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“Immigrants, we get the job done.” When I first heard this lyric from Hamilton: An American Musical, I was stunned. My passion for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s work came at a crux of accepting my identity as a Taiwanese-American-Canadian immigrant. I watched interviews, off-Broadway clips, backstage pictures of everything and anything Hamilton-related I could find. Having recently taken a class on United States history, Alexander Hamilton was often on my mind. For me, Hamilton showcased a racial and ethnic diversity I had never seen before in the performing arts sector. Phillipa Soo, the actress of Asian descent who played Eliza Hamilton, the wife of the eponymous character, made me elated and proud that someone who looked like me could sing and star in a Broadway musical. Hamilton explores the political and personal complexities of America’s foundation, but it is ultimately a layered, whirling tale of the American immigrant story. Having been an American immigrant with a performing arts background, I wholeheartedly threw myself into the soundtrack, researching the cast, and proclaiming my love for the musical.
Basking in something under the radar that felt mine was a gift I experienced for several months. My friend, also an immigrant woman of colour, and I would avidly discuss Hamilton’s impact on pop culture and quote our favourite lines to each other. When the cast recording came out and the musical burst into a full-blown phenomenon, it was no longer just our shared fixation. Of course, I was immensely happy and proud that such a unique work was getting the recognition it deserved beyond the musical theatre community and in the mainstream. However, when other students at my performing arts high school began to sing, quote, and prom-pose with Hamilton’s songs, I developed an irritating jealousy towards my classmates. Our arts program was relatively small and selective, and many students in the drama department were upper-middle class white teenagers who identified as “theatre kids.” When they began to speak about Hamilton in the same, borderline obsessive way that I had been doing for the past six months, I would twitch at their chorus of “The Schuyler Sisters” and become increasingly frustrated each time I heard it. In my mind, they had essentially claimed a work of art created by people of colour, for people of colour, as their own.
Art like Hamilton does not, and should not, have a restricted audience. My frustration is difficult to articulate, because I don’t own the rights to the musical, nor do I have control over who consumes what media. I cannot regulate people’s reactions to popular and performing arts culture—forms and productions that are supposed to be accessible to all. Yet I was inexplicably jealous of white people who loved Hamilton just as much as I did. My reasoning was that they would not understand its underlying messages—immigration, acceptance, and representation in an industry that is labelled ‘the Great White Way’—the way that marginalized communities do. The audacity to cast only people of colour in a story about the very white historical foundations of the United States was groundbreaking. I was able to see myself on a stage, performing a work with authentic intentions to fully represent and subvert historical narratives. When white people would find affinity with Hamilton’s characters or actors, my pangs of jealousy would always return. “You already have so much representation!” I wanted to shout, “Let us have this!”
These emotions extend beyond my personal experience with Hamilton as an Asian immigrant woman. In discussing this subject with other people of colour, I recorded multiple similar instances of frustration at the way in which media is produced for and absorbed by different audiences in Western society. I spoke to seven U of T students about their lived experiences: Shailee Koranne, Apefa Adjivon, Angela Feng, Maral Attarzadeh, Erica Sung, Vibhuti Kacholia, and Savroop Shergill. Referencing the recent Black Panther movie, Shailee thought that “white people and non-Black people of colour [aren’t] necessarily claiming or identifying with [the film], but the hype around it and the general unawareness in white people and non-Black people of colour of their own complicity in anti-black racism is pretty frustrating! I say this as a brown person who was/is very excited about Black Panther and has probably perpetuated anti-Black racism many times as a non-Black person.” Apefa continued the conversation: “I know. People are super racist in terms of how they view Black people and their actions, but [somehow] see Black Panther in some sort of completely alternate universe? Like real life Black people are on one side, and Black bodies here for your entertainment and consumption are on the other. It’s just so funny how [people] can separate the Blackness from something that is clearly Black, and about Black issues.” Shailee agreed, and concluded that “generally all media created by non-white people is co-opted if it’s not overtly political, and even if it’s political, its meaning is warped in a way that white people can convince themselves that it doesn’t apply to them.”
