Established in 1995 by the AAS Committee on Educational Issues and Policy and the Committee on Teaching about Asia, the Franklin R. Buchanan Prize is awarded annually to recognize an outstanding pedagogical, instructional, or curriculum publication on Asia designed for K–12 and college undergraduate instructors and learners.

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On March 24, 2021 during the annual Association for Asian Studies conference, SPICE’s Manager of Curriculum and Instructional Design Rylan Sekiguchi formally accepted the 2021 Franklin R. Buchanan Prize for his authorship of What Does It Mean to Be an American?

SPICE co-developed the website for What Does It Mean to Be an American? with the Mineta Legacy Project. What Does It Mean to Be an American? was inspired by the life of Secretary Norman Mineta, former U.S. Secretary of Commerce under President Bill Clinton and U.S. Secretary of Transportation under President George W. Bush. President Clinton, President Bush, and Secretary Mineta contributed video interviews for the website.

Buchanan Prize Committee Chair Kristi Roundtree praised the publication, sharing the Committee’s reasons for why it deserved the distinction:

What Does It Mean to Be an American? was chosen by the committee for its blend of traditional classroom methods and materials with compelling videos, well-conceived discussion questions and activities, and extension lessons as well as its excellent use of primary and secondary sources… Committee members also agreed the curriculum answers an urgent need for teachers to be able to engage students with the ongoing conflicts around race, immigration, civic engagement and activism, while grounding these concerns within a clear historical framework. What Does It Mean to Be an American? skillfully weaves the Japanese experience into each unit, making the curriculum a most worthy recipient of the Buchanan Prize.

In his acceptance speech, Sekiguchi noted

I feel deeply honored to receive the Buchanan Prize… To my team of collaborators on this project—Dianne Fukami, Debra Nakatomi, Amy Watanabe, Hannah Eaves, and Monica Olivera—thank you for truly bringing our online curriculum to life. … I [also] want to thank the members of AAS for the important work you do to promote a better understanding of Asia. As you know, in the U.S. there’s been a recent surge of violence against Asian people. I believe ignorance is a factor in these attacks, because ignorance can breed fear, and even hate. The work that you do to promote a better understanding of Asia is so invaluable. Let’s all continue that work as a community.

Sekiguchi is a three-time recipient of the prize, and his third award marks the seventh time that SPICE staff has received the award.

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What Does It Mean to Be an American? is comprised of six lessons: Immigration, Civil Liberties and Equity, Civic Engagement, Justice and Reconciliation, Leadership, and U.S.–Japan Relations. There are more than 200 primary source images and 23 videos created specifically for the curriculum. To access the free online curriculum, visit https://www.whatdoesitmeantobeanamerican.com/.

In his March 15, 2021 lecture for SPICE’s Reischauer Scholars Program, actor George Takei—who played Hikaru Sulu, helmsman of the USS Enterprise in Star Trek—added “and Stand Back” to the iconic Star Trek words, “Live Long and Prosper,” as he was greeting students. His addition of “and Stand Back” was a message to the RSP students that it is important to continue to socially distance during the pandemic.

During his riveting lecture, Takei didn’t need to draw upon his acting skills to engage his audience of students as he recollected his family’s life after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, and drew parallels between his family’s experience during World War II and anti-Asian sentiment and hate crimes (including killings and stabbings) against Asian Americans today. Takei was four years old at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, and following the signing of Executive Order 9066 by President Franklin Roosevelt on February 19, 1942, Takei and his family along with approximately 120,000 people of Japanese descent—two thirds of whom were American citizens like Takei—were forced from their homes.

As he did with his legions of fans in Star Trek, Takei had the students glued to their screens as he recalled the day that he and his family were forced from their home in Los Angeles.

On that day that I can never forget, I had just turned five years old. It was a few weeks after my birthday, April 20. My father had gotten us dressed up hurriedly and told us to wait in the living room while my father and mother did some last-minute packing in the bedroom. Our baby sister was an infant and she was in the bedroom with them in a cradle. In the living room, my brother and I were just gazing out the front window at our neighborhood and suddenly we saw two soldiers marching up our driveway. They carried rifles with shiny bayonets on them. They stomped up the front porch and with their fists, began pounding the door. I still remember how it felt, like the walls were trembling… My father came out of the bedroom, answered the door, and literally, at gunpoint we were ordered out of our home… Shortly after and escorted by one of the soldiers, my mother came out holding our baby sister in one arm and a huge duffle bag in the other, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. The terror of that morning is still alive in me. I will never be able to forget that horrific day. It is seared into my memory.

