by Alice Pung
What were your first years as a writer like?
Writing was a release for me, and an important escape. My first books were children’s books for kids from non-English-speaking backgrounds like my own – so that they would have books they could relate to. My Vietnamese background was now valuable in Australia in a way I had not seen before.
Can you tell us one important lesson that has changed your life?
When I was six I remember drawing myself with blonde hair and blue eyes, because that was how I wanted myself to be. That was what I thought was pretty. Now I know that was whitewashing from the Australian mass media, making me blind to my own beauty.
I went to a middle-class primary school in a predominantly white neighbourhood where the only other Asians were one Chinese boy and my brother. My blonde friends giggled and said the Chinese boy was my boyfriend. The one Greek boy in the school would call me a Chink then smile at me as if it was a joke. In my secondary school there were more Asian students but I still didn’t totally fit in with them. They were Chinese or overseas students and I felt awkward and clumsy next to their chic haircuts and cute Hello Kitty hairclips.
When I first started going out with boys, I tried Asian guys first. After sussing out that I was Australian, they would ask me if I knew how to cook. Then I tried Anglo guys, who would nickname me spring roll and had mothers who wished their sons would go out with a nice Irish-Australian girl. I had so much anger in me, not fitting in anywhere. I only accepted that I could be considered beautiful after going out with a photographer who asked me to be a model for him.
How would I draw myself now? It’s hard to tell. There is the me in photos, squinting, red-eyed and sometimes double-chinned. I think there would be a smile in my self-portrait – not the passive Asian smile that says everything is good and wonderful, but a grin that says I’m ready to take on the world and anything that is projected onto me.
I went to my first Asian club-night this year and was astounded. I had never been surrounded by so many Asian faces, happy, sleek and cool. They weren’t bad dancers, either, and the only white faces were the club staff. I envy the Vietnamese-Australian girls growing up now, their self-confidence, hanging around in self-contained groups.
I would say I am a Vietnamese-Australian girl, but there is a struggle in that hyphen. I used to say I was Australian, defiantly. I was born here, don’t speak Vietnamese, and the generation before me insists that I am not Vietnamese. But lately, having gotten to know other Vietnamese-Australian girls and having embraced Vietnamese Buddhism, I can say I’m of Vietnamese origin and proud of it.
That’s after my younger years of wishing that I wasn’t. I cannot speak Vietnamese. I stopped speaking it when my beloved grandmother moved to America when I was ten. Then I was raped by an uncle, and the ensuing silence and trauma made me hate extended family events when he was there. The Vietnamese pressure to save face and not tell anyone was ground into me and I could not seek help for what had happened until I was nineteen. Back then, I thought being Vietnamese was a curse.
Then university exposed me to feminism and I gradually learned that all cultures had difficulty with incest – it was not just traditional Vietnamese face-saving that oppressed women’s experiences.
The anger that used to drive me has gone. Instead, I find that I am calm and accept who I am. In Thich Nhat Hanh’s Buddhist concept of the world, all places are home. You need to find the place within yourself that is home, an island of peace. After many years I have found this peace, accepting who I am and what I can be. I can draw on Vietnamese Zen Buddhism as a source of strength, and not blame Asian or Australian culture solely for what happened to me and to others. As the teachings go, our enemies are not other humans, but the hatred and anger that drive human actions.
One memorable person who has changed your life?
My partner, Alister Air. He is supportive of all my artistic endeavours, including me being in Vietnam for four months without him. To find someone who loves you enough to support your full potential and not feel threatened by it is amazing – and an essential thing if you want to be a partner for an artist.
How has your family responded to what you do?
My mother and father are now really proud of me – which is great, as they’ve had to handle some confronting material in some of my stories and plays.
Jason Yat-Sen Li
Jason Yat-Sen Li worked for the United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia from 1996–98 on a number of pioneering cases in genocide and war crimes. Jason is currently the managing director of a private equity, investment banking and advisory firm. He is also vice-chair of the Australia– China Chamber of Commerce in Beijing, a director of the George Institute for Public Health, and a governor of the Smith Family, one of Australia’s largest charities.
*
What did you want to be when you were growing up? Apart from the usual boyhood dreams of becoming a policeman, a jet-fighter pilot and a martial arts hero, my first real memory of having a ‘professional’ ambition was when I wanted to be a child psychologist. As a child myself, I loved the company of other children and felt I could understand them far better than the adults around me could. My father thought it was a marvellous idea. But more broadly, throughout my childhood, I very much wanted to belong. I grew up in Australia in the 1970s when the community was less diverse than it is now. I wanted to fit in.
How did you end up doing what you do now?
