Vincent Who?

Tony Lam (www.tonylamfilms.com) is a freelance producer, independent filmmaker and screenwriter, who lives in Los Angeles, California.

Tony produces OUR ROLE MODELS for LA18, the largest Asian language TV station in the United States. OUR ROLE MODELS, sponsored by McDonalds and Toyota, features outstanding and talented Asians and Asian Americans who have made an important difference in the community and beyond. Through the program, Tony interviews the crème de la crème in the Asian community.

In 2006 and 2007, Tony served on the Mayor’s Steering Committee for Asian Pacific Islander American Heritage Month (APAHM), and produced two APAHM public service announcements with Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa.

Tony has written, directed, and produced two short films, Birthday Party and DING DONG. He has also worked on numerous short film and digital video projects, including producing the action short, SAFE, and the comedy, 10,000 APOLOGIES TO MY ANCESTORS. The first screenplay Tony ever wrote, PABLO NERUDA LEMONS, won the Finalist Award at the Moondance International Film Festival, one of the premiere festivals for screenwriting.

After graduating valedictorian of his high school, Tony went on to study literature and history at Georgetown University, where he graduated magna cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa with honors in both majors. Tony also has two Masters degrees from Yale and the University of Michigan. He has received over a dozen merit scholarships and awards, including a full-tuition scholarship at Yale, the Andrew W. Mellon Fellowship, and the Foreign Language and Area Studies Fellowship (a rare three-time recipient in three separate languages).

Tony loves to travel and discover new adventures, whether it’s swimming with 400 wild dolphins off the coast of New Zealand, hitchhiking in the hill towns of Tuscany, or touring Japan during the lovely cherry blossom season. He has visited many countries—nearly 200 cities, towns, and villages in the world. Most notably, he spent three years in Hong Kong on the internationally prestigious Fulbright Scholarship, and one year in Taiwan on scholarship from the Republic of China Ministry of Education. Less notable but no less memorable, Tony fondly recalls his last day backpacking through Europe. He had completely run out of money and had no place to stay in Paris, so he spent the night under the glorious Eiffel Tower.

In 1997, Tony’s life became the subject of a documentary called MOVING POPULATION: New Gold Mountain, produced by Radio Television Hong Kong (RTHK), filmed in three countries, and broadcast primetime in Hong Kong, Southern China, and Macau. This experience gave Tony his first exposure to the fascinating craft of filmmaking.

Professionally, Tony has a self-taught background in technology, serving as Systems Administrator at Deloitte & Touche, where he led the tactical overhaul of all computer hardware, software, and network systems. He also served as Manager of the Multimedia Technology Lab at the University of Michigan. In 1999, he packed up his car on a whim, a wing and a prayer, and drove across the country from Florida to California to partake in the “Wild West” days of the Internet Boom. Starting out initially with no prospects, Tony eventually landed a job as a research analyst at Quisic, an e-learning company, where he was soon promoted to Project Manager. In 2001, Tony decided to try his own hand as an internet entrepreneur, starting and operating his own online marketing business.

A few years later, Tony reached a point in his life where he did some deep soul-searching, asking himself what profession would make him truly happy and fulfilled. As part of that soul-searching process, Tony came across an interview with the great Hollywood film editor, Walter Murch. Murch said that one’s chances for happiness are increased if they end up doing something that reflected what they loved most when they were somewhere between 9 and 11 years old. And when Tony looked back to when he was between 9 and 11 years old, he had an epiphany, for that was precisely the most creative and imaginative period of his life, when he was blissfully immersed in a world of storytelling. Tony then made his next big leap of faith, dropping everything in his life to pursue a full-time career in film and media, and in essence, returning to his childhood passion for telling stories.

