Asian Classes Introduce Kids to Ancestors

In the beginning, they were four teachers and 30 children who gathered every week in a small, rented schoolroom.

These days, the clanging of a hand-held brass bell summons 1,000 youngsters, ages 5 to 18, to Sunday mornings at the Irvine Chinese School, which has mushroomed over the last 22 years into the largest Chinese cultural school in Southern California.

Spectacular as its growth has been, the school represents but a fraction of a tremendous movement by the region’s Asian Americans to swim against the tide of total assimilation and instill in their children an understanding of their ancestral culture and language.

Operating from rented schools and small church rooms, the sprawling network of ethnic schools has doubled in number as well as students during the last 10 years.

About 50,000 students attend 33 Japanese, 55 Vietnamese, 140 Chinese and 335 Korean schools spread from the San Gabriel Valley to San Diego every Saturday or Sunday.

And all of this is accomplished strictly by volunteers.

While Asian cultural schools were born before the turn of the century, the boom has been touched off by the surge in Asian immigration during the last 30 years, primarily from Taiwan, Korea and Vietnam. And it has been fed by the very success of these immigrants and their children in assimilating into mainstream culture.

Fueled primarily by first-generation fears that their children are losing touch with their ancestral roots, the schools are fast becoming a nationwide fixture.

“We all saw what was happening with our children, and we felt we needed to get involved,” said Peter Liu, former principal of Irvine Chinese School and now vice president of the National Council of the Associations of Chinese Language Schools. “If we sat back and did nothing, we would lose our second generation.”

Fundamental Reasons, Practical Benefits

Easier travel and global communication have made Asian American parents all the more eager to develop their children’s cultural literacy, so that they can communicate with grandparents and other relatives in their homeland in a society that places a high value on extended family.

The schools also are drawing a new population of older youths who see the practical benefits of bilingual and bicultural understanding in a world economy that increasingly focuses on the Pacific Rim.

So while their friends of other ethnicities head to soccer and Little League games, Asian American students by the tens of thousands are prodded each weekend into picking up their book bags and heading off to another day of school.

“[My children] have to go,” said Simon Jung, principal of the Nambu Korean School in Garden Grove and father of a fourth- and seventh-grader. “They have no choice. But every Saturday, they say ‘Why do we have to go to Korean school? Why do we have to go to school seven days a week [counting Sunday bible school]. We don’t have time to play.’ But I know that when they get older and go to university, they will say ‘Thank you’ to their parents. I’ve seen that.”

Nationally, an estimated 85,000 to 90,000 students attend Chinese schools alone--nearly a quarter of those in Southern California. Though nationwide statistics for the Korean and Vietnamese American communities were not available, anecdotal evidence suggests similar levels of participation. Not surprisingly, New York, California and Texas, the main ports of entry for Asian immigrants, are the epicenters for growth.

But the movement’s roots are embedded in California, home to the nation’s largest Asian American community. In Southern California alone, there are approximately 20,000 students attending Chinese schools, 20,000 at Korean schools, 8,000 in Vietnamese schools, and about 2,000 in Japanese schools.

The irony is not lost on Gregory Park, a founder of the first Korean American school in Orange County who has watched hundreds of cars drive up on weekend mornings to drop off children.

“So many of these first-generation parents went to English as a second language classes,” Park said. “Now, they are all bringing their children to Korean language class. Maybe it’s a sign of how far we have come.”

Historically, most immigrant groups have followed a similar story. The first generation of immigrants watches the second generation adapt too well to American culture, said Ronald Takaki, professor of ethnic studies at UC Berkeley.

Around the turn of the century, many European immigrants--Polish, Irish and Jewish--discovered that much of the culture they had brought to America was being abandoned by the second generation in its drive to be accepted by the new society. Not until the third generation was there an attempt to recover the Old World identity, Takaki said.

But for many years, Asian immigrants were slower to abandon their ethnic heritage, largely because the American mainstream made it hard for them to blend in. Most Asian immigrants weren’t even allowed to become U.S. citizens until 1952.

“In large part, the historical racism and exclusionism of mainstream society helped them preserve their ethnic identity,” Takaki said.

But the children of more recent Asian immigrants pick up American ways with a speed their parents find a little scary.

After two decades of living in the United States, Westminster attorney Trung Nguyen has watched the unmistakable Americanization of his children, ages 10 and 16.

With English their first language, Nguyen knows that Vietnam and its traditions are only stories they hear. But he wants them to know something of the homeland their parents left behind.

“I’d like them to know the language, know a little bit about their background, know where their grandparents came from. So that when they say, ‘I am Vietnamese American,’ they know what Vietnamese really means,” Nguyen said.

Professor Son Kim Vo, director of the Intercultural Development Center at Cal State Fullerton, believes Asian immigrants also are motivated to maintain their language because of the culture’s emphasis on close ties with extended family.

“In my [extended] family, we all speak Chinese, Mandarin. I don’t want [my son Wesley] to forget,” said Winnie Liu of Tustin Ranch. “Many friends of ours came here and spoke English only at home. They were afraid their children won’t learn otherwise, but I think that’s a mistake. Children learn so fast.”

From Calligraphy to Martial Arts

On a recent Sunday afternoon, instructions barked out on a megaphone call a crowd of children to order in the central courtyard of La Quinta High School in Westminster, where the Hong Bang Cultural Center holds classes.

Dressed in Hong Bang’s teal T-shirts, youngsters file into orderly rows by class level. As the national anthems of the United States and the former South Vietnam blare over a loudspeaker, the 450 students stand at attention as red, white and blue along with red and yellow fly overhead. It is the monthly flag ceremony, a ritual for schools in Vietnam.