Upon hearing this, RSP student Kogen Brown reflected, “I was deeply struck by the fact that these details remained in Mr. Takei’s mind after all these years. I remember only a few snippets of my life from that age, and the fact that he remembers so many specific aspects about the time that he was interned really goes to show the emotional and psychological impact that internment had on Japanese Americans—even those who were so young that they didn’t know what was happening or why it was happening to them.”

The War Relocation Authority (WRA) was the federal agency created in 1942 to oversee the Japanese Americans who were removed from the West Coast during World War II. The WRA built and operated a network of camps, where those removed were subjected to forced incarceration. Takei and his family were taken to the horse stables in Santa Anita Racetrack where they were assigned to a horse stall, which was still pungent with horse manure. The family stayed for four or five months in the so-called Santa Anita Assembly Center while the more permanent concentration camps were being built. From Santa Anita, Takei and his family were sent by train to the so-called Rohwer War Relocation Center in Arkansas. Takei recollected, “There, as a five-year-old child, I had an adventure. A discovery of a whole alien world. I am a southern Californian. I’m used to palm trees. In Rohwer beyond the barbed wire fence was the bayou. I have memories of camp as a fun experience, but that was a child’s experience. At the same time, parallel to my childhood experience, my parents had a grotesque experience—barbed wire fences, sentry towers, machine guns pointed at them. When we made the night run to the latrine from our barrack, searchlights followed us. My mother considered it an invasive, humiliating light but the five-year-old me thought it was nice that they lit the way for me to pee. Same experiences but two different memories.”

During his recollection of his life during World War II, Takei noted, “There are relevant lessons that apply to what’s happening today. We talk about Asian hate, hate of Asian people, and horrific things are being done to elderly Asians because of the pandemic we are going through. This kind of hate is what Japanese Americans were subjected to more than 80 years ago… back then, graffiti was painted on some of our homes, on our cars… like what’s happening today.”

Takei underscored the ironies of being detained behind barbed wire. He noted,

“I still can’t wrap my head around how horribly the U.S. government failed Japanese Americans,” reflected RSP student Kalia Lai, “Hearing from Mr. Takei that he and the other Japanese American students still had to say the Pledge of Allegiance at the start of school made me realize how empty those words, ‘with liberty and justice for all,’ turned out to be for Japanese Americans, and how inhumane the incarceration camps were.”

Takei also shared that in 1943, the War Department and WRA established a “loyalty questionnaire” as a means to assess the loyalty of all adults in the WRA camps. Takei spoke specifically about the final two questions, questions 27 and 28, which created confusion and resentment.

Question number 27 asked if Japanese Americans were willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States on combat duty wherever ordered. Question number 28 asked if individuals would swear unqualified allegiance to the United States and faithfully defend the United States from any or all attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese Emperor, or any other foreign government, power, or organization. U.S. citizens resented being asked to renounce loyalty to the Emperor of Japan when they had never held a loyalty to the Emperor. At the time, Japanese immigrants were barred from becoming U.S. citizens, so they wondered if renouncing their only citizenship would leave them stateless.

Despite the confusion, thousands from Hawaii and the concentration camps served in the U.S. Army. The 442nd Regimental Combat Team was organized on March 23, 1943, after more than a year during which Americans of Japanese descent were declared enemy aliens by the U.S. War Department. Takei emphatically noted, “We weren’t the enemy, we were Americans.” The 442nd RCT became the most decorated unit for its size and length of service in U.S. military history. Following the end of the war, President Truman honored them and said, “You fought not only the enemy, but you fought prejudice—and you have won.”

Takei noted the importance for students to study about history as it teaches us important lessons and stated that he has made it his life’s mission to talk about the incarceration of Japanese Americans. “As a matter of fact, today we are living through a time that will be studied as a very important part of history by future generations,” expressed Takei. Recalling his years behind barbed wire, he emphasized that he and his family were viewed with suspicion and hate simply because of the way they looked. “There were no charges, no trial, no due process… Terror made toxic by racism started to affect the so-called leaders of our country, the politicians, but instead of leading, these politicians got swept up by the hysteria and became part of that hysteria… We have so much to learn from history because we are repeating the same kind of mentality that put us in these barbed wire prison camps.”

