Identity Politics In An American Tragedy

It's been several months since I've blogged. Overall, my life has gone very well since that last entry. I often thought to myself that I only seem to write whenever I feel emotionally unbalanced, to both extremes. Sadly, this tradition continues.

I was horrified, as was much of the nation, when I first heard about the tragic shooting at Virginia Tech. Having such fond memories of my college experience at UCLA, I can't imagine the trauma the Virginia Tech students must be feeling, knowing their college experience will be forever marred by this bloody, senseless act of violence.

In our collective grief, our inherent desire to make sense of the senseless has given a cue to the mass media outlets to point fingers, and re-ignite heated debates. Were gun control laws inadequate, or did they contribute to the tragedy? What can be done to make our school campuses more secure? Why didn't the Virginia Tech administration lockdown the campus after the first shooting? Why are we seeing more gun violence in American schools? How do we identify and stop these killers before they strike? Just about any answer to these questions has already been said, both in print and on the air, so I won't be so pretentious to try and come to any conclusions. That's why we pay for cable news.

But there is one issue not covered by the media that deserves attention. It is well known by now that the shooter was another student, Cho Seung-Hui. His name makes it apparent that he is Asian, and indeed, the media have identified him as a South Korean immigrant. While the Korean community has quickly announced their condemnation of the shootings, no doubt rooted in fear of a similar backlash to that of Muslims after 9/11, very few have questioned the label that the media have stamped on Cho. Am I saying he is not a South Korean immigrant? Well no... and yes.

Let's take a closer look at Cho's background. Yes, he was born in South Korea. Yes, he immigrated to the United States. And yes, he was not a US citizen, having just renewed his green card in 2003. What media outlets fail to emphasize, however, was that he immigrated in 1992, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, when he was EIGHT. He graduated from a high school IN VIRGINIA. And he majored in ENGLISH. So while the official paperwork may say that he was a Korean immigrant living in America, for all intensive purposes, he was KOREAN AMERICAN.

Yet, despite the fact that Cho grew up in America, and despite the fact that he lived most of his life in America, the media has conveniently omitted that single cultural description, "American", only allowing him to be "Korean". Why would that be? My roommate and I discussed this issue over dinner, and he hypothesizes that this is an attempt for Americans to cope by disassociating themselves from the killer. I would only add, and he would agree with me, that this "American" omission is not done consciously, but rather an instinctual reaction to protect our fragile view of the world. How can you believe that an American could shoot and kill fellow Americans? When he is not American. Now if he were just Korean, then the picture makes sense. He was a loner. End of story.

Obviously, this is not the end of the story. The news outlets will continue to dig for the missing pieces so long as the American public is still hungry for (easy) answers, filling in the gaps when it's convenient. Profiles of "Cho Seung-Hui: Mass Murderer" are being produced as we speak. The gun control debates will continue. No doubt colleges around the country will think about adding metal detectors and armed security to prevent future shootings. And the older generation will wonder what the hell is happening with our youth. And when the American public has had its fill of fast-food information and bubble-gum answers, we will forget and move on with their lives. Sadly, cultural amnesia is an American tradition.