“The ‘I’ in Tribe is Silent” (2021-2022)
I am a 4th generation Korean-Chinese living in America as an immigrant, but I always had trouble accepting “Korean-Chinese-American” as the answer to who I am on a cultural basis. It was too long and too confusing; I also did not feel qualified to lay claims on all three labels, or even each one individually. Thus, I wanted a succinct and authentic alternative.
As I began drafting my essay, I hoped that at its conclusion, I would find this mystic answer I yearned for. For someone who could not tolerate open endings, though, it was not easy throwing away the oars and letting the current carry me to wherever my conversation with the texts ends up. But the prospect of finally being able to find a remedy to my chronically nagging dissatisfaction was too enticing to pass, so with trembling excitement, I dived into the sea of words and pages.
The current then took an unexpected turn. I started to notice how an individual’s perceived cultural identity choreographs their social interactions with both those inside and outside of their identity group. With shared identities emerge tribes, where omnipresent, subconscious rules dictate who to trust, who to befriend, and how one should view outsiders. Moreover, the price to break free from such tribal systems is excruciatingly high. Whether or not one can disobey the tribe’s rules or dissociate from the tribe altogether is often not their choice to make, especially if their cultural identity belongs in the minority.
I began to question my own obsession with trying to box myself into a defined cultural identity. It seemed to stem from wanting a place inside a tribe, which can only be won through shared traditions and experiences. The privilege of a tribe member is the perceived guarantee of intra-tribal allegiance when one comes under attack from outsiders. The desire to be similar, to ‘belong,’ then, is a desire to feel secure.
Hypothesizing about the considerations behind my question made my search for an answer feel less relevant. The current carried me into unknown territory, and it opened up many more questions. Luckily, I found myself loving the open-mindedness brought about by beginning without knowing the end. So despite the constant twists and turns, I look forward to the many more adventures to come.
Mary Chen (Stern ’24) is a rising sophomore majoring in finance at the Stern School of Business and minoring in philosophy at the College of Arts and Science. The great-granddaughter of Korean immigrants, she was born in Beijing, China, and moved to a suburb in Seattle, Washington when she was thirteen years old. As exciting as it may sound, being Korean-Chinese-American made it difficult for Mary to reconcile her multiple identities. This struggle brought her on a literary journey that formed the basis of her essay, but Mary is far from finding satisfactory answers to her questions. Like the ten-mile walks she enjoys taking, this long journey is one to be relished.