These words resonated in RSP student Noah Kurima, whose paternal grandparents were among the 120,000 who were incarcerated. Kurima commented, “What surprised me the most upon hearing Mr. Takei speak about his wartime experiences are the parallels that I see in our country eight decades later. As a 16-year-old, I would have hoped that more progress had been made in the area of cross-cultural understanding. The hysteria, racism, and failure of political leadership that Mr. Takei described from his childhood seem eerily similar to what I have seen in the media recently. I hope that the RSP students in the year 2100 will not be witnessing the same parallels that I am today.”

In a strongly emphasized message to the students, Takei said that the ideals of the United States “are noble but they become real and true only when the people infuse those ideals with truth with backing. At times of panic and hysteria, we start behaving irrationally.”

RSP Instructor Naomi Funahashi reflected, “I hope that my students especially take this message to heart. I honestly hesitated to close the session because of the clear impact that Mr. Takei was having on my students.” Funahashi gratefully acknowledged Takei and noted, “Sharing your recollections—particularly those of you as a five-year-old boy—we could feel your very palpable sense of terror and fear, and through your voice, you helped students to understand why it’s such an important issue to study today.”

George Takei is a social justice activist, social media superstar, Grammy-nominated recording artist, New York Times bestselling author, and pioneering actor whose career has spanned six decades. He has appeared in more than 40 feature films and hundreds of television roles, and he has used his success as a platform to fight for social justice, LGBTQ+ rights, and marriage equality. For the full story of George Takei’s childhood imprisoned within American concentration camps during World War II, see his graphic memoir, They Called Us Enemy. Naomi Funahashi and I are grateful to Brad Takei for his support of George’s lecture and this article, and also to Michael Kurima for his support as a liaison between SPICE and George Takei.

The Benefits of Acing China's Most Important Academic Exam: High Scorers in the Gaokao Go to Better Universities and Earn Higher Wages

"Chinese students hoping for a reprieve from this year’s gruelling university-entrance exams are out of luck. Unlike America, where many top-tier universities have waived standardised testing requirements amid the covid-19 pandemic, China is keeping its students’ noses to the grindstone. On February 20th the Ministry of Education announced that the national exam, which determines which universities students can attend, will be held as planned on June 7th and 8th.

The annual assessment, known as the gaokao, is the biggest in the world. Every summer some 10m students in China trek to 7,000 testing centres around the country to sit the nerve-racking exam, which lasts for nine hours over two to four days. Pupils study for years, and for good reason. Those who score well on the test are eligible to apply to the country’s best universities, a prerequisite for many good jobs. The high-stakes exam is designed to be meritocratic: anyone can take it; for children from poor families, a good score can offer an escape from a life toiling on the farm or in a factory.

The gaokao influences students’ economic prospects for years to come, according to a recent working paper by Hongbin Li of Stanford University and Ruixue Jia of the London School of Economics. The authors looked at the cut-off score for qualification to enter China’s top 100 universities. Using hand-collected data from over 10,000 people, they found that, whereas students who score just below the cut-off have only a 6% chance of attending a top-tier university, those who score at or above it have a 20-40% chance. They also earn 5-9% more in their first job out of school (see chart)."

 

Read the full article from The Economist. 

Stanford e-Kawasaki is an online course for high school students in Kawasaki City, Japan, that is sponsored by Kawasaki City. Launched in fall 2019, it is offered by the Stanford Program on International and Cross-Cultural Education (SPICE) in collaboration with Kawasaki City. SPICE is grateful to Kawasaki Mayor Norihiko Fukuda whose vision made this course possible. 

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The two key themes of Stanford e-Kawasaki are entrepreneurship and diversity, and Stanford e-Kawasaki Instructor Maiko Tamagawa Bacha invites guest speakers with these themes in mind. Most guest speakers address one of the themes. However, when Victoria Tsai—a Taiwanese American entrepreneur who is the founder and CEO of Tatcha—agreed to speak, Bacha noted that she could not imagine anyone more qualified to share her insights on both themes. Tatcha was founded by Tsai to share the geisha’s wisdom with modern women everywhere, and to further the belief that true beauty begins with the heart and the mind. Launched in 2009, Tatcha is now one of the biggest skincare retailers in the United States.

While listening to Tsai’s guest lecture on February 5, 2021, Bacha and I were especially struck by her resilience, approachability and gift for empowering youth, openness to diverse perspectives, and respect for traditional culture. We both quickly realized what a great role model she is for all of the Stanford e-Kawasaki students but for the girls, in particular.