As a child, Tony’s parents could not afford him the luxury of many toys, so Tony amused himself by constantly writing short stories and plays, making comic books, and creating character-driven fantasy worlds with his brother that existed only in their shared imaginations. So while Tony grew up in a family of modest means, he rarely felt deprived, because his restless imagination kept him richly entertained. Moreover, his parents gave him gifts worth far more than toys. From his parents, Tony inherited a narrative universe.

Often at the evening dinner table, amidst steaming bowls of rice, Tony would listen to his father recite countless classical poems from memory or tell riveting stories that lasted well past dessert. His father depicted episodes from the Chinese classic, THE Romance of the Three Kingdoms, so vividly Tony could see the heroic battles raging. At other times, his father recounted his own “Indiana Jones” adventures through the turbulent, war-torn decades of twentieth century China, such as the time when sea pirates attacked the steamer he was on, and he stuffed his valuables into a banana to prevent them from being taken.

Tony’s mother had her own stories to tell. She would recollect her coming of age during the first Communist decade in China—the initial excitement, the endless campaigns, and the pain of watching her proud father forced to sweep the streets. And she would recall her determined and harrowing escape to Hong Kong, hidden under the planks of a fishing boat. This environment of constant storytelling formed the webwork of Tony’s young life and fueled his imagination.

Tony hopes to bring all these diverse life experiences to bear on his work as a filmmaker and screenwriter.

Director’s Statement

In June 1982, Vincent Chin, a Chinese American man, was beaten to death with a baseball bat by two white autoworkers in Detroit, who blamed the Japanese for the layoffs in the U.S. auto industry. As one of the men said to Chin, “It’s because of you little mother-f*ckers that we’re out of work.” But the tragedy did not end with Vincent Chin’s murder, because the judge in the case let off the killers with a $3,000 fine, 3 years probation, and no jail time.

I’m an Asian American, but I did not know who Vincent Chin was until 24 years after his death.

For me, growing up was a mixed cultural experience. I was raised in a traditional Chinese family, I lived in a Hispanic community where nearly all my friends and neighbors were Hispanic, and I received an American education at school. Beyond relatives who were much older than me, I did not know any Asian Americans.

In elementary school, my teachers nurtured my American identity with stories from the American Revolution: the Boston Tea Party—“no taxation without representation”; Lexington and Concord—“the shot heard round the world”; the signing of the Declaration of Independence—“we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal”; the midnight ride of Paul Revere—”the British are coming!”; Patrick Henry’s speech, “Give me liberty or give me death!”; John Paul Jones’ refusal to surrender, “I have not yet begun to fight!”; and George Washington’s crossing of the Delaware on Christmas night. These uniquely American stories were ingrained in me from an early age. Indeed, I recall one special day in the second grade when my classmates and I came to school dressed up as our favorite character from the American Revolution. On that occasion, I happened to win a prize for capturing the costume and spirit of George Washington. I remember I went home giddy that day, a proud American.

At home, my father instilled pride in my Chinese heritage by regaling me with tales of famous figures from Chinese history and literature. Above all, my father sang the praises of Sun Yat-sen, the “Father of Modern China.” As a revolutionary and president of China’s first Republic, Sun Yat-sen was my father’s hero, a man who made my dad proud to be Chinese. And the fact that Sun Yat-sen happened to herald from my father’s own hometown only made him prouder. My dad would explain, “Sun Yat-sen is the George Washington of China.”

In the Cuban community of Little Havana where I lived, the name of José Martí was as familiar to me as George Washington and Sun Yat-sen. As a leader of the Cuban independence movement from Spain and a renowned poet and writer, José Martí is considered the “Father of Cuba” and the greatest hero of the Cuban people. While the memory of José Martí did not factor into my own emerging sense of identity, I observed how pervasive his presence was in the collective consciousness of the Cuban exile community in Miami. The name of José Martí was impressed indelibly upon the mind of every Cuban child.

