Your authentic native American experience
The first thing Joseph Lau noticed about the natives was that they were faking it. As soon as he entered the reservation on the ‘Great Native America’ tourbus and they bounced down potholed and unpaved roads he could feel it all around him. Even the skintones of the natives looked faked, the wrong shade in the bright sun, like old movies where they just slapped on makeup rather than employ anyone of the right ethnicity. Or maybe it was because, as Lau looked down from the coach, it took one to know one. He could relate to the poor figures down below trying to eke a living out of their grandparents lost identity, trapped between two cultures, neither of which they belonged to. he’d lived that life for the last two decades of his life. Pretending to be someone else just so he would fit in. Speaking the right way had got him through school, had got him into a good College with good prospects. and now it had brought him to a cheesy Native American tour where he could watch his own heritage be prostituted before him.
Their guide, an obnoxious local who either didn’t know or didn’t care that he was about as authentically native as an extra in a movie, was droning on as they piled out of the bus, blinking in the light and feeling self conscious surrounded by natives.
“….and later we’re gonna show you a beautiful show. Local girls, local dancing. Real traditional stuff. You’re gonna love it okay?”
The guide’s voice caught in Lau’s ear. Maybe it was because the guys accent was such a crude attempt at the language Lau had grown up with from his grandmother or because it reminded him how badly he spoke native himself. Mainly though because he knew it was fake, firstly it wasn’t how native people spoke, and secondly he was a hundred percent sure the guide knew and it didn’t care. he knew what the tourists wanted and it wasn’t reality.
Lau stared around the traditional village, where various hideous stereotyped natives stared back, all waiting to be snapped by the tourists. The tourists would then buy themselves some locally made shit and then get the bus back home again, telling themselves that they’d touched something deep in the heart of America that went back hundreds of years.
“but first” the guide was saying, pointing them towards the traditional eatery that Lau knew with dread certainty would sell him a bland and homogenised version of native food and nothing like what his old departed grandmother could make “time for a spot of lunch, at the good old traditional restaurant”
It was a Macdonalds. But as Lau surveyed the pale sad eyed creatures dressed up like MAGA hatted rednecks and hipsters in beards, leather clad imitation rockers and ladies dressed like Jackie K, he realised that it was probably the most authentically American thing there.
Lau hadn’t been born when the joint Indo-chinese pacification mission had started, neither in fact was his mother. But his grandmother did, and she would regale them in their cramped Hong Kong apartment when he was a kid.
“sure, they had their excuses” she would say, her voice gravelly and her accent harsh to the ear. Lau had grown up speaking English but switched to Cantonese whenever he could. He might not have been able to hide the pale midwestern look he’d inherited from his Euro ancestry but so long as he could curse in Cantonese then he could at least fit in “blaming us for climate change and for Trump and for the nuclear strike. But that weren’t our fault” she would glare at Lau and his brothers, as if they were going to blame her for the many crimes of successive American administrations “and yeah, there was kinda a civil war. But that weren’t no reason to send in the troops. It was just cause they wanted our stuff. Patents and that kind of thing”
This meant little, of course, to Lau. And it was only after his grandmother’s death that he guiltily began to research his own past and the past of his country. That was what had made him book the holiday back to the old country, and on a tour of the reservation. There, he had been reliably informed, he would find the authentic connection with his people he was so lacking.
After they had eaten at the Mcdonalds there was a beauty pageant at the town hall. On the walk from the diner to the town hall they’d been treated to a performance of traditional American racism, where a red faced obese man had given them a tirade about Mexican rapists peppered with drops of the N bomb. Several of the tour party had argued back, either not realising it was faked up or else hamming it up for their social media feeds. These were the kind of guys – and they were always guys – that Lau knew would pay a bit extra to stay the night. They’d go to a bar and pick a fight with some poor asshole who’d probably been slipped some lolcoin in order to get knocked about a bit. Then they’d pick up some blonds with shining teeth and take back to their hotel rooms. Blonds who’d be instantly impressed with these brown skinned guys and they’d shyly say they’d never been with no one who wasn’t a white Christian and say, weren’t they awfully exotic? Course in the morning they’d be paid in the same way as the sap they’d got into the fight with. The worst part of that, thought Lau as he watched the racist go through the rest of his rant about the pacification campaign, was that with rampant unemployment there were probably men and women queueing up to have their bodies abused for foreign cash.
