1968- Eye Hotel

by Karen Tei Yamashita

  ’Tis the final conflict.

  Let each stand in his place.

  The Internationale unites the human race.

  7: Chinatown Verité

  1CHINATOWN—NIGHT

  (overheard) Forget it, Jake—it’s Chinatown.

  Chinese extras crowd around the cream-colored convertible Packard in the final scene. Chinese men in caps or fedoras; Chinese women with hats and purses; a white soldier and his date. More Chinese appear on the street to rubberneck the final scene, bewildered and amused. SOUND of jazz horn.

  Credits roll down over the night neon and paper-littered street. Cars and an occasional bicycle pass. Chinese continue to loiter. Butler: James Hong. Maid: Beulah Quo.

  2SAN FRANCISCO CHINATOWN—NIGHT

  The Hollywood set fades into real takes of Chinatown nightlife. Camera view alternates between drive-by views and a walking jaunt down Grant Street in the dark. Pans the neon, pagoda facades, catches tourist couples, groups of families emerging from restaurants, shops closing, and workers walking briskly home. SOUND of radio music: Mighty Mighty (Earth, Wind & Fire).

  OPENING CREDITS

  Credits superimposed on the continuing Chinatown street walk. Camera view seems to be wandering, but it’s the yearly parade route. SOUND of the parade as a kind of residue only.

  As the walk continues the night deepens, and the morning lights up through the fog. The streets are the same, but the traffic and passersby change from drunken tourists and bums to early-morning produce trucks, newspaper stand deliveries, shopkeepers opening up. SOUND of pedestrians, cars, restaurant noises, deliveries, music from bars and radios.

  By the end of the credits it’s early morning, and the camera view heads into Portsmouth Square, still in fog.

  3PORTSMOUTH SQUARE

  Stills of the plaza from four angles: Grant, Kearny, Clay, and Washington streets.

  4CLOSE-CHECKER TABLES

  Pool of blood drying on stool next to one of the checker tables, with a trail dripped over the cement walkway. Water from a bucket is being splashed onto the stool, and a scrub brush is scrubbing away. As the blood is washed out, the black stenciled image of Mao Tse-tung emerges on the orange stool. As the camera pulls away from the one stool, it can be seen that all the stools around the table have been stenciled with Mao’s face. SOUND of scrubbing and background radio news about Watergate scandal, calls for impeachment.

  5GARDENER

  Middle-aged Chinese man in his forties, in cap and uniform. He’s the caretaker of the square who does gardening and janitorial work. Good-natured and earnest. He’s got a portable transistor radio in his shirt pocket that he turns down before continuing his cleaning.

  GARDENER

  Drug addicts probably. Pool of blood downstairs too. No. No body. Maybe he got picked up. You don’t know what happens at night. Knifing each other for a fix. I leave at four p.m. That’s when my day’s over. I’m hired to garden, but daytime, this is like a living room, see what I mean? Old guys come out of their hotel rooms and spend the entire day here, playing checkers and mah-jongg. They gonna be here soon. Got to get this shit cleaned up.

  6TRASH CANS

  Cans are painted with graffiti: Off the Pigs! Gardener continues to work, sweeping and throwing trash into the cans. Throws more water on the tables and Mao-faced stools.

  GARDENER

  Radicals did this. I could order some paint, but first it’s the city bureaucracy and second, the old guys say leave it alone. Old Fong said, “It could be my imagination, but my ass’s warmer these days. Why bother? More work for you.” Secretly, they don’t say. They’re, you know, red. Commies. You work all your life and end up with no family, alone in the park with just your best suit and hat and a social security check for $125, you gonna be a Commie too.

  7FOG LIFTS

  As the fog lifts, a few men can be seen gathering in the square, their figures floating in like ghosts. SOUNDS of greetings, formalities. Some sit on benches and stare. Others settle down to read newspapers. A game of Chinese chess begins at the table where the gardener had been scrubbing.

  The square fills up with business people passing, kids on their way to school, eventually employees crossing the square to lunch in Chinatown. Someone passes out leaflets. The gardener works in the background, trimming hedges, mowing. SOUND of traffic, bustle.

  8CHINESE CRAZY MAN

  A Chinese man is walking around the plaza talking to himself. The camera follows him. He talks into the camera gesticulating and lecturing in Chinese. He walks over to a bench and stands on it. He continues to make his speech.

