Amber Field explores race, gender and adoption in Jagadamba, Mother of the Universe

March 29, 11:23 PMLA Asian American Movie ExaminerEd Moy

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Amber Field on stage playing didgeridoo

In Amber Field's documentary short film Jagadamba, Mother of the Universe (2008, 10 min), she invites viewers into her life as a queer transracial (Korean) adoptee who grew up in Korea, Nepal, and Liberia and then moved to Illinois when she was 12-years-old.

The film explores her childhood growing up in the Midwest, adoption, race, sexuality, and her life-long healing journey through music. 

Through photographs, interviews and live musical performances throughout the film, audiences share in her self-discovery and transformation.

Jagadamba, Mother of the Universe will screen at the San Francisco International Women's Film Festival Saturday April 4 at 5pm (Women's Building, 3543 18th St. #8) and also at the United States of Asian American Festival May 9th at 7pm (Somarts, 934 Brannan Street).

What inspired you to make Jagadamba, Mother of the Universe?

I have struggled with many questions of identity in my life, and making the movie was a way to make sense of myself, my experiences, the places and people that shaped me. I am a Korean transracial adoptee, and have lived in many places all over the world. I wanted to tell my story, and release some of the painful experiences that I have held silent for many years. I wanted to share my story of coming through struggle (racism, homophobia, among others) and finding some acceptance, peace, community, and love. I hoped that some people could relate to my story even if it's not specifically their own, and feel that they're not alone in the world. I also hoped that other people would get a greater understanding of some of the struggles that people different from them experience.

How has music helped in your healing journey?

Music is a way for me to express experiences that otherwise I stored inside. These experiences ate away at me, and through music I have been able to release through sound and words. In the early stages of my music, the predominant emotions were those of anger, frustration, and being tortured about being queer since I lived in very conservative, homophobic places and also grew up with religious beliefs that defined homosexuality as shameful and wrong. My adoptive mother threw me out of the family when I was twenty for a long list of reasons, which stemmed from my inner turmoil about being queer. Music was a very primal, emotional experience for me, and I got to release all this pain and rage I had. Eventually, music became a way to express the emotions underneath the anger: sadness, primarily. And as I've continued to play music, and release layer after layer, it's a process of expressing love, beauty, celebration, joy, peace in addition to feelings of sadness and pain. So, I continually heal through my music, and I can look back at the music at certain stages of my life and see where I was emotionally, and see what I was trying to work through. 

The film explores your teen years growing up in the Midwest. How did those experiences affect you?

My teen years were really hard in the Midwest. I was adopted (in Korea) by a white American woman and also had an older adopted Taiwanese sister. My mother was a secretary for the US foreign service, and we lived abroad. I went to international schools in Nepal and Liberia and was surrounded by kids from different cultures. An attempted coup in Liberia sent my sister and me to live with my grandmother in southern Illinois when I was eleven years old. It was a very white area (90%) with the remaining population of African Americans. I experienced severe culture shock moving back. Also, most of the people in that area had never been exposed to people of different races/cultures, so some people treated me like a foreigner. I felt very much like an outsider, and I hated this feeling. People would make karate moves at me or spit on me or call me names, and these experiences were so shaming for me, that I would wish I could disappear. I never talked about them to my sister or my mom, and just held them inside. They were too painful and shaming, so instead I just tried to be white, and convinced myself that I was white like everyone around me. This was also a hard time because it was adolescence, and I did not fit into gender norms. I felt tremendous pressure to conform from both my mother and schoolmates, and felt harassed and unaccepted for who I was. These experiences I didn't really share either, but stored inside. I had no idea I was queer growing up. It was a very conservative, homophobic, military area, and even if I had any clue, I'm sure I would have suppressed it. Looking back the signs were there, but I was not conscious of being attracted to women. Basically, I swallowed most of these difficult experiences in the Midwest, and felt ashamed being different. Once I left the Midwest I had an awakening about being Asian, queer, and gender queer.

Amber Field performing

As an Asian adopted by Caucasian parents, did you find assimilating into American culture to be easier or difficult?

This is a difficult question. When I lived in the Midwest, I was aware that I was a "foreigner" or "outsider." People would stare at me, ask me strange questions, and generally give me energy that made me know that I was not from there. In this way, I felt like an alien in the Midwest, and that is why I probably tried so hard to believe I was like everyone else (ie, white) because it was so painful treated like an alien all the time. I tried my best to assimilate, and did a pretty good job of it in school by being an overachiever and friendly to everyone. Leaving the Midwest and going to places with more Asian Americans was a relief in that I did not feel like a "foreigner" anymore, but like an "American." Here I felt like it was easier to assimilate. But then I had all these inadequacy issues of not being authentically Asian enough, because I didn't speak Korean, or have Korean parents, or grow up with Korean culture. But growing up with my white mother and in white societies has made me very aware of how certain white people view the world. In that sense, I understand white culture (not like there is just one, but a certain white culture). I am generally comfortable around white people, having grown up around them, and I know how to navigate white reality. In that sense, growing up with my white family has made it easy for me to assimilate into white American culture. I also grew up with white values, and a (white) sense that racism doesn't exist, so I have always believed I can achieve what I want in the world. It's strange because people see me as Asian, and have all these stereotypes about Asian bodies and Asian people and treat me accordingly, but my mind has been indoctrinated by white ways of viewing the world. This disjunct is a fascinating part of my mixed-race identity for me. So on the one hand I have white values that say that racism should not impact me (since I am seen by my adoptive mother as raceless, or like her: ie, white) but then I experience racism. I was not prepared by my adoptive family to deal with the reality of race, so in that sense I held my experiences of racism alone, in shame, instead of going to my family and finding coping strategies or an understanding ear. When I finally had my awakening about my Asian identity, I had a lot of rage since I had viewed myself (and been taught to view myself by my family) as white. 

