I wasn’t totally sure what to expect when I signed up to attend a screening of the most recent Jeremy Lin documentary called “38 in the Garden” at Nike World HQ this past week.
I remembering being a huge J-Lin fan more than 10 years ago when Linsanity was running wild across the basketball world. I love the sport (obviously). And Nike’s ASCEND Network — an awesome group formed to support Swoosh employees and communities with Asia, Middle East and Pacific Island backgrounds — was hosting this event to celebrate the Lunar New Year.
So why not see what this was all about?
Hearing that the documentary’s filmmakers were going to be here at Nike, including Frank Chi, Travon Free and Samir Hernandez, I was excited to see what they had to say about the whole phenomenon that was Linsanity.
But never did I think I’d come away as inspired — not because it was recalling what Linsanity was, but what the period of time represented for Asian Americans. We unfortunately live in a world where Asians in the United States are being targeted and attacked on a daily basis, and for no reason at all. It seems like every time I go on Instagram or Twitter each morning, there’s a new story about one of our elders getting punched or assaulted for doing nothing other than walking on the street living their daily life. It’s disgusting and awful to see.
I’ll admit I watched “38 in the Garden” already when it was first released at the end of last year. But seeing it for the second time, I was ready to view it in a different lens to see what I missed.
It was about what Lin and Linsanity represented as a whole. It was about who we are as Asian Americans, and breaking those barriers of what is expected in our society from those who look like us.
Linsanity showed an Asian American unexpectedly taking over an industry (or a business or a field, whatever you want to call it) that is 99.9% dominated by African Americans and Caucasians. We’d never seen that before in sports, especially basketball.
There was someone who looked just like me. Someone who I could relate to. For me, Jeremy was almost a superhero. An Asian American who was the talk of all the sport shows, on the covers of all the magazines and on the front pages of all the newspapers. He was living my dream! And a dream of millions of other Asian American kids who never felt something like that was possible — and not just in basketball, but rising up the occasion in our everyday lives, too.
In the film, comedian Hasan Minhaj threw out some words that our society uses to describe Asian Americans:
Small.
Passive.
Diminutive.
Unathletic.
Submissive.
What did that mean? It means we aren’t meant to be:
Brave.
Courageous.
Covetable.
Desirable.
Leader.
A quote that really stuck with me in the film was by Pablo Torre of ESPN:
“The reason this matters so much is because if you are an Asian American person, you have spent your entire life identifying with people who look nothing like you.”
And that is 100 percent true.
Unless you grew up wanting to be a doctor, accountant or laundromat owner, there weren’t many Asian American role models for me growing up.
My dream of being an athlete? There weren’t many to look up to in the ‘80s and ‘90s.
What about as a sportswriter? Hell no
It gave me doubts whether the things I wanted to be were even possible — and it was all because I’d never seen anyone who looked like me do it. And that is what Jeremy represented for a generation.
That’s what Jeremy represented when he scored 38 points in Madison Square Garden to beat Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers on national television. He did it on the biggest stage in New York City. He did it when people were doubting him and he did it against one of the greatest players ever.
That is why that performance was so special.
Another moment the film dove deep into was when Jeremy hit a game-winning shot in Toronto that had even the Canadian fans going nuts. It wasn’t about whose jersey the players were wearing or which team you were cheering for. It was about Jeremy doing something never seen before by someone who looked like him, and what that proved.
Just seconds before he hit that game-winning shot, he waved his teammates off because he wanted to do it himself. He wanted to be the man in that moment. He had something to prove. And the film explains how it wasn’t meant to be a selfish moment or a slight to his teammates. As Asian Americans, we are type casted as being submissive, obedient and passive in everyday life. But this represented a moment where we don’t have to be. We can be strong, driven and have a mindset of “fuck it, this is my time” when nobody else expects it.
Minhaj put it best: “I remember after he hit that shot, I thought to myself, how many moments in my own life did I pass up the ball or hold myself small? … how many times did I not wave someone off? That’s what that moment meant to me.”
In the Q&A portion of the event with the filmmakers, they all talked about this concept of “wave-off moments” in our lives. It’s the opportunities we get to prove ourselves and take advantage of moments that supersedes any stereotype anyone may have.
We all get these chances, even on a daily basis, so what are you going to do when faced with them?
Filmmaker Travon Free discussed another topic that resonated with me immensely. He’s tremendously talented, having won an Emmy Award and an Academy Award. He’s been a writer for The Daily Show. He’s done a ton in his career. But he described being the only person of color in the writers room at The Daily Show, and feeling the need to constantly prove himself. It didn’t matter how many accolades he had and how good he was at his job — there was still some insecurity there, simply by who he was and what he looked like.
I couldn’t help but think back to my career. When I was a full-time sportswriter coming out of college and working for small community newspapers, let’s just say the Oregon sports media landscape wasn’t exactly bustling with diversity.
I was the only one who looked like me and felt the need to constantly prove to coaches or players that I knew what I was talking about. When I asked questions and did interviews, I had to always be on my game, or else, I wondered: would they respect me? To me, I knew I was good at what I did. To others? I wasn’t so sure.
Even in my current job as a product writer at Nike, I’m fully aware I’m one of two non-Caucasians among our writing and editing team. I think about that on the daily. Am I good enough? I know I am personally and internally, but without that representation, there are certainly times I question whether I am — even after four-plus years of being on this team.
The filmmakers were asked about how they’ve handled being the lone minority in a group, and each talked about having confidence, being self-assured and certain about yourself. You are there for a reason, which seems so easy to understand as a concept, but so difficult at the same time.
I wish there were more Asian Americans in my field to prove to the next generation (like my kids) that that they can do anything they want. They don’t have to fit a mold or a stereotype. They can be whoever they want to be without having to succumb to the stereotypes about us in the past.
I want that for them. I want that for us, as a society, to stop pigeon holing people based on how they look.
This topic is an important one, and I hope continues to be talked about in the future.
That’s what makes “38 in the Garden” so powerful in my eyes.
Thanks to Nike for supporting this. Thanks to the ASCEND Network at Nike for organizing this event.
And a big thank you to Frank Chi, Travon Free and Samir Hernandez for making this film.