  CRAZY MAN

  (speaks in Cantonese with subtitles in English as follows) Chinamen are made, not born . . . out of junk-imports, lies, railroad scrap iron, dirty jokes, broken bottles, cigar smoke, Cosquilla Indian blood, wino spit, and lots of milk of amnesia.

  . . . in the beginning there was the Word! . . . And the Word was CHINAMAN.*

  The men playing chess and reading their papers look up and look away. They ignore him, or they seem to gesture and say something to their companions and continue to play or read.

  CRAZY MAN

  (continuing English subtitles)

  I am the natural born ragmouth speaking the motherless bloody tongue. No real language of my own to make sense with, so out comes everybody else’s trash that don’t conceive. But the sound truth is that I AM THE NOTORIOUS ONE AND ONLY CHICKENCOOP CHINAMAN HIMSELF that talks in the dark heavy Midnight, the secret Chinatown Buck Buck Bagaw.*

  SOUND of voice of Crazy Man continues in the background.

  GARDENER

  That one there. He’ll talk himself out next few days. He can do some sweeping around here. I’ll give him a couple of beers. Then they’ll pick him up, and he’ll be gone again to the mental can in San Bruno. Another thirty days, and he’s back again.

  CRAZY MAN

  (continuing English subtitles)

  . . . I am a Chinaman! A miracle synthetic! Drip dry and machine washable.*

  9CHECKER TABLES

  Men gather around the checker tables, look at camera and answer questions between turns.

  OLD CHINAMEN

  That one there, he’s crazy, but you listen. He say something smart. Most of the crazies, they got nothing to say.

  This place here like a stage.

  Ha ha. What they say? All world’s a stage.

  I tell you something. We Chinese all actors. Pretending. (smiles into camera)

  There you go again. Don’t listen. Go take your camera someplace else.

  No really. Chinese are greatest actors. We play double roles. We got our real names and then we got our paper names. Name in lights, name in stone.

  What you want to go tell them that on TV? You stupid or something?

  What’s it to you? I’m old. I die tomorrow, they send my check to my paper name, but they bury me with my real name. Great Chinatown secret is we all got two names.

  Both names real. Paper more real—that’s the one America wants. Give them what they want!

  (Men argue in Chinese with the following subtitles)

  Why don’t you tell TV what they want to hear? Like we got an underground tunnel system. Connects gambling joints to opium dens to prostitution houses. All run by the Hock Sair Woey!

  Tell them you’re a fucking spy for Doctor No!

  Draw them a map of the tunnels! Secret door right here underneath us. Push a button. Bingo! They can send their luk yi down there to die!

  SOUNDS of laughter and continuing monologue of Crazy Man.

  10CLOSE—RICE PAPER

  A hand with a flat piece of charcoal is rapidly working over the surface of rice paper tacked up on a wall. Very slowly the charcoal reveals carved Chinese characters beneath the paper. SOUND of charcoal against paper.

  VOICES

  (reading in Chinese overlaid by English translation)

  Instead of remaining a citizen of China, I willingly became an ox.

  I intended to come to Americ
a to earn a living.

  The Western-styled buildings are lofty, but I have not the luck to live in them.

  How was anyone to know that my dwelling place would be a prison?

  11EDMUND LEE

  A young expert and translator of Chinese literature, Edmund Lee, is interviewed.

  EDMUND LEE

  This poem is one of more than one hundred poems inscribed by Chinese immigrants on the walls of the Angel Island barracks over a period of thirty years, from 1910 to 1940.

  12CUT TO—ANGEL ISLAND HISTORY

  Photo stills of Angel Island history and Chinese detention.

  EDMUND LEE

  (voice-over) One hundred and seventy-five thousand Chinese immigrants passed through Angel Island, also known as the Ellis Island of the Pacific.

  Immigrants were detained for medical examination, interrogation of documents, and deportation. They lived imprisoned in these barracks for months and years. Some made the long journey across the ocean never to touch the mainland.

  Chinese laborers were excluded from immigration by a long history of U.S. laws beginning with the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. Chinese could, however, enter as merchants or as the descendants of American citizens.

  13PAUL LIN—POET IMMIGRANT

  A young Chinese American poet, Paul Wallace Lin, muses about the poets and their poems.

  PAUL LIN

  (points to the charcoal impression of the poem he’s removed from the wall)

  I imagine this poet was a “paper son,” bought his immigration papers from a Chinese “paper father” he never knew.