It is hard to describe what I do now. I wear a number of hats. I run an investment banking, private equity and strategy firm in China. I am involved in community politics and social issues and give a great number of speeches in Australia about leadership, diversity, Australia’s future. I am the director of a number of not-for-profit organisations involved in medical research and public health, volunteerism and public affairs. I still describe myself as an international lawyer. I want always to be known as a political activist and a change agent.
What were the first days on the job like?
I’m not sure when my first days on the job were. I’ve always worked. My mother’s family ran restaurants when they migrated to New Zealand. I worked as a waiter and loved the interaction with customers. I worked throughout university as a research assistant to various professors and lawyers. My first serious job was as a legal assistant in one of Sydney’s law firms when I was still studying at university. What I remember about this time is feeling hopelessly out of my depth. My work would come back with red lines through eighty per cent of it. I had a wonderful mentor, though, who steered me through with a kind but firm hand. There was one night when I was working late, helping to write the prospectus for a large Australian company that was going public. I had long hair and a real ‘student’ look at that time. A senior executive from that company came to see the partner who was supervising me and saw me in the office. He asked the partner, ‘Are you sure that fellow’s English is good enough?’ My supervising partner responded, ‘He topped the state in English in the HSC several years ago, so I don’t think you need to worry.’
How has your family responded to what you do?
My family have always supported me in what I do. I owe them a great deal. I remember the sacrifices my parents, who were never wealthy, made for my education and so that I could have access to opportunities never available to them. I remember asking my father once how I could repay what they had done for me. He replied that I could simply treat my children in the same way as he and my mother had treated me. These Confucian values were strong in my family: the attention to education, the generational thinking, the centrality of the family unit. Our family’s story is a typical immigrant’s story: one of parents who came to Australia with nothing and worked hard to build foundations in a community where they had no real friends, no networks, no history. Second-generation migrants owe our parents a great debt for the paths they paved for us.
When I was heavily involved in political campaigns for the republic and f
or anti-racism in Australia, my parents were always behind me, quite in spite of them being quiet people. My father, who fears nothing more than public speaking but who is one of the most authentically naturally brilliant public speakers I have ever heard, gave a talk on my behalf once when I was unavailable for a campaign commitment. My sister remembers the beads of sweat on his forehead as he was waiting to be cued. I am still very deeply touched by the sacrifices both my parents made and continue to make for my sister and me.
Who is your inspiration?
There are many people who have inspired me through my life. Some are famous and important and powerful but most are not. I think often the most inspiring people are just ordinary individuals who do extraordinary things; things that are not splashed across the pages of newspapers but instead are very private and mostly go publicly unrecognised.
Can you tell us one important lesson that has changed your life?
In my younger days, I didn’t much participate in things. Throughout high school, I didn’t really take part in the life of the school or the community. Part of that was out of laziness, but also out of a lack of confidence about the contribution I could make. It was the issue of racism in Australia and my belief in an Australian republic that drove me, finally, to participate and to get involved in public life and community affairs. This changed my life and gave me tremendous confidence that ordinary people can achieve significant social change by the force of their convictions, through effective organisation, and by making the decision to participate with confidence. This is the essence of social capital and I try to do as much public speaking to audiences of young people as possible to encourage them to get involved in the issues that matter to them. It will change their lives for the better too.
One memorable person who has changed your life?
I worked with Sir Ninian Stephen at the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia in the Hague between 1996 and 1997. What struck me about Sir Ninian was his humility and his care to treat all those around him with dignity and genuine interest. I compared this at the time with the arrogance of many who had achieved not even a fraction of what he had. This taught me the importance of humility and that arrogance is inexcusable, particularly in those who claim to be leaders.
‘Dad and Me’ by Shaun Tan
Shaun Tan
Shaun Tan became known as the ‘good drawer’ while he was at school in Perth, which partly compensated for always being the shortest kid in class. Now an internationally renowned, multi-award-winning artist and author, he has also worked for Blue Sky Studios and Pixar, providing artwork for forthcoming films. He was named Best Artist at the World Fantasy Awards in Montreal in 2001, and won the 2007 Australian Book Industry Award for his book The Arrival.
*
What did you want to be when you were growing up?
An astronaut. When told that this was a very narrow career opportunity, I wanted to be an artist from about age six. But when saying so to grown-ups, even this did not seem to be taken entirely seriously. As a teenager I guessed the reason: it might be quite difficult to make a living as an artist, and it was generally not regarded as a real profession at school or in suburban Perth. I also became increasingly interested in science, particularly bio technology, which I came close to studying at university. I was also interested in the idea of being a writer. So I’ve always had three main interests: visual art, science and writing. I think all three are very similar as kinds of inquiry and ways of making meaning.
How did you end up becoming an artist?
