I'm Not Choosing One Part of Myself
The days of checking one box that defines us are over. For quite a few people, now begins the journey to defining (for themselves) how their other identities exist when there aren’t as many external limitations. In honor of Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month and Jewish American Heritage Month, we spoke with Sarah Mohtes-Chan to learn more about her story and how she’s connected with both cultures.
Sarah’s Story
Sarah Mohtes-Chan. A name that outwardly expresses the fusion of both Jewish and Chinese culture. Whether she had to line up alphabetically as a child or she had to choose one box to identify her dual race, Sarah has always had to choose. Sarah was born into a family that prides themselves on being connected to their heritage, especially after fighting so hard to keep it.
“My paternal grandparents were Chinese refugees and both came over to the states. My grandfather came over first, he met my grandmother shortly after, and then my dad was born. So my dad is the first American-born of his family. Similarly, on my mom’s side of the family, she's the first American-born, but her parents are Holocaust survivors. As for my parents, they met while volunteering on Angel Island, which is just off the coast of San Francisco. Some people call it the ‘Ellis Island of the West’”. The Mohtes and the Chans of Sarah’s heritage traveled, like many have, in search of asylum from the terror in their home countries.
“Both of my grandparents are Holocaust survivors. My grandmother was born in Germany; she was part of a wave of about 20,000 Jews who sought refuge in Shanghai, China. Then after World War II had officially kicked off, she and her family transitioned to the United States. My grandfather’s story hasn’t been as clear but he survived the war and then moved to San Francisco in the ‘40s. After they met and married, they opened their own furniture shop.” Sarah’s paternal grandfather was a paper son, a term indicating that someone from China had false papers to identify that they were in America legally (undocumented immigrants). There was a wave in the 1900s, shortly after the Chinese Exclusion Act was passed, where mostly Chinese men were coming over with false papers made up by people who were already in the U.S. “The papers would say, ‘[This person] is my blood relative’. Then through those papers, people were able to work toward their citizenship. My grandfather even fought in World War II for the United States as a paper son. It's kind of wild.”
Sarah was raised in Davis, CA, a predominantly white, suburban, university town of about 65,000 people. “Growing up, I was really shy, and I liked school and playing sports. As I transitioned into college, I began to break out of that shell a little bit and found more independence. I also started dealing with some of my own anxieties in life. Looking back, I see how it came across in the way I viewed my Chinese-American identity. At times, I think I felt a bit of shame not being white enough in a predominantly white community. Even when there were other children who were half Asian, I just didn’t see how or where I actually fit. It showed up in different ways; my grandparents and dad speak Cantonese, one of at least 8 dialects spoken in China. I don’t speak the language; I only know a few words. My dad wasn’t the type of person to talk about race or our Asian culture- we just did what we did. Granted, I’m not sure either one of us had the language or knowledge we do now to express why we didn’t talk about race, or how it made us feel. But, all of my conversations about race happened at school and I was one of the children who was different.”
“It wasn’t until I was an adult that I had the first experience of someone telling me that I might come across as white-presenting. Especially in a space where when race is discussed, it’s from the perspective of Black and White people. Asian Americans, Latinx, Native Americans… get forgotten. Then when people do speak about Asian Americans, they talk about us as if we are always supposed to be the model minority, and perpetuate these stereotypes of us being the best students, and that we’re quiet or meek. There's a lot of harm that comes with stigmas like that; it’s subtle ways of keeping us in the background and putting us against other minorities.”
At times, seeing herself as racially ambiguous, Sarah questions whether she should choose one side over the other and admits that she feels she could belong to either side. “My mom’s Jewish heritage was something she didn’t want her children to lose so Judaism is very familiar to me. I was Bat Mitzvahed at 13, which is the celebration of becoming a woman. I went to Hebrew school, Sunday school and Jewish camp. While I reluctantly complied, my mom put a lot of work into making sure we were connected to her heritage. Her history, as a daughter of Holocaust survivors, made it that much more important to keep the tradition of Judaism (culturally and religiously) alive. I didn’t always feel connected to the other Jews in my temple, mainly because I didn’t look like them.”
“There are many people who have a different Jewish history than I do. Some folks have ancestors they can date back to being in California or New York for generations. So, sometimes culturally and religiously, I felt like I didn't always fit in or identify with those parts. I’m still learning what feels right to me. Today I'll celebrate different holidays casually, like Passover, Hanukkah, Yom Kippur, and Rosh Hashanah. I like to go with friends, if I can. It’s not a central part of who I am but it’s how I honor my heritage and all that they have survived. Judaism is also one of the few parts of my identity that I actively get to choose. I can’t choose how I present, or my race/ethnicity, but I can choose my religion. The more time I’ve spent understanding both sides of myself and learning what is best for me, I find myself trying new things. For example, I started connecting more with Asian mental health practitioners who are specifically interested in how to help Asian-immigrant communities access mental health resources. There’s often a language barrier when it comes to this field. In my own family, my parents didn’t speak either language fluently which made it difficult for them to teach me and my sisters. A language barrier is another way that I feel disconnected from my Chinese culture- it feels like a loss at times.”
Sarah’s Ying Ying (paternal grandmother) spoke very little English, and mainly spoke Cantonese, making communication difficult. Even though she has passed on, Sarah reflects back on the gestures and non-verbal communication that she and her grandmother had.
“The more I’ve grown and learned about myself, the more I’ve come to understand why it might have been difficult to talk about my Chinese heritage as outwardly as my Jewish heritage. I’ve learned that my dad experienced racism as a child, an American child. Right now, we’re still in the midst of a pandemic which started out with racism toward Chinese people.” As a social worker, Sarah has had to be part of many conversations regarding race and other identities that intersect, making it difficult to escape her past confusions. “Having to talk about race as often as I have has made me become more intentional about my own.”