“…..gonna rise again, and kick out the foreign libtards taking over our fair country” finished the racist “I’m callin’ my senator!” he finished, which got a big laugh out of the crowd. Everyone knew the Washington government was a sham, kept in place purely to nod through whatever laws Beijing wanted passed.
It was during the stripshow slash stars and stripes military parade that Lau realised he’d had enough. Watching some poor reservation girl practically goose stepping across the stage wearing almost nothing while carrying an M16 rifle made him physically sick. With an excuse to the guys next to him – fellow students from Hong Kong U on their spring break – he stumbled to the exit. He stood outside in the back ally of the stripjoint, breathing heavily. The heady aroma of meatloaf and mack and cheese just made him miss his grandmother. Knowing that both these dishes would have been heavily spiced to appeal to the Asian tastes of the tourists just made things worse.
“Jesus, why the fuck did I come here?” he said to himself, his eyes squeezed shut.
“to get in touch with your roots” Lau’s eyes shot open and he looked across the alley. In the bright daylight that had followed the neon dark of the club he hadn’t spotted the guy perched opposite on top of a bin. The first thing Lau noticed was that the guy was speaking the kind of American that his grandmother had. The second was that the guy was dressed in jeans and tshirt without any obvious agenda besides a normal Saturday afternoon. The third was that he wasn’t wearing that stupid fake colouring that the rest of the town seemed to be, a fake skin whitening because tourists didn’t get that most Americans were some shade of brown because demographics change and movie representation didn’t.
“how’d you know?” asked Lau suspiciously, aware of the cantonise lilt to his accent and hating himself for it.
“you got the look” said the guy. He looked partly African American, which wasn’t really the reservation tour that Lau had paid for. If he had paid extra then he could have taken a coach to the nearest city where various stereotypes of black American would have played out. There’d be fake shootings and even faker rap battles. There’s be some fake civil right black consciousness stuff because these days Nigerian and Congan tourists were the biggest spenders, almost edging out the Chinese and the Indians “like you’re looking for something you can’t name”
“yeah, well I don’t think I’m going to find it here” agreed Lau, looking back at the nightclub. He couldn’t tell if it was deliberately seedy or whether it was just because the reservation was poor. Since the Pacification Campaign those who had refused to accept the rule of the UN peacekeeping mission, or who had a history of causing trouble, had been decanted to specified zones ‘for their own protection’. That these zones happened to be in the worst areas, with the highest unemployment and worst quality of life was, of course, merely a coincidence.
“too true” said the guy, throwing a cigarette butt into the gutter. Lau, ever the expert, could tell from the aroma that it was a pre ban Marlboro. Illegal in most parts of Asia but still smoked by those Americans who rejected the humiliation of the peace accords that had ended the Pacification Campaign “well, if you work out that what you’re looking for is real Americans” he said, sliding off the trash can and landing on his Nikes “come and see my buddies in the Old Deplorable bar off of main” a shimmering map hung in the air for a moment as the guy shared the details with Lau’s digital glasses “but if all you’re looking for is MAGA assholes and big titted blondes then don’t waste my time, okay?”
The bar was low and long, but not sleazy. Or at least it wasn’t Lau’s idea of sleazy. He’d seen enough movies to know what he should be expecting was all neon and darkened corners, bikers and truckers in low pulled hats and women who were part time strippers. the Old Deplorable was instead decnelty clean, with beers on tap and food that looked like it was made from ingredient grown in the fields around the town. Fliers for bands and fund raising events plastered the walls by the entrance and the last cakes of a bake sale were hardening in the sunshine.
“guess this wasn’t what you expected” said a voice from his right, and Lau turned to see the guy from the alley and a light brown girl in trucking coveralls sitting in the corner at a table lovingly recycled from old machine parts.