Resilience
While sharing her experiences as a young professional on Wall Street, Tsai mentioned that she was 21 and was next to the World Trade Center buildings when they were hit by a terrorist attack on September 11, 2001. She recalled, “We saw lots of people jumping and dying and then my husband got very sick and it made me question my purpose in life. And at that time, I didn’t know anything about ikigai [a Japanese concept that means “a reason for being”] but I knew that if I was going to spend the hours that I am awake working and not with my family and not playing, that I wanted my work to mean something.” After experiencing various jobs and going to business school, which “looked good on paper,” she decided to seek work with a greater purpose.

This led her to establish Tatcha. Tsai mentioned to the students that she hadn’t taken a salary at Tatcha for nine years. This prompted a student to ask about her motivation, to which Tsai replied, “When I think of my life’s purpose, I don’t expect it to be easy, but I do hope that it’s worthwhile. This work is my life’s purpose, so even when it gets hard, I just think, ‘that’s part of life.’” During the pandemic, I imagine that Tsai’s resilience really resonated among the students.

Approachability and Gift for Empowering Youth
I knew from articles about Tsai that she is a Harvard Business School graduate and an extremely successful CEO. Yet, by accepting the invitation to speak to the high school students in Kawasaki—some of whom are aspiring entrepreneurs—she demonstrated her desire to pass on her wisdom to the next generation. Prior to Tsai’s guest lecture, Bacha had sent her a list of questions that the students had written based on their reading about Tsai’s background. In her opening comments, Tsai noted, “You are much more advanced than I was. I could not compete with you.”

This comment seemed to quickly put students at ease. One of the students commented, “I think it’s wonderful that you found purpose in life and help people… A lot of young people like me and my friends feel lost in life, don’t have a dream or long-term vision of our lives, so I want to know how can we find our own purpose in life or dream.” This comment prompted Tsai to describe an activity that was devised by Harvard Business School’s Dr. Tim Butler, who has noted that as youth, they actually already have a hunch about what they want to be when they grow up, but just don’t know the specific names of the jobs. Tsai continued, “then, the problem is when you get older, you start hearing your friends, parents, and teachers saying, ‘oh, you should do that.’ And then in your head you can’t tell anymore if you really want to do something, or if you simply think you should do it because everybody else thinks you should do it.” The activity that Butler recommends is in two parts: (1) read articles that interest you, and identify patterns (specifically, areas of interest) in them; and (2) while keeping these interests in mind, write about what you envision yourself doing in ten years as you are the happiest that you have ever been—that is, completely focused and engaged. Tsai encouraged the students to try this, and some already have.

Openness to Diverse Perspectives
When a student asked Tsai about overcoming gender- and culture-related differences, she reflected upon three experiences: one on the trading floor on Wall Street and two in Kyoto with a taxi driver and geisha. Concerning her Wall Street experience, Tsai recollected, “When I first worked on Wall Street and I walked onto the trading floor, I was so scared. One, there were no women, and I couldn’t even understand what they were saying because they were speaking financial language… I remember being so intimidated. Then one year later, I could understand everything.” She came to the conclusion that “These people are not smarter than me. They’re just older, and the harder I work, the faster I can close the gap in knowledge. I have a great education, I have a decent mind, I have a very strong work ethic, I’ll just keep asking questions. So I figured it out.”

Concerning her experience with a taxi driver in Kyoto, Tsai noted that he is the one who taught her that there’s a difference between a job and a purpose. Through his actions, the driver taught her that his job is to be a driver but that his purpose is to make people happy. When he met Tsai for the first time, she was not feeling well and thus didn’t seem happy. After dropping off Tsai at her hotel, he went home to make CDs of images of Kyoto and delivered them to the hotel, thinking that the images would make her happy. They did and he felt only then that his job had been completed. Tsai reflected, “… and that just stuck with me and I did not know what omotenashi [hospitality that goes above and beyond the expectations of the person receiving the service] was back then, but then I felt it in my heart.”

Lastly, concerning her experience with geisha, who inspired Tatcha’s skincare products, Tsai noted “People in America don’t understand what a geisha is. The importance of a geisha is they were trained in a lot of the classical Japanese arts, such as dance, music, flower arrangement, and the tea ceremony. These are classical traditions that have very important meanings. I think that if you forget where you come from, then you don’t know where you are going. And so I try to hold on to tradition, because it matters. I just thought that’s a beautiful thing… I learned so much from geisha about entrepreneurship and about women’s empowerment through Japanese traditions.”

