alongside Marcus in DHH’s play, Face Value, acknowledges the limited roles available to Asian American men. She names parts that relegate Asian American men to minor characters that connote servitude and, in terms of gender stereotypes, feminine positions of domesticity. Marcus cannot relate to the limitations because he has never tried to pass himself off as an Asian American performer before. The scene emphasizes the privileges Marcus has as a white actor who has more opportunities to play diverse roles.

“JANE. Marcus, you know what I do? When I’m feeling nervous around people, I just imagine I’m playing a part […] I picture who I want to be, then I start acting. Try it sometime, you’ll be surprised.”

In a case of miscommunication, Jane thinks Marcus feels like a phony because of his insecurities as an actor. To help boost his self-esteem, she gives him advice on how to build his confidence by visualizing what he wants to be and acting it. Marcus interprets her comments as a strategy to help him maintain his false identity as an Asian American. The scene pokes fun at how concepts of the social construction of race and anti-essentialism, when oversimplified, misunderstood, and taken to literal extremes, end up becoming acts of ultimate cultural appropriation.

“BOOKSTORE OWNER. And I’m happy to see from your choice of material that you support your people.”

After receiving humiliating reviews for Face Value, DHH is demoralized and visits a sex shop to purchase pornography. The bookstore owner recognizes him and tells him to ignore the critics. He commends DHH for supporting his community by buying erotic material that features Asian women. The scene is a comical and self-deprecating moment for DHH, who has failed to make his play about Asian stereotypes a success. He turns for comfort to the very sexualized Asian stereotypes he skewered in his successful play, M. Butterfly.

“RODNEY. Anyone else would have their balls handed back to them on a plate by our community. But fucking David Henry Hwang—he can cast a white guy as an Asian and no one gives a goddamn!”

Rodney assumes that DHH intentionally cast a white actor for an Asian role and considers the lack of backlash as evidence of DHH’s clout in the community. Rodney’s exclamation illustrates Hwang’s self-examination of his own ambiguous role as a prominent Asian American. He carries the burden of representing the entire community, as well as the power and prestige that comes with being a “spokesperson” for his race.

“It was so honest. That’s what I love most in the theater—honesty.”

DHH compliments Rodney’s “honesty” in his audition for Face Value, and then proceeds to create a lie about Marcus’s ethnic background expecting Rodney to play along. The scene emphasizes DHH’s hypocrisy and alludes to debates over whether theater is obligated to reflect the truth of reality, and how one determines the “authenticity” of Asian American representation.

“RODNEY. He’s insecure because everyone thinks Asian men are nerds with little dicks. 

DHH. Like I said, who’s gonna believe that about you? 

RODNEY. But, then—wouldn’t it make your point even better to cast a guy like me?”

DHH explains that he did not cast Rodney for the lead in Face Value because he is too attractive to convincingly portray the role of an insecure Asian American man. Rodney astutely observes that if the play’s theme is about challenging the stereotype of the emasculated Asian male, then casting him would deliver the message even better. Rodney points out the paradox that because images of Asian American men who are not nerds or wimps are so rare, a representation of an Asian American man who is conventionally “masculine” would be transgressive.

“Nowadays, we really don’t ‘all look alike.’ Looks don’t matter any longer. Marcus is like us—he’s an American.”

At an event with Asian American students, DHH diverts questions about Marcus’s specific ethnic identity by claiming that looks, and by extension, race, do not matter. Critics of this type of “colorblind” approach often point out that in eliding racial differences, the white status quo remains in place as the unquestioned universal. Hwang satirizes the idea that looks do not matter by having DHH assert that if one does not look at race, Marcus is the typical American—a white man. Just as Marcus appropriates Asian American identity to further his career, DHH appropriates the ideologies of multiculturalism and Asian American activism to serve his own purpose of saving his reputation.

“Dad, he’s a disaster. I thought I got rid of him back in Boston, but no, he keeps popping up—as if from the grave—just to torture me.”

DHH describes Marcus as a specter who keeps haunting him despite his efforts to eliminate him. The simile foreshadows the play’s revelation that Marcus is a character created by DHH to help him exorcize his guilt overindulging in self-exoticism as an Asian American role model. Marcus continues to “torture” DHH’s psyche, and his false identity mirrors DHH’s own anxieties about himself and how he “performs” his Asian identity as a type of yellowface to gain acceptance and accolades.

“I feel like one of the most important responsibilities for any actor of color is to be true to his or her community, to make sure we only put out positive images.”

During a press conference, Marcus expounds on the importance of representation and authenticity, oblivious to his own hypocrisy in pretending to be a person of color. Hwang uses Marcus’s speech to critique the notion that artists of color have the responsibility to produce works that address their community and that they should only create positive images. Thus, not only does yellowface limit Asian American artists by depriving them of Asian roles, but the burden of representation limits creativity by assuming that Asian Americans should only represent other Asian people. The argument for producing only positive images ignores how “negative” and “positive” images can be equally stereotypical and equally limiting.

“You’re lecturing me? On how to be Asian?”

When DHH confronts Marcus after an awards ceremony about his lies, Marcus responds that he is doing more for the Asian American community than DHH. He informs DHH of prominent Asian Americans he should know about and invites him to upcoming events to promote Asian American communities. DHH’s indignation is partly rooted in his rivalry with Marcus, but he is also genuinely offended by Marcus’s appropriation of Asian American cultural identity. Marcus’s insinuation that he is more informed and more integral to the movement than DHH invokes the trope of the white savior: Marcus, a white man, believes he knows more about how to fight for Asian people than Asian people do. Hwang complicates the trope further by having Marcus succeed at passing and revealing the way DHH created an inauthentic identity for himself as well as for Marcus.

“MARCUS. You’re right. I don’t have to live Asian every day of my life. I am choosing to do so. 

DHH. Funny thing about race. You don’t get to choose. If you’d been born a minority, you’d know that.”

Marcus defends his decision to continue with his false identity by arguing that he willingly forfeits the institutional privileges he gets as a white man and chooses to “live Asian.” DHH points out that Marcus’s freedom to role-play ethnicity, both onstage and offstage, contradicts the historical context that shaped the term “Asian American” as a cultural and political identity. DHH argues that Marcus has the luxury to relinquish his privileges, whereas Asian Americans have to fight to prove they are Americans at all. Hwang uses the scene to highlight how the social construction of race does not mean that one can choose one’s race, but that racial identity is socially and institutionally enforced. DHH’s critique parallels a similar point made by theorist bell hooks, who argued that “being oppressed means the absence of choices” (hooks, bell. Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center, 1984).

“It’s like, like he, he wants to become me.”

DHH begins to despise Marcus not only because he lies about being of Asian descent but also because he succeeds in presenting himself as an Asian American role model. DHH’s anxiety that Marcus will take over his identity foreshadows the reveal at the end of the play that Marcus is DHH’s imagined double. Marcus is not attempting to become DHH; rather, DHH fears that he is Marcus: an inauthentic Asian American.

“JULIA DAHLMAN. David, this is America—where race shouldn’t matter. I didn’t even know about the racism Asians still face today. But Marcus raised my consciousness. He told me it doesn’t matter what someone looks like on the outside. That is why he’s giving his time and money to your good causes. And, frankly, you should be fucking grateful.”

Hwang presents another iteration of the “white savior” trope when DHH confronts Marcus’s mother with the truth about her son’s false identity. Instead of being upset at her son’s performance of yellowface both on and off the stage, Julia is incensed that DHH is not grateful for her son’s work enlightening other people about Asian American causes. The scene also illustrates how the concept of “colorblindness” or not seeing race has the consequence of not seeing racism.