“umm, well..” said Lau nervously
“if you want the dive bar where some redneck’ll pretend to fight you if you pay him twenty dollars you’ll have to go down the street” said the girl
“I just wanna have a drink” confessed Lau “you know, in a place where it’s not like fucking Disneyland”
“they only speak Hindi in Disneyland” observed the girl “got bought out for nothing by Bollywood. Mickey Mouse does them dance routines now”
“you’re welcome here so long as you don’t start expecting us to act like dumb natives” said the guy, gesturing for Lau to sit. He collected a beer from the bearded landlord who retreated back to a muttered conversation and then Lau sat down “and we don’t wanna be part of no saviour narrative either. We aren’t charity cases waiting for some guy from the east to come and rescue us”
“I’m not here to save anyone” said Lau
“so what are you here for?” asked the girl, looking at him harshly
Lau opened his mouth, then sighed and opened his hands “I don’t know. Heritage I guess”
“heritage?” echoed the girl, her eyes narrowing
“I’m half American” he explained “on my mothers side. Grew up in Hong Kong” he felt the girsl hostility burning into him “and yeah, every day I was growing up everyone kept reminding me how I was American and they treated me like shit and so I yearned. I fucking yearned to be able to have other people of my culture to hang out with. So now I’m here and I see a bunch of people play acting americans who see me as nothing but a walking wallet, and you guys” he hunched his shoulder “you guys treat me like I’m just some fuckming Chinese” he didn’t realise his volume had gone up, nor that his accent had gone more cantonese with fury. Both left an embarrassing taste in Lau’s mouth.
“hey, don’t worry” said the guy “we know your’re one us” he leaned forward, preffering his hand “I’m Vincent, this is Lina. She comes on strong cause she doesn’t want people to know she’s Mexican on her dad’s side”
“Joe” said Lau, shaking the guys hand. Reluctantly Lina did the same “Joe Lau”
“welcome to America” said Vincent, smiling ironically “what do you think of it so far?”
“I think my grandmother wouldn’t recognise it” said Lau “but I think that there’s still a place like this” he gestured at the bar, at the multi-ethnic groups drinking at the bar “makes me thinking that not everyone wants to live like victims” he looked onto the main street where two people dressed as comic interpretation for polticians past were mud wrestling to the cheers of the tourists “but I guess it can’t be easy when you’ve got Chinese drones watching your every move”
“there are ways around them” said Lina “if you know what to do”
“and like you said, we aren’t cool with always being victims” added Vincent “you’d be amazed how many ways there are to strike back. If you know what I mean”
“so, what you guys are terrorists?” said Lau, almost as a joke. Of course he’d heard that there were militants still holed up around the US, fighting the good fight against the pacification accords. But considering that most of these bunker dwelling survivalists offered tours of their hideouts and a chance to pose for photos with a range of weapons from their private arsenals he had assumed they were as fake as the big breasted blondes.
“no dude, come on” said Vincent, wincing at Lau and looking around the bar. Considering the fact that the bar had a combination of cultures and ethnicities Lau knew there wasn’t much chance of their being any tourists to hear. And since the reservation had its own police force who were more famously corrupt even than the almost mythical LAPD he doubted they would bother to take an interest “we’re freedom fighters. We’re the good guys”
“war never ended” said Lina, and Lau noticed that under her coveralls she wore a stars and stripes Tshirt. No doubt she earned a wage from the despised tourists too, her Nollywood themed tshirt. “it just went underground”
“sure, look I just didn’t it was for real” confessed Lau, holding his craft beer tightly “cause I’ve never heard of any attacks in California…”
“course you haven’t heard anything” scoffed Vincent “occupation authorities are fucking assholes but they aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t let it get out that we bombed the Napa Valley power supply. Or that we got people who can take out R05 drones…”
Lau tried not to show scepticism. The latest generation of PLA drone was meant to be invincible, but then again he had heard rumours of them malfunctioning. However he’d out that down to the usual incompetence of Beijing’s military industrial complex. The latest princeling in charge of the PLA’s procurements wing had grown up in Hong Kong and whilst he’d Inherited the family connections he hadn’t inherited their smarts.
“don’t believe him?” said Lina, looking around before flipping out an antique Apple device. This wasn’t the reskinned android that the tourists bought up for a few lolcoins apiece so they could pretend to be ragetweeting or selfying themselves in the sunset “look at this”
She tapped the screen, showing a slightly fuzzy picture beloved of terrorists since the dawn of social media. A lumbering mechdrone that Lau assumed was the R05 near a traffic patrol somewhere in the north. The camera then panned to some heavily disguised figures, one of whom threw an ultralight drone dart into the air. It flew gracefully towards the massive R05, a tiny gnat against a great big elephant. There was a pulse of white that momentarily knocked out the camera. When it came back on the R05 was on fire and the other terrorists were laughing and high fiving each other.