Respect for Traditional Culture
Her emphasis on Japanese traditions prompted a student to comment, “I was surprised that you made an innovation from old Japanese culture. However, there is a trend to discard old customs. So, how can we get a balance between new trends and old customs?” Tsai shared that what is so interesting about ancient civilizations like China and Japan is that “there is a lot of wisdom in this and something to learn from the past. What we try to do [at Tatcha] is to innovate within tradition, so I never tried to change the core of the tradition, because if it lasted 1000 years, there’s a very good reason for its continuity.”

What Does It Mean to Be a Global Citizen?
One very interesting part of Tsai’s presentation was to learn about Tatcha’s work with Room to Read, which seeks to transform the lives of millions of children in low-income communities in Southeast Asia and Africa by focusing on literacy and gender equality in education. A percentage of each Tatcha purchase is donated to Room To Read. Despite the enormity of some of the challenges that these youth face, Tsai noted that “they have a dream and they show up every day and they study hard and they work hard because they want that dream to come true. Nothing that I will ever face in my life will compare to what these little girls are going through, but then I think if I do my job and I don’t give up, then I can make sure thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of those girls can have a different life, and then my life meant something.” This really resonated in Bacha, who is very familiar with Room to Read as her husband works for the organization.

Reflecting upon the session, Tsai noted “I learned about the concept of sekaijin [global citizen] when studying the writings of D.T. Suzuki, and I fell in love with the idea. As people who live between cultures, we have the opportunity to share the best of both worlds to advance society and uplift individuals. It was an honor to share my story of cross-cultural entrepreneurship with the students, who were inquisitive, earnest, and wise beyond their years. I believe that Stanford’s e-Kawasaki program is helping to nurture tomorrow’s sekaijin.” When I consider the question, “What does it mean to be a global citizen?,” Tsai immediately comes to mind, and believe that Tsai’s talk really encouraged the students to aspire to become sekaijin as well.

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The SPICE staff would like to express its appreciation to Tsuyoshi Inoue of Kawasaki City and Hisashi Katsurayama from the Kawasaki Board of Education for their unwavering support of Stanford e-Kawasaki.

SPICE’s Manager of Curriculum and Instructional Design Rylan Sekiguchi was announced this week as the recipient of the 2021 Franklin R. Buchanan Prize for his authorship of What Does It Mean to Be an American? The prize is awarded annually by the Association for Asian Studies, which will formally honor Sekiguchi in a ceremony at 2pm PDT on March 24, 2021. This is the third time that Sekiguchi has won the award.

SPICE co-developed the website for What Does It Mean to Be an American? with the Mineta Legacy Project. What Does It Mean to Be an American? was inspired by the life of Secretary Norman Mineta, former U.S. Secretary of Commerce under President Bill Clinton and U.S. Secretary of Transportation under President George W. Bush. President Clinton, President Bush, and Secretary Mineta contributed video interviews for the website.

Established in 1995 by the AAS Committee on Educational Issues and Policy and the Committee on Teaching about Asia, the Franklin R. Buchanan Prize is awarded annually to recognize an outstanding pedagogical, instructional, or curriculum publication on Asia designed for K–12 and college undergraduate instructors and learners.

February 19th marks the 79th anniversary of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s signing of Executive Order 9066 in 1942 that led to the incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II. The Mineta Legacy Project and SPICE are providing an educational opportunity for people across the country to learn about the Japanese American experience during World War II by presenting a webinar on Saturday, February 20, at 10am PST. (Register for free at http://bit.ly/DORteacherwebinar.) As part of the webinar, representatives from both organizations will be giving a virtual tour of the free online curriculum, What Does It Mean to Be an American?, which was inspired by Secretary Norman Mineta, who was incarcerated as a young boy and rose to become the U.S. Secretary of Commerce under President Bill Clinton and U.S. Secretary of Transportation under President George W. Bush. The curriculum is also a companion component to the documentary film, Norman Mineta and His Legacy: An American Story. The Mineta Legacy Project is also making the film available to stream throughout the month of February.

Representing SPICE will be Rylan Sekiguchi, who was recently announced as the recipient of the 2021 Franklin R. Buchanan Prize for his authorship of What Does It Mean to Be an American? The prize is awarded annually by the Association for Asian Studies, which will formally honor Sekiguchi in a ceremony at 2pm PDT on March 24, 2021.