  14PHOTO STILLS—SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE

  PAUL LIN

  His paper father was in San Francisco at the time of the Great Earthquake in 1906. When the city records were destroyed by fire, he got himself an American birth certificate, sailed home to China, and recorded the birth of ten sons—ten paper sons who could be citizens too.

  15PHOTO STILLS—COACHING BOOK

  Photo stills of coaching books used by immigrants to memorize details about their paper villages and paper homes.

  PAUL LIN

  So this poet had to memorize the paper details of his paper family and paper village.

  16PHOTO STILLS—VILLAGE LIFE IN CHINA

  PAUL LIN

  How many houses in your village?

  How many rows of houses?

  On which side of the village is the altar of worship, east or west?

  Where is your house located? Is it near the market?

  How many rooms in your house?

  In which room did you sleep?

  Is the floor brick or dirt?

  Where is the rice bin kept?

  How many steps to the well?

  Did you have a dog?

  17CLOSE—PAUL LIN

  Return to close head shot of Paul Lin.

  PAUL LIN

  Sometimes a real son is deported, but a paper son is admitted. Sometimes the paper father was himself an adopted son. Maybe this poet arrived never to see his village again.

  18PORTSMOUTH SQUARE

  Return to Portsmouth Square scenes where Crazy Man in the background is still pontificating.

  PAUL LIN

  Paper memories replace real memories. Memories merge and fade.

  19CHINESE PLAYGROUND

  Groups of young people hanging around a playground. Some have permed hair and Mao-type silk jackets. Others wear polyester shirts, bells, and platforms. One group is in T-shirts, playing basketball. One of the players bounces the ball over to the camera. The others hang back, looking wary.

  TEENAGE YOUTH

  Hey cuz, it’s Edmund, from the Center. Yeah, I live on the Dhon side. My mom’s not there now. You still better not tell her I let you in. It’s not cleaned up or nothing.

  Camera follows youth through Chinatown alleys and streets to Ping Yuen Housing Project. SOUND of kids playing in streets. Shots into shops: fruits and vegetables, hanging roast duck, pig snouts, fortune cookie machine, whole fish on ice, smoke shop, barbershop.

  20PING YUEN HOUSING PROJECT—PACIFIC AVENUE

  Camera pans Ping Yuen apartments, picks up Chinafied details in the stylized roof and window treatments, and peeling green and red paint; follows children playing, residents laden with bags walking along the outside corridors.

  TEENAGE YOUTH

  My family moved here maybe five years ago. Compared to where we lived, this is the fuckin’ Gum Shan! This is the projects, Chinatown style. Man, where you gonna find projects matches the tourist town?

  21PHOTO STILLS—YOUTH’S FAMILY

  Stills of tenement on Stockton and Washington, plus photos of the family, portraits of mom and dad.

  TEENAGE YOUTH

  Before Ping Yuen, we lived on Stockton in a one-room, maybe eight by ten. It could just fit one double bed, but we had a sofa stuffed in there too. I slept with my little brother on the sofa, his head that side, my head this side, and my sisters slept with my parents on the bed. We had a card table to eat and study. We cooked everything on a hot plate, but mostly my dad brought home leftovers from the restaurant. Shit, we left, family of ten moved in.

  22INTERIOR—PING YUEN APARTMENT

  Camera follows youth around the two-bedroom apartment.

  An old man is slumped over asleep in a chair before the television. He awakens disoriented, and the TV’s showing a news broadcast of the SLA and Patty Hearst kidnapping. SOUND and television visuals of burning house and gunfire.

  Old man shuffles off and locks himself in the bathroom. SOUNDS of old man coughing, then hacking; a flush.

  Bottles and boxes are stacked everywhere. Clothes are scattered. There’s a sewing machine in the living room with pieces of material stacked on the floor in one corner; a table stacked with books and cluttered with papers; and food, bowls, and plates spread on newspaper.

  TEENAGE YOUTH

  (points to sewing machine)

  My mom had her sewing machine stuffed in the old place too. She does piecework at night. Sews all day in the shop, then comes home and sews some more. It’s whir whir all night. (He hits the peddle.)

  SOUND of sewing machine.

  TEENAGE YOUTH

  (holds up a little girl’s dress)

  Hey, she does a dozen of these, she gets five dollars.