Lau wanted to say that he could have used the cheapest walking recognition software on his glasses to track down the terrorists involved, and that the video was admissible evidence that could have had them all gulagged to Arizona. But Lau didn’t, because he felt something he’d been wanting for a long time. A cause. Suddenly he needed to be part of this group. To do whatever he could, however humble, to help them in their impossible aim.
“you see” said vincent softly “we can take the battle to them. We can fight back”
“you don’t expect….” Began Lau, feeling foolish “you don’t expect to win, do you? I mean, it’s the two biggest and most powerful nations in the world – you know like nearly three billion people – against, what two hundred and fifty odd million of you?”
“that’s what they said in 1776” said Vincent “and they were wrong then”
“US war of independence” said the girl helpfully
“Yeah, yeah I know” said Lau, who remembered his grandmother going on about it but couldn’t remember whether it was the one the Americans had fought in Europe and been the good guys, or any of the others where they had been the bad guys “just, look, be realistic…”
“Vietcong” Lina said quietly “nation that was tiny, and poor versus the biggest, most advanced country in the world. USA poured billions of dollars and thousands of lives into that conflict, declared victory more times that anyone could count. But the Vietnamese won. Because they didn’t give up. Because they didn’t listen when unbelievers like you said it couldn’t be done. We just need patience”
“and resources” said Vincent, folding his arms “it isn’t cheap to make dronekillers like that. It isn’t easy to keep fighting back against the two biggest superpowers in the world. They’ve got resources that we could never dream of. All we’ve got on our side is guts, and the fact that we know we’re right” Vincent shook his head sadly.
Lau looked from Vincent to Lina, seeing the look on their faces. But it wasn’t despair, it wasn’t lack of hope. It was determination. Lau thought about how they’d given their lives to something bigger, for sure something that could end up with them in a prison camp or a re-education centre, sewing shirts for the masses to wear in Bangalore. But they knew what they wanted, and more importantly they knew who they were. Neither of these were things that Lau could say about himself, and he’d travelled five thousand miles and spent lolcoin these people would never see in their lives in a self indulgent search for something he saw now he could never attain. Or maybe he could.
“you need resources, right?” he said slowly, looking from one to the other “you mean money, yes?”
“listen buddy, we’re not a charity” said Lina “you want that you can donate to the kids school here so they don’t have to learn from E-books programmed in New Delhi“
“no, no” said Lau “look, I want to help. I’d be an American citizen right now if it was possible. My mom’s family is full blood native. Whole fucking reason we live in Hong Kong is because of the pacification campaign….”
“war of occupation you mean” said Lina sternly and Lau cursed inwardly at the faux pas
“sure, yes. Sorry” said Lau “but my whole life….I’ve wanted to do something. I’m not here to…” he raised up his hands, thinking of the other tourists “to watch some pretend racist show or buy a Mcdonalds and drink coca cola. I came here to, I don’t know, find my roots. Find out what it means to be an American”
“and did you?” said Vincent ironically
“no” said Lau “no, I don’t think so. But helping out you people. Trying to do something to end this… freak show we’ve been reduced to. Playing shows of dumb Americans to even dumber tourists isn’t just embarrassing its unbearable” he pressed his lips together and sighed “look, some day I’ll probably have kids. And I’m gonna have to explain their heritage to them. What do I say? That the USA is a puppet state occupied by foreign soldiers? That it’s a place that used to be the rolemodel for the world and its now just a glorified themepark?” he shook his head “I don’t think I can do that. I can’t just tell them I did nothing, because yeah, I’ll be honest. I don’t know if you got a chance in hell of ever succeeding. But I guess that’s not the point, is it? It’s better to die on your feet that live on your knees” he looked at the table suddenly embarrassed to have given the sort of speech he fast forwarded through in movies “I think I read that somewhere, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have the right…”
“no. you know what you are?” said Lina her face inscrutable “you’re a real American patriot. Could do with more like you” she looked around the bar “lot of folks here have just given up. Ready to take foreign lolcoin and don’t care what it costs the rest of us”
“I think you can help, you know” said Vincent “if you’re willing that is”
“you guys are risking your lives” said Lau “and I’m heading back to the airport tomorrow. Just tell me what I need to do” he gulped “you know, that ticket. I can cash it in. I can stay and fight…”
“dude” said Vincent, looking him in the eye “that’s a big commitment for sure. But we got fighters already. We got way bigger plans than that for you”
The next day dawned, wide and bright. Lau avoided the trip to the local survivalist bunker for the weapons display and instead met with Vincent on the edge of the reservation where the WIFI signal was strong enough and encrypted enough for Lau to set up access for Vincent to the accounts he held in Hong Kong.
