The Jeremy Lin saga on the New York Knicks is officially over. Popular discourse over Linsanity - the sensation, the betrayal, the drama - have left an overwhelmingly sour taste in my mouth because of the denial of Jeremy Lin's right to simply exist as a human being with a history, a present and a future.
Since February, Jeremy Lin has been a symbol of Asian-American masculinity, a source of Taiwanese and pan-Asian nationalist pride, an example of model-minority exceptionalism, a hashtag, an archetype to polarize and demonize Black masculinity, a media darling, a good Christian.. and a number of other permutations of complex racial/gender/social narratives which ultimately reduce his humanity to an object of discussion, debate, adoration and animosity.
During Linsanity
It was love at first sight. Or at least infatuation with a mix of obsession and possessiveness. Jeremy Lin seemingly came out of nowhere and swept us off of our feet. With a string of extraordinary performances and the full-on amplification of mainstream and social media, he brought hope and excitement to a long-suffering Knicks fan base that hadn't seen a championship since the Nixon administration.
But Linsanity the phenomenon was bigger than "the big apple."
To the Asian American community, Lin provided a star athlete who was relatable in a way Yao Ming never could be. Yao represented the "other" - a 7'4" giant from red China who speaks with a heavy accent. Jeremy was one of us. The memes and hashtags, the homemade posters, the t-shirts, the tabloid headlines, the puns. We knew it was exoticizing and likely harmful but we laughed and high-fived through it all because for once we were loved, and perhaps finally overcoming the perpetual foreigner stereotype, we belonged.
To mainstream America, Lin was the classic underdog story. The tale of a regular guy who wasn't offered a major division I scholarship, who went undrafted and was cut from two NBA teams before landing on the Knicks, who slept on a teammate's couch because his spot on the team wasn't guaranteed, who endured, and who ultimately shined when given an opportunity. All nicely reinforcing the narrative (myth) that in America, no matter who you are, if you believe in yourself and work hard, you can achieve anything.
Asian masculinity has been constructed as a historical counter to Black masculinity, allowing white masculinity all the wonderful neutral space in between. (Similar is probably true for constructs of Asian, Black and white femininity, but that's another discussion for another day.) Star athletes have mostly been Black and white bodies and larger-than-life personalities, and Jeremy Lin's phenotype and regular-ness do not register. So despite the record setting and hope kindling run, Jeremy Lin still seemed oddly more Napolean Dynamite than Rocky Balboa to the Knicks and to many of us. (I'm compelled to point out that I couldn't think of adequate Asian pop culture references, for obvious reasons.) This context makes the backlash by oft-vilified Black athletes like Floyd Mayweather (and later Knick teammates Carmelo Anthony and JR Smith) understandable and actually inevitable.
The Lin Betrayal
In the aftermath of Linsanity and as it became clear that the Knicks would not re-sign him, a starkly different narrative emerged. All of a sudden, Jeremy Lin was painted as lucky, selfish, disloyal and once again an outsider.
As if Linsanity was a fluke, NYC sports media and Knick fans alike focused their energy on who Jeremy Lin was not, rather than who he is. "He's turnover prone.. can't play defense.. was scared to play in the playoffs." These declarations came not only from Stephen A Smith, but also from friends of mine who are lifelong Knick fans. Even when the statistics prove these statements false, lack of athletic prowess is so deeply rooted in familiar narratives of Asian masculinity that agreed upon prejudices become the truth.
Furthermore, statements like "Jeremy Lin is lucky to be in the league at all" and should have "known his place" reek of the same old stereotypes of Asian folk as foreigners who don't belong and are not welcome. The Asians-as-foreigners stereotype plays out in some simple and some complicated ways. For example, the white woman who wrote "Go back to your country" in red lipstick on my mother's car (this actually happened) is a pretty simple example. More subtle but still harmful stereotypes of Asian people as untrustworthy foreigners and lacking the "it" factor necessary to lead and shine manifest in strange ways. Jeremy Lin's place is expected to be in the accounting department, not as the starting point god of the New York Knickerbockers. I was disappointed but not surprised that Knicks ownership essentially told Lin "thanks for bringing in all those fans and selling all those jerseys but you're crazy if you think we're gonna pay you 'star player' money." Asian bodies are not valued for that purpose.
As an Asian-American who grew up loving the game of basketball, I want to cry for Jeremy Lin. I too know the feeling of wanting to be part of team that did not value me, of being told that I have no place on a basketball court (among other places), and of being judged unworthy despite my best efforts. I feel his rejection and I cloak the subsequent shame with the more masculinely acceptable feeling of anger mixed in with some analysis.
Two Sides of the Same Coin
It is important to recognize that the lovefest during the height of Linsanity and the betrayal that followed stem from the same fundamental contradiction - Jeremy Lin was objectified and reduced to a number of disparate symbols and for profit-driven motives rather than humanized as a human being. For Asian folk (and actually all people of Color), we cannot relish in praise built upon objectification without also submitting to its dehumanization. We can't buy into the hype even if it feels good in the moment. Especially in the moment. When it seems Jeremy Lin can do no wrong, we must remind ourselves that he is human, as we all are. That he has needs, aspirations, insecurities and brilliance. That he has a history that has shaped who he is today and that will continue to guide his growing to be done. And in allowing for Jeremy Lin to exist as a whole person, we grant ourselves and others space to do the same. We must dictate the terms of our own humanity - through reflection, struggle and praxis - while working towards the reclamation of our stories and our communities.