As in most other schools, the format calls for two hours of instruction in reading, speaking and writing followed by an hour of cultural activity, which ranges from martial arts to brush painting to music lessons.

Afterward, in teacher Nam Dinh’s class, the students politely rise to greet a visitor before returning to the work at hand.

“Ruuuh, oooo, roooh, ruuuh, eee, reeeeh,” high-pitched voices chime, filling the classroom with sounds of rote pronunciation as they read from a textbook.

“Ru ri. Does anyone know what that means?” Dinh asks. “It means whisper, or speaking quietly to each other. Like when you don’t want Teacher Nam to hear something, you speak ru ri.”

He draws laughs from the class. Dinh routinely mixes Vietnamese with English, knowing that the majority of his class is far more fluent in the latter.

The curriculum at this school, like its counterparts, focuses on basics, but when possible, there is an emphasis on traditional customs and values. Books contain stories about several generations living together or New Year’s customs. Celebrations, complete with children’s performances, are staged for Tet and Harvest Moon festivals.

It’s a traditional vision of cultural schooling that has pushed the pace of growth to an astounding level.

While Irvine Chinese School is the largest of the 140 schools in the region, schools in San Marino and Cerritos are nearly as big with 900 and 800 students respectively. The Irvine school, on the University High School campus, offers one of the most extensive curricula, complete with 20 different cultural electives from martial arts to calligraphy.

Cultural associations run most of the Chinese schools in Southern California; in the Korean and Vietnamese communities, Buddhist temples and Catholic and Presbyterian churches take on much of the organizing role.

In Little Saigon, Schools Crop Up

A handful of schools operate independently, such as Garden Grove’s Nambu Korean School, created three years ago. Though fairly new on the scene, the school already has enrolled 150 to 200 students for the school year. Meanwhile, dozens of local Korean churches have held Saturday classes for the last decade, said Park, who serves as an advisor to the L.A.-based Korean Schools Assn.

Within the Vietnamese community--the newest immigrant group in Orange County--the popularity has skyrocketed, with schools being set up literally a few blocks from each other in Little Saigon.

The Hong Bang Cultural School, at La Quinta High School, has 450 students, double the number from three years ago. Just down the street, on McFadden Avenue, St. Barbara Catholic Church runs a school of 400, all children of Vietnamese parishioners. The Hai Quang Buddhist temple, in Westminster, has another 400 Vietnamese students.

Though fewer in number, Japanese schools have some of the richest history, with one school in Sacramento dating back 100 years, said Charles Igawa, president of the L.A.-based California Assn. of Japanese Language Schools. Half of the 85 schools statewide were created after World War II.

But now Igawa notices a renewed interest in the schools from third- and fourth-generation parents, known as sansei and yonsei.

“I think many sansei and yonsei are very aware that they grew up devoid of the language and customs. Now they have an opportunity to provide that to their children,” Igawa said.

Volunteers keep costs low, making the schools even more attractive to families. In cases where tuition is charged--anywhere from $30 to $240 a year--it goes for maintenance, school materials, or rental of the site.

“Even when I was principal, my husband was the custodian. We all did everything,” said Terry Lee, who remained a volunteer at Irvine Chinese School long after her children, now 27 and 25, had gone on to college. “Parental involvement is essential to making this work.”

In addition to the participation of parents, the schools draw volunteers with illustrious credentials, such as Leo Lee, a UC Irvine instructor of English as a second language. Lee has spent the last five years teaching the advanced class for high school students at Irvine Chinese School.

He combines classical Chinese literature and Taoist philosophy with Chinese poetry, all delivered via funny anecdotes and interesting historical stories.

“I don’t want my students sitting there seriously doing academic work all the time. Most of the kids, to be honest, don’t want to be here. Their parents want them to be there.”

He is right, admits Sophia Liou, 14, a freshman from Foothill Ranch who has attended for seven years.

“Sometimes I resent it, like when it’s vacation and you still have homework for Chinese school. You want to relax but you can’t,” she said. “I’d like to quit but my parents keep making me come.”

Some Older Students Choose to Be There

But for every Liou, there is a student like Rose Bae, who wishes her parents had pushed her to go to language class. At 19, the Cal State Long Beach sophomore is among the newer students at Nambu Korean School, and the one struggling to keep up with her 6- and 7-year-old classmates.

“I’m the oldest by far,” she says with a laughing grimace. “It can be very frustrating. I feel very behind.”

Bae, a native of Long Beach, says she grew up speaking Korean to her family but didn’t know how to read and write. During high school, Bae felt the initial stirrings of curiosity about her roots. By the time she reached college, she decided, with her parents’ encouragement, to join a Korean school.

She enrolled in classes last semester, and asked to be placed in the most basic level, with first- and second-graders, because she wanted to learn the fundamentals.

“It’s hard being in between cultures, trying to reconcile the two, but it’s worth it,” said the English major. “I think a lot of people born here try to deny their heritage. I think they’re missing out.”

Asian American youth are finding a practical side to the education as well.

“I’ve been to Taipei and Hong Kong. I was really glad I knew Chinese, enough to order food and stuff,” said Bryan Cheng, 14, of Irvine, a student at Irvine Chinese School for eight years. He plans to stay until graduation. “You’re capable of being independent. In the future, it’s good to know if I go to Asia for business,”

Perhaps most importantly, the schools plant a seed of interest in children’s minds that is bound to grow, says Liu, the vice president of the National Council of Associations of Chinese Language Schools.

“My eldest daughter went from kindergarten till she finished high school,” Liu said. “Like many children, she felt at times, ‘I’m not Chinese, I’m American.’ She felt a lot of resentment. But now, the Chinese part is so deep inside of her.

“She is taking Chinese history and art at Berkeley and she loves it,” he said gleefully. “I have to laugh.”