“we got fighters coming out of our ears” Vincent had said back in the bar “every kid grows up wanting to be a freedom fighter and can’t get jobs. So unless you got PLA skills…” Lau shook his head “we don’t need more raw recruits, no offense”
“none taken” Lau responded
“but what we do need is contacts. We need people overseas to help our cause” Vincent had leaned in closer “and we need you to be running that. Funnelling cash and convincing anyone back your end that the struggle isn’t over”
“money” Lau had said, visions of himself like Jefferson in Paris (grandmother had shown him a documentary and forced him to watch it to the end) raising money and being the centre of the resistance overseas “now that is something I can do”
“I can come back” lau said as Vincent drove his ancient Tesla back to the reservation town “next year maybe. I can get army training like that” he snapped his fingers “PLA is always looking for people to sign up for cyberwar training. I can be your man on the inside, they’re begging for American speakers…”
“yeah, that might not be the best idea” said Vincent “we need you over there, but we can’t have too much contact over here. If you know what I mean. Too much of a risk”
“yeah” said Lau, nodding as he recalled guerrilla warfare lessons he’d had to learn about at school when they did the history of the revolution. Mao would never have triumphed if he hadn't been cunning “we have to be smart”
“see” said vincent, a broad grin on his face “I knew you were the right guy for the job” he looked at the tourists as they started to board the coach in the middle distance “jesus, would you look at these assholes?” he shook his head “you’re a better man than me. Don’t think I could stand to listen to them thinking they know who we are”
“I’ve had to listen to them all my life” said Lau, grabbing his bag as the car slowed “you learn to blank them out, after a while” he looked at Vincent “and, you know, knowing I’m doing something to change things. No matter how small”
“sure thing” said Vincent, and gave a secret little salute. Lau exited the vehicle and jogged slowly towards the coach. As he stepped up he gave one last look around the town, at the poor beaten down people he had sworn to help liberate. He nodded once to Vincent and then got on board the coach. A sense of resolution in his chest, a certainty that now his life had a direction. He didn’t look back at the town. He didn’t need to.
However had he looked back he would have seen, getting into the passenger seat of the tesla, the guide whom he so hated the day before.
“so, how much you get from him?”
“coupla thousand lolcoin now, he’s gonna wire through a monthly amount. Says he’s gonna raise it through his college campus”
“Shit, what con did you use this time?” asked the guide “no, lemme guess. The old ‘Join the resistance’ schtick, right? Got your pal Lina to help out?”
Vincent nodded
“showed him that fake video, right?” said the guide “one the Anderson kids put together for their school project?”
“still had to talk the guy round. Took me and Lina, like, two hours to lay the groundwork” Vincent looked annoyed “and it was me who spotted he had American heritage. Had to do a lot of improv stuff, you know?”
“sure, you’re an artist” said the guide with a laugh “you saving up for Bollywood auditions?”
“hell, we get more rubes like that thinking this is fucking Red Dawn then I can pay for business class to Mumbai” said Vincent bitterly “Jesus, at least the other foreigners you can satisfy with a cheeseburger or a handjob. They know what the score is and don’t give a fuck that its fake. These guys want to play the big Asian saviour like Li Mao or Tony Iskander in Bullets in the Bronx” he pulled out a Chinese cigarette from his pocket. He only smoked American for the tourists “Like we’re dumb enough to try and fight those occupation bastards after the rinsing we got last time. Guys like that think they’re doing us a favour by coming here”
“well, I guess they are” said the guide tartly as the coach vanished around the corner. There’d be another in an hour, filled with rubes ready to be rolled for their cash “cause instead of blowing that lolcoin on guns and killing we spend it on getting our kids educated so they don’t have to spend their lives on this fuckin rez shilling for dumbass tourists. For that I’d pretend to be Patrick Swayze”