Since February, Jeremy Lin has been a symbol of Asian-American masculinity, a source of Taiwanese and pan-Asian nationalist pride, an example of model-minority exceptionalism, a hashtag, an archetype to polarize and demonize Black masculinity, a media darling, a good Christian.. and a number of other permutations of complex racial/gender/social narratives which ultimately reduce his humanity to an object of discussion, debate, adoration and animosity.
 |
| via deadspin.com |
During Linsanity
It was love at first sight. Or at least infatuation with a mix of obsession and possessiveness. Jeremy Lin seemingly came out of nowhere and swept us off of our feet. With a string of extraordinary performances and the full-on amplification of mainstream and social media, he brought hope and excitement to a long-suffering Knicks fan base that hadn't seen a championship since the Nixon administration.
But Linsanity the phenomenon was bigger than "the big apple."
 |
| via bleacherreport.com |
To mainstream America, Lin was the classic underdog story. The tale of a regular guy who wasn't offered a major division I scholarship, who went undrafted and was cut from two NBA teams before landing on the Knicks, who slept on a teammate's couch because his spot on the team wasn't guaranteed, who endured, and who ultimately shined when given an opportunity. All nicely reinforcing the narrative (myth) that in America, no matter who you are, if you believe in yourself and work hard, you can achieve anything.
Most disturbingly, Jeremy Lin's clean cut (read: white friendly), "good" Christian, Ivy-league persona was used as a buffer against Black masculinity. In professional sports, star athletes are regularly described with words like "thug", "beast" and "killer instinct", evoking racist narratives of Black men as predators and savages. If we were to pause for a moment to think about professional sports as a plantation - white male billionaire owners, Black and brown bodies bought and traded as chattel, player drafts as the auction block - we would be disgusted with words and images in sports commentary daily.
All of this pressure to represent, to uphold, to deconstruct and to exemplify, often from dissonant perspectives and self-interests, leaves very little room for Jeremy Lin to simply be.
The Lin Betrayal
In the aftermath of Linsanity and as it became clear that the Knicks would not re-sign him, a starkly different narrative emerged. All of a sudden, Jeremy Lin was painted as lucky, selfish, disloyal and once again an outsider.
 |
| via espn.com |
As if Linsanity was a fluke, NYC sports media and Knick fans alike focused their energy on who Jeremy Lin was not, rather than who he is. "He's turnover prone.. can't play defense.. was scared to play in the playoffs." These declarations came not only from Stephen A Smith, but also from friends of mine who are lifelong Knick fans. Even when the statistics prove these statements false, lack of athletic prowess is so deeply rooted in familiar narratives of Asian masculinity that agreed upon prejudices become the truth.
Furthermore, statements like "Jeremy Lin is lucky to be in the league at all" and should have "known his place" reek of the same old stereotypes of Asian folk as foreigners who don't belong and are not welcome. The Asians-as-foreigners stereotype plays out in some simple and some complicated ways. For example, the white woman who wrote "Go back to your country" in red lipstick on my mother's car (this actually happened) is a pretty simple example. More subtle but still harmful stereotypes of Asian people as untrustworthy foreigners and lacking the "it" factor necessary to lead and shine manifest in strange ways. Jeremy Lin's place is expected to be in the accounting department, not as the starting point god of the New York Knickerbockers. I was disappointed but not surprised that Knicks ownership essentially told Lin "thanks for bringing in all those fans and selling all those jerseys but you're crazy if you think we're gonna pay you 'star player' money." Asian bodies are not valued for that purpose.
As an Asian-American who grew up loving the game of basketball, I want to cry for Jeremy Lin. I too know the feeling of wanting to be part of team that did not value me, of being told that I have no place on a basketball court (among other places), and of being judged unworthy despite my best efforts. I feel his rejection and I cloak the subsequent shame with the more masculinely acceptable feeling of anger mixed in with some analysis.
Two Sides of the Same Coin
It is important to recognize that the lovefest during the height of Linsanity and the betrayal that followed stem from the same fundamental contradiction - Jeremy Lin was objectified and reduced to a number of disparate symbols and for profit-driven motives rather than humanized as a human being. For Asian folk (and actually all people of Color), we cannot relish in praise built upon objectification without also submitting to its dehumanization. We can't buy into the hype even if it feels good in the moment. Especially in the moment. When it seems Jeremy Lin can do no wrong, we must remind ourselves that he is human, as we all are. That he has needs, aspirations, insecurities and brilliance. That he has a history that has shaped who he is today and that will continue to guide his growing to be done. And in allowing for Jeremy Lin to exist as a whole person, we grant ourselves and others space to do the same. We must dictate the terms of our own humanity - through reflection, struggle and praxis - while working towards the reclamation of our stories and our communities.
 |
| via egotripland.com |