Angela and Maral both touched on how media created by people of colour has been received and altered for certain audiences. In our discussion, Angela talked about her “frustration with people attributing the success of people of colour-led films with [their race] rather than artistic merit, such as Moonlight. There’s also a general exhaustion with live-action remakes of Disney movies, like the upcoming Aladdin film, but I think it’s unfair to place Aladdin in that same boat because it’s a totally new experience for it to be live action versus Beauty and the Beast, for example.” Maral spoke about her problems with so-called “diverse or people of colour-centred media created by people of colour that clearly has a white audience in mind, or that is softened and more forgiving towards white people because of its ambitions to be mainstream. For example, [the TV shows] The Mindy Project and Master of None.”
Maral also brought up the show Fresh Off the Boat, with which I have a complicated relationship. It showcases a Taiwanese—not just Chinese, but specifically Taiwanese—immigrant family in America adjusting to new cultures and customs, with the talented Constance Wu playing the family matriarch. It’s arguably the most popular show featuring an Asian family on North American television, and it had the representation I craved for so long. However, it still has its flaws, many of which I am reluctant to elaborate on; Maral reasoned that “[this is] usually part of the problem. For us, it’s something we have high hopes for and want to be forgiving [towards], because it’s so important just because it’s so rare, but it still refuses to cater to or speak for us and ends up being mediocre. The more insidious way this works is that the people of colour fans are willing to overlook not just mediocrity, but also specifics of anti-Blackness in media made by and “for” non-Black people of colour.” This was a breakthrough for me. We want representative media to be as genuine as possible, but we end up settling for adequacy because we desperately wish for something, anything, that aims for diversity even if it doesn’t fully succeed in its goal.
Moreover, Erica expanded on a common “forgiveness” of subpar representation of people of colour in media during our conversation: “There are so [few] Asian characters on TV that you learn to forgive the blatant racism because you’re happy to see them getting work and being included, even if it’s as tokenism. For example, the Vietnamese character Dong Nguyen on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt was played by a Korean actor, and his storyline revolved around not fluently speaking English and eventually getting deported.” She also spoke about the collective understanding people of colour have about mainstream media: “Certain aspects of culture have to be exaggerated in order to cater to a broader audience; you can’t provide all the context needed without blatantly using exposition. If you so rarely see your culture presented in the media, you want it to be as accurate as possible, but you also understand the exaggeration and the nuances when white audiences may not.” In contrast, Vibhuti spoke of viewing Indian culture as “either Indian media made for white people, or me being mad at Indian creators that make Indian women into a backstory.”
When white people overtake media that’s been made for specific marginalized or racialized audiences in mind, it consequently diminishes a very personal experience for people of colour who may be seeing themselves represented in popular culture for the first time. Entertainment media has been racially homogenous for so long that when “white folks co-opt media made for and by people of colour, it is another form of cultural appropriation where the culture and content of people of colour is distanced from coloured bodies; and from the struggles and nuanced contexts these mediums are meant to speak for,” said Savroop when asked about the topic. In addition, she noted that “[many] white ‘allies’ start politicizing and using their interactions with these pieces of media made for people of colour as identity markers in ways that can be really stressful and draining for those who are just trying to enjoy and celebrate finally being represented in the media.”
I understand and respect that I am not an omnipotent decider of what mediums are consumed by select audiences. But I continue to be jealous of white people who sing Hamilton like it’s theirs alone, like they do not realize how striking it was that the 70th Tony Awards was the first time all four musical acting awards were won by black performers, three of whom won for Hamilton. By actively disregarding the musical’s foundations—“a story about America then, as told by America now,” as described by Lin-Manuel Miranda—white audiences scorn people of colour and marginalized communities with ignorance. The choice not to “see colour” or “see race,” especially in the performing arts, detracts from everyone’s enjoyment of the production. Hamilton was not made only to be viewed and appreciated by people of colour, but there was a pointed purpose in casting only people of colour. It gave performers, both Broadway veterans and those making their theatrical debuts, an opportunity to become visible in an industry that often shuns and discriminates against racialized communities. My relationship with Hamilton may appear possessive, but my I believe it is warranted, if self-righteous. My convictions stay true: in order to fully grasp the significance of a work like Hamilton, one must recognize the equitable artistic decisions made by its creators striving to serve marginalized audiences who deserve to see themselves thrive.
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