I did not really plan on being a ‘picture-book illustrator’; in fact, it was not an area of expression that I took very seriously until I actually started doing it. At the end of my arts degree at the University of Western Australia, I realised I was not really qualified for anything beyond illustration, something I had practised semi-professionally as a student, producing regular work for science-fiction magazines, music posters, campus brochures and newspapers, as well as my own landscape and portrait paintings. I decided to try working for a year as a freelance illustrator and artist, and contacted anyone I thought might commission such work – museums, publishers, design studios, magazines. The biggest response to both my writing and painting came from children’s publishers, which may well explain why I spend so much time with picture books, as opposed to any number of other possible careers. I have seldom illustrated books specifically for children; it’s just that children’s publishers are the ones that most often deal with illustrated books.
What were the first days on the job like?
Quite vague and isolated; my first professional commission was a fantasy-novel cover, and I figured out how to do this by visiting the newsagency at my local suburban shopping centre and examining all of the covers on the small fantasy-novel stand at the back. I then went to the library next door and got out some books on castles, Antarctica and polo. I replaced the polo sticks with swords, elaborated the castle and worked on a wintery mountain backdrop: the result was a convincing cover that inspired further commissions and marked the beginning of a bill-paying career as an illustrator.
How has your family responded to what you do?
Always positively, and keenly interested, without knowing too much about the world of art and literature. My dad is an architect, from a family in Malaysia that ran a biscuit factory; my mother was always very interested in drawing, living in a working-class Australian family where this was very much an oddity. So both my parents have a good visual sensibility. My brother, a geologist, is very down-to-earth and a good test audience for paintings and stories, being somewhat outside of the fine arts and literary culture. I think he can best recognise the sincerity in my work, as well as any falseness or pretension.
Who is your inspiration?
Not so much who as what: it would be a combination of nature and something like ‘artificial nature.’ That is, the way human structures tend towards a semi-conscious, jungle-like growth, best seen in old industrial sites and rambling urban landscapes. I tend to draw these a lot, alongside animals, plants, skies and natural landscapes. I’m interested in their commonalities, through pattern and shape, beyond their obvious differences.
Can you tell us one important lesson that has changed your life?
Accepting mistakes as something useful rather than regrettable. This is something I’ve learnt primarily through drawing over many years, which seems more and more to be an act of ‘guided accidents’ than some kind of controlled mastery of knowledge and tools (as I used to think when I was younger). It’s all about adaptability, and trusting unconscious intelligence as much as conscious calculation. This seems to also apply to real life, but it’s an ongoing lesson – I don’t think I’ve learnt it entirely, and possibly never will!
One memorable person who has changed your life?
Well, Inari, my partner, obviously! She is a designer and artist, so a lot of our aesthetic observations are shared rather than solitary.
John So
John So is the first Lord Mayor of Melbourne to have been directly elected by the people; previously, Lord Mayors were elected by the councillors. In office since 2001, Lord Mayor So is currently the longest-serving Lord Mayor of Melbourne, and was voted World Mayor in 2006. He is also one of Melbourne’s longest-serving councillors, having won four consecutive elections since 1991. He has a science degree and diploma of education from the University of Melbourne.
*
What did you want to be when you were growing up?
I had aspirations towards becoming a great scientist when I was growing up. Two Asian-Americans, Tsung-Dao Lee and Chen Ning Yang, had won the Nobel Prize in physics in 1957, so I came to Melbourne in 1965 as a young student with the dream of following in their footsteps.
But when I came here at seventeen, I got a big shock. I had not realised that the White Australia Policy was still in place. I was bewildered when I found out about this, because as a teenager in Hong Kong, the two prominent scientists I
had looked up to had achieved their success in a Western country. I thought that if I had known before I arrived that people like us were not welcome, perhaps I should have chosen another country to complete my studies.
At first it was very lonely being in Australia, particularly adapting to a different culture. I missed my friends, family and homeland terribly. But I completed my science degree at the University of Melbourne, and stayed at a residential college called International House. International House had a policy of accepting at least fifty per cent of its students from international backgrounds – so I lived with students from Africa, Asia and Europe. I encountered diversity as I never had before, and learned about cultural harmony. I did not end up becoming a scientist, but completed a diploma in education and worked for a number of years as a science teacher in Victorian schools.
What brought you to your current career path?
When I was finishing my matriculation, I lived with some Hong Kong friends, and we formed an association of Hong Kong students. We discussed politics and got involved in debates about the Immigration Restriction Act. I was the youngest member of the group because I was still in high school back then, but we really wanted to help the local Chinese community. My early experiences working with committees, ensuring consensus and speaking out probably had a significant influence later in my life.
I was appointed Ethnic Affairs Commissioner by the Vic torian government in the 1980s. It was unimaginable how little support there was for immigrants in Australia then, particularly in aged care and ethnic schooling. The young and the old have very little opportunity to be heard, I realised – even less so when they lacked language skills. So I assisted in developing one of the very first Chinese aged-care homes in Victoria, and also became principal of a Melbourne Chinese-language school.