The curriculum is comprised of six lessons: Immigration, Civil Liberties and Equity, Civic Engagement, Justice and Reconciliation, Leadership, and U.S.–Japan Relations. There are more than 200 primary source images and 23 videos created specifically for the curriculum. During the webinar, in addition to hearing from Sekiguchi, educators will hear Karen Korematsu talking about her father and civil rights icon Fred Korematsu; Secretary Norman Mineta sharing why Japan is so important to him; the reaction from Japanese American women on receiving their apology and redress checks; and the powerful story of 99-year old Yae Wada from Berkeley, who reveals the decades of anger she felt from the time she and her family were evicted from the Bay Area and how she found peace upon receiving her apology. Importantly, the curriculum is broader than the Japanese American experience, exploring issues of inclusion and delving into the definitions of civil liberties and justice and how they are implemented.

Register for the free webinar at http://bit.ly/DORteacherwebinar.

We often think of language as a democratic field, but it is not quite the common property of its speakers, argues Jeffrey Weng, APARC’s 2020-21 postdoctoral fellow on contemporary Asia. Rather, language is a skill that must be learned, says Weng, and it creates social divisions as much as it bridges divides. 

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What has shaped your interest and research into the study of language and linguistic dissemination?

As a first-grade student in the early 1990s attending Chinese school in central New Jersey on Saturday mornings, I learned how to write my first complete sentence in the language: “I am an overseas Chinese.” Now, this was a curious sentence to teach to a class full of American-born children of Taiwanese parents, and it’s a reminder that language is never a neutral conveyor of meaning. Language cannot but be freighted with social, cultural, and political import, a lesson reinforced in my high-school Spanish classes, in which I made my first forays into literature in a foreign language: stories by the great writers of Spain and Latin America not only spoke a wholly different language, but they told wholly different stories from those of their British and American counterparts.

Linguistic difference also is a signal of individual and social difference: my childhood visits with family in Taiwan opened my ears to a cacophonous Babel in the media and on the streets—though we spoke Mandarin at home, whenever we went out, people speaking Taiwanese were everywhere to be seen and heard. This was further amplified when I visited mainland China for the first time in my early 20s. Beijing, the supposed wellspring of the nation’s language, was bewildering—I could not understand much of the unselfconscious speech of the locals. And traveling several hundred miles in any direction would only deepen my incomprehension. And yet, on the radio and on TV, during formal events and on university campuses, there was always Mandarin to clear the way. I wanted to learn more about how this language situation came to be. For me, studying the social, cultural, and political nature of language is a way to a deeper understanding of how people are united and divided in vastly different contexts across the globe.

As you’ve looked deeper into how language shapes society and society shapes language, what is something surprising you’ve come to realize about that relationship?

People often see language as the ultimate democratic field when it comes to cultural practice. No matter how much you might tell people not to split their infinitives or end their sentences with prepositions, popular practice will always win the day. Or so we English speakers think. Ever since Merriam-Webster came out with its infamously descriptivist Third New International Dictionary in 1961, Anglophone language nerds have fought over whether dictionaries should be “prescriptive”—that is, rule-setting—or “descriptive”—reflective of popular usage. But really, these are two sides of the same coin. We take it for granted that privately-owned publishers of dictionaries spell out the supposed norms of our language. Not only that, we even think this ought to be the case. French is the usual counterexample: when government language authorities in Quebec or Paris try to stem the Anglophone tide, we think it absurd that so-called authorities would ever try to rule over something so fundamentally unruly as language.

In my research, however, I learned how fundamentally invented Mandarin as a language is—from its highly artificial pronunciation to the way its orthography has been stabilized. There used to be a lot of variability in how characters were written and how they could be used, much like English spelling before the 18th century. Mandarin, both spoken and written, was standardized only in the 1920s to facilitate mass literacy and national cohesion. So linguistic change might often follow and reflect social change, but the process can also operate in reverse—a government can change language in hopes of facilitating social change.

In your latest journal publication, you argue that language nationalization in Japan, Korea, and Vietnam between 1870-1950 was a state-led, top-down process directed at remaking society rather than the more traditional view of diffusion through trade, economics, and cultural exchange. Why is this an important distinction to make?

Again, we often see language as a democratic field, the common property of its speakers, but it isn’t really. Sociolinguists are often quick to remind us that linguistic differences reflect class differences—“proper” language is that of “educated” speakers. But language is a skill, and skills must be learned. Some people can learn skills more easily than others, whether through natural ability or, more importantly, the life circumstances they were born into. Rich people can more easily get a good education. Educational disparities are now part and parcel of today’s broader debates about inequality. But the very fact that we think this is a problem is a product of developments in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Before then, broad swaths of humanity were totally illiterate and had no chance at being educated, and most people did not think this was a problem. In Europe, the language of the Church and academia, even to some extent in Protestant areas, was Latin until the 18th century. Local vernaculars had gradually developed as independent media of communication in government chancelleries and popular literature since the Middle Ages, but they did not really gain ascendancy until the age of print-capitalism and nationalism in the 18th and 19th centuries. Marxian-influenced scholars have therefore concluded that the rise of national languages coincided with the rise of the bourgeoisie, whose own languages became those of the nations they constructed.