  23GARMENT FACTORY—JUNG SAI

  Exterior shot of Jung Sai Garment Factory. About one hundred women march with picket signs: Jung Sai Unfair! ILGWU Demands Just Wages! Support Childcare for Working Mothers! Boycott Plain Jane! Boycott Esprit! We Will Not be Exploited! Close the Sweatshops! SOUND of chanting.

  STRIKERS

  Minimum wage is $1.65, but we are not paid even that. Jung Sai says it complies with the minimum wage law, but in fact, our time cards are falsified to meet the minimum requirement.

  For years we afraid to speak up, but now all of us united to protest!

  We demand back wages and fair negotiation for better working conditions!

  24CHINESE RESTAURANT—LATE EVENING

  Exterior shot of Sai Yon’s on Jackson Street. Teenage youth is hanging outside with a group of young men. Camera saunters in with him and others.

  Interior of restaurant. It’s the late-night crowd, hanging out with bowls of noodles. About twenty young men commandeer two round tables, ordering platter after platter and beers. One waiter is feverishly rushing around trying to keep up with the orders.

  YOUNG MEN

  Yeah, you got your Wah Ching, your Joe Boys, your Suey Sing Boys, Hop Sing Boys, John Louie’s, Cookie Boys. Then there’s always the babies: Baby Wah Ching, Baby Joes. Like that.

  Us? No we ain’t any of them. Do we look like those fei jies?

  Me, I work in the area of holiday festivities. My work is seasonal, picks up around New Year’s and the Fourth of July. That guy there? He’s nothing but a pool shark. (laughter)

  Yeah, Chinatown can be a dangerous place. It’s all over the newspapers. Guys shot in the head. That baby gangster Lincoln killed. So
mething’s got to give.

  Hey, waiter. (motions to the waiter)

  Let me tell you something. Tourists come to Chinatown anyway. They read the news, but they come anyway. You know why? Because the food is cheap. Tourists will risk their lives for cheap food.

  (to waiter who’s come over to the table) Tell him how much you make. Yeah, throw in the tips and everything. How much?

  (waiter throws up his hands in disgust and leaves, cursing)

  I’ll tell you what he makes: what my old man makes—three fifty a month. O.K., max five hundred. He works six days a week and ten hours a day.

  You wanna put down a tip, O.K. Bill’s taken care of, cuz. Services rendered. (saunters out)

  (no one pays, waiter yells after them)

  25EXTERIOR—JACKSON STREET

  Across the street a white ’66 Chevy Impala is ablaze. SOUNDS of explosion, commotion, and frantic running.

  VOICES

  What the fuck! Joey’s car!

  SOUND of gunfire. Camera swings around wildly.

  VOICES

  Oh my god!

  Edmund! Edmund!

  Edmund is staggering. Blood is splattering across the sidewalk. The camera reels around, following scattering footsteps. Swirling visuals capture parts of faces, guns, flash of neon and scuffle of dark bodies. SOUND of motors gunning away and incoherent yelling in English and Chinese.

  26UNFOCUSED—JACKSON STREET

  Camera continues to run, a long-view shot parallel to the ground, stretching down the concrete along Jackson Street. Edmund’s broken glasses can be seen through the viewer, and the image of a man running is framed in the glass of the unbroken lens. SOUND of gasping and labored breathing.

  THE END

  * From Chickencoop Chinaman by Frank Chin, from Aiiieeeee!, Howard University Press, 1975

  8: This Moment

  So maybe there’s this moment. It’s different for everyone, but it’s pivotal. It’s the moment your head gets screwed off and screwed on again, and everything is changed forever. You can never see life the same way again. You can never go back. Well, you can go back, but you go back with new eyes, maybe a new brain, new ears, new mouth. It could be there’s a propensity for the moment, like DNA that’s planted inside you ready to catch the moment. Some folks might say it’s family history. Or maybe you can trace a series of events, plot them out like a map. You remember this time in your childhood: your mother or father said this; you saw that; you got caught up in this; you read that. Then it all comes together and wham! The lights turn on. O.K., it might be more subtle, more gradual, but there’s always something really significant that captures the heart and mind. And it’s not to say that it might not be painful or personally devastating as well. At that moment you shed an old life to become a whole person because, you believe, your body in its actions and your mind in its spirit are wholly in sync. Your talents and possibilities exist for a purpose that is beyond yourself.