Posted On: Saturday - April 3rd 2021 5:13PM MST
In Topics:   Immigration Stupidity  Music  Humor  Political Correctness  Female Stupidity
This piece of stupidity from The New Yorker is a doozy. Peak Stupidity will not really have to add any humor to keep the Humor topic key attached, but we can't help adding more anyway. No, I don't read The New Yorker, though I've seen a few and even gotten the occasional cartoon (OK, just the one).
As much as he puts their stupidity on display for us, I got to this not from Steve Sailer himself, but from regular commenter Jenner Ickham Errican* in this comment.
The writer of this unintentionally hilarous New Yorker article is a young lady named, well CALLED now anyway, Beth Nguyen, an American immigrant who was born in Saigon. (Yeah, she wrote "Saigon", and I am very surprised from the rest of this that she didn't call it Ho Chi Minh City.) Miss Nguyen has a complaint: America Ruined My Name for Me. It's not her family name, Nguyen, that she is complaining about Americans mispronouncing. She notes for us:
Nguyen, because it’s the most common Vietnamese surname, has gone from suspiciously foreign and unpronounceable to acceptably different and only somewhat unpronounceable in America.You don't have to be a suspicious type. It IS foreign. Yes, it's unpronouncable. The closest anyone who tries can come is win, but that's not really right. Tough shit, not my problem.
The problem is that Miss Nguyen is not a Beth, but a Bich. Yes, that's her Vietnamese given name and her parents were too proud of their heritage to let her change it.
When my family named me, they didn’t know that we would become refugees eight months later and that I would grow up in Michigan in the nineteen-eighties, in the conservative, mostly white, west side of the state, where girls had names like Jennifer, Amy, and Stacy. A name like Bich (pronounced “Bic”) didn’t just make me stand out—it made me miserably visible. “Your name is what?” people would ask. “How do you spell that?” Sometimes they would laugh in my face. “You know what your name looks like, right? Did your parents really name you that?”Firstly, it sounds like Bich had a childhood environment that was infinitely better than it would have been under that Communists in Ho Chi Minh City, not to mention the other side of Michigan! White and conservative is what you want. If he teasing about her name is all she has to bitch about, compared to starving and living in a craphole under Communism, or, worse yet, no, no, NOT DETROIT!, she sounds pretty ungrateful. Kids are known to tease each other. Well, here:
I have always envied Asian kids whose parents let them change their names or have separate “American” names. Phuoc at home could be Phil at school. But my parents refused to let me change my name. They said that I should be proud of who I was, and they weren’t wrong, but they were so angry about it that I knew I should keep my worries to myself. I didn’t want to reject my family’s Vietnamese culture, replacing it with all that TV commercials promised. And so I stuck with Bich, or let it stick with me.Well, what's it gonna be, Bich, rejecting your Vietnamese culture or being teased because... it's funny as hell, honestly.
My earliest memories of school include the tension of roll call, when I would try to volunteer my name to stop the teacher from attempting a pronunciation. The kindest teachers were the ones who asked me directly how to say my name—in classes of almost all white kids, it wasn’t difficult to figure out who would be named Bich. I was a shy child who then became shyer; I avoided meeting people so I could avoid saying my name. And I took on the shame of not being strong enough to handle the shame of the American gaze.Holy crap, can't these ungrateful immigrants who write this crap ever use their imaginations to picture the shoe being on the other foot? I've been in deepest yellowest China where the people may not see a foreigner (and you are always one to them) for years. The kids will just gather around and point fingers and make comments. I'm sure they don't give a rat's ass what my American name is. Are the Vietnamese in Vietnam as polite and tolerant as Americans are, at least for those who are not the rich White businessmen? Would they all be so kind to spend the effort to say my American name the way I pronounce it, if they even could?
To understand the extend of the ungratefulness of this Bich (that one never gets old), please read as much of the article as you can stomach. I'll excerpt just a bit more here:
I remember being a kid and hearing my dad and uncles whispering about the murder of Vincent Chin, in Detroit, in 1982. Today, I talk to my kids about the murder of six Asian women in Atlanta. I’m teaching them about colonization, Orientalism, and anti-Asian immigration laws. About what happens when Asians and Asian-Americans are made invisible except as targets of derision or as ideals of behavior—as ways to create fear, enforce compliance, and shore up racism against Black, Latinx, and indigenous people. Of course, my children worry. We’ve all been worried for years. These days, we are extra careful when we leave the house.Hahahaaa, she's serious. That's what's so funny. She's serious, so don't make any "he's so fat"/Chinese phone book jokes. This is neither the time nor place for that. BTW, I think this one Vincent Chin incident from ~ 4 decades ago is used by all Oriental people who want to bitch about Americans. They think we don't know enough to figure out the guy is Chinese from the name. Is he? I don't know for sure, but Chinese, Japanese, Dirty Knees, Loot at These, they can all claim poor little Vincent Chin.
Something about this whole bitch session in the New Yorker fits very well into Steve Sailer's idea that women writers are often writing to "talk about me" rather than to analyze any real problems. He's even got an axiom about it.** I've got a feeling that now-Beth Nguyen was not popular at school because she was not one of the pretty ones. You've gotta know that, if she had been an exotic cutie with a nice bod, she'd have other things to do rather than bitching in The New Yorker.
Even so, you'd think that at some point, 5th grade, 8th grade, some time, Bich would have heard this one Johnny Cash song and learned a lesson from it:
"... and if I ever have a daughter, I'm gone name her ... Bertha, Brenda, Beth, any damn thing but Bich!"
(I wanted to put up a video of Mr. Cash live from Fulsom Prison, but all the ones I checked had terrible sound.)
OK, well, listen, I don't want to start another 10-post long fisking of very piece of stupidity by this Krai Zhee Bich. (Wouldn't it have been cool at school if that was her full name?) However, there's a lot to unpack here, as the young writers say, and hopefully a few more jokes that I haven't got to yet, not all of them involving Miss Nguyen's given name here. I'll get back on this next week.
* Yeah, it took me only about 2 years to realize that should be read as "Generic American".
** It's Sailer's "1st Law of Female Journalism", The most heartfelt journalistic extrusions will be demands for how society must be re-engineered so that, come the Revolution, the writer herself will be considered hotter-looking. Nice job, duckduckgo - it was right on top!