In France, for example, while revolutionaries in the 1790s advocated the use of Parisian French to unify a country divided by hundreds of local forms of speech, into the mid-19th century, even journeying 50 miles outside Paris found travelers having trouble making themselves understood to the locals. It took more than a century for French to gain a foothold in most of the country. Asia, too, was a polyglot patchwork for millennia, unified at the top by an arcane language much like Latin—Classical Chinese. This situation became politically untenable in the 19th century as European imperialism encroached on traditional sovereignties in China, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam. In order to counter the foreign threat, governments sought to strengthen their societies by educating their populations, which required making it easier to learn how to read and write. While standard languages have been described by historians and sociolinguists as “artificial” for less-privileged learners, Asia’s standard languages were artificial even to their bourgeois inventors.

Our understanding of the present is invariably colored by our interpretation of the past: if we understand a national language to be a bourgeois imposition that diffused via economic development, then we more easily see its continued imposition as a perpetuation of class prejudices. If on the other hand, we see an invented national language as a tool for bridging regional divisions and expanding economic opportunity for our children, then we feel much more positively about the spread of such languages. Both interpretations can be true at the same time, but we must remember that one is inseparable from the other.

Do you see any parallels between how language nationalization has occurred in the past to how language and society are shaping one another in the present?

The number of “standard” Mandarin speakers in the early 1930s could be counted on one hand. Today, it’s the world’s largest language by a number of “native” speakers. Though it began as an elite nationalizing project that was largely ignored by the masses of people in China, Mandarin is now more often seen as a hegemonic threat to local languages and cultures. Language can thus bridge divides, but also create new divisions. People in China are often ambivalent about the pace of change these days. When I visited cousins in rural Fujian during the Lunar New Year a few years ago, I noticed that all my nieces and nephews spoke Mandarin in almost all situations, to their parents, and especially to one another. Only my grandparents’ generation used the local Fuqing dialect as a matter of course. My parents’ generation spoke dialect to their parents, but a mix of Mandarin and dialect to their children—the cousins of my generation, who were able to speak the dialect, but were more comfortable speaking Mandarin among themselves and to their children. One of my young nieces who’d grown up in Beijing, where her parents had moved for work, even had a perfect Beijing accent. In a span of three generations, migration due to expanded opportunity had wrought enormous change in language habits. Much had been gained, but also much had been lost.

How has your time at APARC as one of our Shorenstein Postdoctoral Fellows aided your research project?

It’s certainly been a strange year to be a postdoc, given how we’ve all been operating remotely. Nevertheless, life and work have continued, and we’ve all been able to find new ways of building community and getting things done. I’ve personally benefited from the access to the vast academic resources of Stanford—library access, even online alone, is a lifeline to any researcher. Moreover, I’ve had the opportunity to chat on Zoom with Stanford faculty about research and connect with my fellow postdocs to support one another as we figure out how to move forward in our careers in these challenging times.

With your recent appointment as an assistant professor at National Taiwan University in Taipei, how do you anticipate your research interests growing and developing given the tension between Taiwan and China?

I am gratified to begin my academic career in a place of such diversity and openness as Taiwan. Language and identity are constant sites of contention in Taiwan's politics, and I look forward to expanding my on-the-ground understanding of these issues as I begin teaching in the sociology department at National Taiwan University. It is nothing short of miraculous that democracy has flourished at such an intersection of empires, colonialism, repressions, and struggles. And it is unsettling to see that flourishing takes place in such a precarious geopolitical location. NTU's sociology department is at the forefront of understanding all of these vital issues as we barrel forward into an ever more uncertain future.

Grandparents have an endearing position of high stature in Mexican culture. Grandchildren have countless stories about the cariño (endearment) they receive from Abuelito (Grandpa) and Abuelita (Grandma). My immigrant grandparents sacrificed a lot when they migrated to the United States. Their courageous journeys and perseverance to attain the American dream left an invaluable mark on me. My abuelito’s journey to the United States initially on the Bracero Program led me to conduct research on the program. The Bracero Program was a binational labor agreement between the United States and Mexico that was in effect from 1942 to 1964. It was established due to the labor shortage brought about by World War II. Thousands of Mexican men were recruited and joined the program to work primarily in agriculture in states like California.

