Written By: Nathan Liu
“Go back to your country!” It’s a slur that many people of color have heard for years. Its message is simple: you are not welcome here. You need to get out. It’s a horrible, toxic sentiment. No person should ever be made to feel so unwelcome in their own home that they decide to leave. I would know since that’s literally what happened to my great grandfather, a Chinese American born in San Francisco, who returned to Guangzhou after experiencing years of racism. But here’s the thing: going back to the land of one’s ancestors isn’t inherently bad. A person could learn more about themselves, gain a new perspective on life, and acquire valuable experience in the process. That’s ostensibly what “Go Back To China,” the latest feature from writer/director Emily Ting, argues.
The story of Sasha Li, a spoiled rich girl who can only get her trust-fund back if she returns to China to work in the family business, is a straightforward coming-of-age narrative. By doing actual labor, and interacting with people who are much less fortunate than her, Sasha learns to appreciate what she has and becomes more responsible, more compassionate, and more efficient. It’s a story we’ve seen before, but one that’s made fresh here by the specific cultural elements on display, as well as its autobiographical content. Emily Ting, the film’s writer/director, told me in an interview that the movie is based, in large part, on her own experiences.
“When I was 24 years old,” she explained, “I also went back to China to work for the family toy business. A lot of the film is based on my own family dynamic. “ So much, in fact, that they not only shot in her family’s house and toy factory, but even cast her little brother as, essentially, himself.
In both the movie and real-life, Chinese American women returned to their ancestral homeland and became more mature and driven as a result. As Ting herself explained, “… going back to Asia absolutely changed the trajectory of my life and shaped who I am today.” All of this would appear to suggest that Asian Americans should embrace their roots and return to the lands of their forebears. Doing so can only lead to good.
Except, such a shallow reading of the text avoids several key factors, the most important of which is Sasha’s culture shock upon returning to China. At several points in the movie, we see her struggling to communicate with locals, since she doesn’t speak Mandarin, and failing to understand how different life is for people in China than for people in the U.S. She discovers, among many other things, that children born outside of the One-Child Policy can’t attend public school. She learns that laborers often have to leave their families for years at a time, and a worker’s salary is usually only $15 a day. All of this highlights something that a simple “returning to your roots is inherently good” reading fails to recognize; Chinese and Chinese American is not the same thing.
This might seem obvious to us, as Asian Americans, but it’s something that many people don’t appear to grasp. Part of what’s so infuriating about the “go back to your country” slur is that it assumes that, just because we are Asian, we’ll fit in Asia. It assumes that we don’t grow up as removed from our ancestral cultures as some of our white peers. I remember complaining to a white friend once about the dearth of roles for Asian actors in American movies, and she responded with, “Yeah, but, can’t they just go back to their original countries and find work there?” What she didn’t seem to understand is that, while, yes, some Asian American performers — Bruce Lee, Daniel Wu, Maggie Q — have returned to Asia and found success there, it was often very hard for them. Maggie Q is half white and half Vietnamese. Hong Kong, where she got her big break in the film industry, is not her ancestral homeland. She didn’t speak Cantonese and had no familiarity with the culture when she moved there. She had to learn and adapt, both of which were painful and difficult.
This disconnect between Asian and Asian American life is something that both Ting and one of the film’s stars, Lynn Chen, know well. It’s a detail that the two of them wanted to articulate with the movie. As Ting explained, “Chinese American stories are very different from Chinese stories. From the get-go, I knew that I was making a movie for the American audience, as this is told from the perspective of an American girl.” Those details that shock Sasha in the film — the One-Child Policy, laborers only making $15 a day, Filipino migrants not seeing their families for years at a time — are only shocking to her because she didn’t grow up in China. A local wouldn’t think twice about them, which just goes to show how different Asian and Asian American upbringings are. Likewise, Lynn Chen knows from first-hand experience how hard it is for Asian American actors to find work in Asia, especially for those who, like her, don’t speak the local language. As she explained to me, “For a few years, as an adult, I looked into what it might be like to get an agent in China and was basically told that I shouldn’t bother — that nobody wants to see Asian faces speaking English.” Basically, “going back” wasn’t even an option for her.
And who’s to say that Asian Americans even want to return to their ancestral homelands? Who’s to say that “returning” is even good for them? Lynn’s character in the movie, Carol, articulates these points with painful clarity. She’s Sasha’s older sister, and she’s been forced to stay and work in the factory for over a decade. She deeply resents this, and wants nothing more than to return to New York, where she feels most at home. This is a refreshing alternative to the “revisit your roots, improve your life” cliché, and it’s an experience that I can personally relate to, since I felt extremely isolated when I first traveled to China back in 2011.
“Go Back To China” is a wonderful film. If you’re looking for a funny, poignant coming-of-age drama with likable, well-rounded characters, it’ll certainly satisfy. And if like me, you are looking for something that delivers a more nuanced portrayal of the dissonance between Asian and Asian American life, this film will absolutely fulfill that desire. Because, contrary to popular belief, Asian Americans have no inherent home they can go back to. Our true homes, like those of any group, are the ones we make ourselves.
Director: Emily Ting
Stars: Anna Akana, Richard Ng, Lynn Chen, Kelly Hu
Running Time: 1 hour 36 minutes
Genre: Narrative, Comedy