What are your thoughts on Americans such as Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie adopting orphans from overseas?

This is a really tricky conversation because there are many socioeconomic and political reasons why birth parents give up their children for adoption. There are also factors such a racism and sexism. Often, girl babies (in Asian cultures) are given up for adoption. Let's face it: transnational and transracial adoption usually consists of white Europeans or Americans adopting brown-skinned babies. You don't see African families adopting white children. People in the non-Western world are also inundated with racist, colonialist messages that the West is best and will be a better place for their children. I would prefer that societies change some of the underlying reasons that people feel compelled to give up their children for adoption. But working within the realities that there are children who need to be adopted, my first preference is for people of the same race or culture to do the adopting. Here, parents would be able to maintain the cultural connection/link and also be sensitive to what their children will likely experience in terms of race. The next best scenario would be of parents adopting children of different races/cultures as long as these parents are willing to do the work around race/culture. Too often, when white people adopt children of different races, this is seen as exotic or noble or rescuing. The babies seem like dolls, not real human beings who come from cultures that they will be losing. It seems strange to me for white people to adopt babies from different races or cultures if they don't have people in their own lives from their adopted babies' races/cultures. It seems exoticizing. A loving home is a loving home, but some loving homes have parents with more tools/knowledge/skills to deal with issues of race and diversity. In that sense, I worry a little about the media fetish of white do-gooders saving foreign orphans and putting them in the promised lands of western civilization. There are so many colonialist, racist pitfalls that adoptive parents need to be aware of. That said, if adoptive parents have awareness of these issues and want to open their homes to orphans, it's beautiful. In our current reality, orphans need homes. But let's see if we can work on some of the underlying reasons we have so many orphans in the world.

As a gay/lesbian filmmakers, your film delves into your own sexuality. Was that something you struggled with growing up in the Midwest?

I have struggled with sexuality my whole life, not just in the Midwest. I grew up believing religious ideas that made me sinful and shameful for being gay. I lived in conservative, homophobic environments (the Midwest, India, Korea) where I felt unsafe being out. I felt like I needed to closet myself for fear of harassment, discrimination, and ostracism. I have felt enormous pressure to be heterosexual from religion, family, and society. This has lead to years of emotional turmoil and depression, verging on suicide. Unfortunately, this is not my isolated experience, but the experience of many queer people around the world. My film is my attempt to illuminate my struggle, show other queer people that they are not alone, and be a courageous voice that is out and proud. Luckily, I am able to live in a place like San Francisco where I finally feel safe and accepted to be who I am. Most queer people are not so lucky, and have to live in their highly homophobic environments. In my film, I also want to show how hurtful homophobia is in that many queer kids (including myself) were kicked out of their families for being queer. And then we wonder why these kids often have high rates of self destructive behavior. They don't have support, they are not accepted, they are cut out of their families. This was incredibly painful for me to deal with, and luckily I have come through. Some queer youth are not so fortunate. 

With the film being screened around the country, what has the response been from friends, family and audiences?

The film has gotten a lot of positive feedback. Some white people don't like to think about race, believe that racism only means blatant hateful actions like lynching, or believe that racism doesn't exist anymore. These people don't understand my film or have difficulties relating to it. But otherwise, the response has been overwhelmingly positive, and people of color especially like that I address the inherent racism in transracial adoption. Queer people also identify with my story. My mother and I have not discussed her reaction to my film, and I believe she is going to have some very negative reactions to it. Hopefully, we will be able to work through and communicate through the issues that come up for her. My sister told me it's brave that I made the film, but that is the extent to which we've talked about it. She and I are both transracial adoptees and have had very different experiences and perspectives. This is a loaded, uncomfortable topic for both of us. 

Is there a message that you would like audiences to come away with after watching your film?

I want audiences to reflect on the power of accepting individuals who are different from them. I want all people to love and accept themselves. I want people to take away the messages of acceptance, community, healing, and transformation. I want people to be brave and share their own stories, and see the liberating effects of breaking the silence. Of no longer keeping secrets. 

What's next for you as a musician and filmmaker?

I am working on my album 22 Meridian Village in 2009. It is a project with soulful, bluesy vocals and different global beats and instruments. I sing on it, and play Indian percussion and strings, as well Latin and African percussion. The songs are those of justice, love, healing, celebration. There is a wide emotional palette covered on it and many different sounds. It's my third album, and one that will be pushing myself to go places I've never been. To take my voice places it's never been, and come up with beauty and power I've not experienced or shared before. It's a huge creative leap for me, because I am very mindful of what messages/emotions I am putting out, and want to be vulnerable and real about where I am now. As a filmmaker, I am in the process of submitting "Jagadamba, Mother of the Universe" to more film festivals this year and next. I am also distributing and marketing it to different organizations and universities. Next year, I hope to start on another documentary project. I'm not sure what it will be, but something with an eye for social justice. But first I must finish my album.