It was my abuelito’s cariño, work ethic, and courage as an immigrant that I have never forgotten. My abuelito worked in the highlands of Jalisco, Mexico, where his skilled farm labor contributed to making the highlands of Jalisco productive for the cultivation of agave. Thousands of the region’s men—including my abuelito—joined the Bracero Program and left Mexico for the United States. Once in the United States, they worked in the agricultural industry and transformed it into the multibillion-dollar business that it is today.

In my research, I have had the chance to interview members of the family of Rafael Silva, who was also a bracero from Jalisco. One of his grandsons, Isa Silva, will be entering Stanford next fall as a recruit for the Stanford Men’s Basketball team. I recently had the chance to talk with Isa and reflect upon the legacy of his abuelito and mine. The work that they performed was brutal, often working with the short-handled hoe for long periods. Reflecting on his abuelito’s contribution to making the Salinas Valley into the “Salad Bowl of the World,” Isa noted, “My grandparents’ immigrant journey and hard work means everything to me. It’s one thing that motivates me and inspires me. I respect the generations before me and am forever grateful for their sacrifices. Because of my grandparents and parents, I work hard in the classroom and it has taught me to give back.”

After the Bracero Program formally ended in 1964, agricultural executives sponsored thousands of braceros like Rafael Silva to stay in California. Not only had the braceros’ lives been transformed from rural poverty in Mexico to making working-class earnings, but their hard work would also eventually transform the lives of their children and grandchildren like Isa. Considered the “Ellis Island” for many Mexican immigrants, the U.S.–Mexico border became an important migration corridor for thousands wanting to find work in the agricultural fields in places like the Salinas Valley. For many young braceros, their earnings provided them with the hope of one day marrying and starting a family. For Rafael Silva, that hope became a reality when he married Eva Silva Ruelas and they settled near the U.S.–Mexico border in San Luis, Sonora, Mexico. While Rafael worked in the agricultural fields in Arizona, Eva and her young children resided in San Luis. Eventually they were able to move together to the Salinas Valley where Rafael continued working in the agricultural fields and Eva worked at the Matsui Nursery, a company founded by Andy Matsui, an immigrant from Japan.

My research has uncovered numerous stories of braceros like Rafael Silva overcoming poverty. Among children and grandchildren of braceros are professors at U.C. Berkeley and Stanford, members of the U.S. Congress and California legislature, as well as successful entrepreneurs, attorneys, educators, physicians, and a former NASA astronaut. Despite these successes, braceros themselves have received little recognition. With this in mind, I decided to organize an event with SPICE to honor braceros, with hopes that it would also make an indelible impression on a Mexican American generation whose bracero fathers or grandfathers had made major contributions to the U.S. economy. They, too, were part of America’s “Greatest Generation.”

On February 26, 2014, ten former braceros and their families were invited to an event at Encina Hall at Stanford. The invitees included Rafael Silva and Eva Silva Ruelas. Former FSI Director Mariano Florentino Cuellar, who is currently a California Supreme Court Justice, spoke along with Stanford Biology Professor Rodolfo Dirzo and me. SPICE Director Gary Mukai moderated the event and spoke about his youth as a farm laborer working with braceros. The evening was historic in that it was one of only a few times that former agricultural workers were recognized at a university. In the photo, I am standing next to my abuelito, José Guadalupe Rodriguez Fonseca, top left. Isa’s abuelito, Rafael Silva, is in the front center.

What else stood out that evening was the Silva grandchildren’s palpable love for their grandparents. One photo of the evening captures the Silva family legacy. Rafael (wearing a Stanford sweatshirt) and Eva Silva are in the middle with six of their children and numerous grandchildren surrounding them. Isa is standing in front of his grandfather. Three of their grandchildren are currently attending Stanford, with Isa soon to become the fourth. Reminiscing about the event, Isa noted, “I was a ten-year-old boy. It was cool to see the whole family get together and be there. We were there to support my abuelito and recognize all his hard work. It was great to see him honored for what he did so long ago. As we grow older, we appreciate him more and more.” Isa knows that his abuelito and abuelita’s journey is what transformed the Silva family and made his own American dream possible. Reflecting that pride in his family’s story, Isa closed our conversation by saying, “On and off the court, I will always represent being Mexican American.”