What George Washington, Sun Yat-sen, and José Martí share in common is that they are unifying figures. George Washington is beloved by Americans of all persuasions. Sun Yat-sen is that rare personality in modern Chinese history that is revered by Chinese both in the People’s Republic of China and in Taiwan. And whether you’re a Cuban living in Cuba or among the Cuban expatriate community in the United States, you honor José Martí. The stories of these individuals are told from generation to generation, precisely because of their unique power to unify people under a common identity.

As I matured, I came to identify “Asian American” as the identity that best embodies who I am as a person, but not without some measure of disquietude. When I looked around me, I saw that my Cuban friends and neighbors had the story of José Martí, my parents had the story of Sun Yat-sen, and all Americans had the story of George Washington. But as an Asian American, what story did I have?

When I observed other minorities in America, I wondered to myself: If I went into the African American community and asked someone to name one of their civil rights heroes, I’d hear the names Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, Malcolm X, and Jesse Jackson. If I went into the Hispanic community and asked the same question, I’d hear the name Cesar Chavez. But if I went into the Asian American community and asked that question, would I be able to get a name? Where were my civil rights icons?

In 2006, several years after moving to L.A., I began producing a television project called Our Role Models, which spotlights outstanding Asian Americans. I took to this project with an intense fervor and deep sense of mission, because I wanted to find and feature Asian American “heroes,” heroes I wished I had growing up. On one occasion, I was interviewing Nhung Truong, a District Representative for California Congressman Adam Schiff. I asked Nhung what motivated her into politics and community activism, and she replied, “Vincent Chin.” She told me how she came across a “V. Chin” T-shirt at a local festival, and upon inquiry, the woman at the T-shirt booth told her the story of Vincent Chin. The story moved her so deeply that it changed the course of her life, compelling her to seek political empowerment for Asian Americans. Nhung’s story sparked my curiosity, and started me on my own exploration of Vincent Chin.

About a year later, in a confluence of serendipity, Catherine Park—one of the “Inner Circle” of the Asian pop culture magazine, Giant Robot, and another “hero” I had met through Our Role Models—suggested my name to Curtis Chin, a leading activist in the Asian American community. Curtis was spearheading a national town hall in 14 cities around the country to commemorate the 25th anniversary of Vincent Chin’s death. He asked me if I would put together a compilation video highlighting the various town halls. But because of what I had by then learned about Vincent Chin, I proposed making a documentary instead, one that would feature Asian Americans sharing the story and legacy of Vincent Chin in their own words, in the same way that I had first heard about Vincent Chin from Nhung Truong, in her own words.

As an Asian American, I regret not knowing about Vincent Chin earlier in my life, because once I learned the full story and legacy of Vincent Chin, I realized I had finally found my “Asian American story.” When people of different Asian ancestry stood up and united across ethnic and socioeconomic lines to protest the racial injustice done to Vincent Chin, Asians in America became “Asian Americans.” Before Vincent Chin, the term “Asian American” resided in the halls of academia and on college campuses, but after Vincent Chin, the term “Asian American” spread into the streets and became a real identity that Asian people in America could call their own. Thus, Vincent Chin is the founding story of “Asian Americans.”

An unintended martyr, Vincent Chin is nonetheless a singular figure in Asian American history. He brought Asians of diverse ethnic backgrounds together, for the first time, to struggle for the common good of all Asian people in America. If we, Asian Americans, are to build upon that powerful unifying legacy, we need to coalesce around a shared history and develop our own unique oral tradition. We can start by telling the story of Vincent Chin in our homes, in our schools, and in our communities. We can start by celebrating our civil rights heroes, like Lily Chin (Vincent’s mother), Helen Zia, and Stewart Kwoh, who stood up defiantly against the system that had denied the humanity of Vincent Chin, and by extension, all Asian Americans. Their courageous efforts inspired a pan-Asian American movement and led to the historic expansion of civil rights protection in America to include immigrants and people of Asian ancestry.

I made VINCENT WHO? for the vast majority of people out there like me, who in spite of Vincent Chin’s monumental significance in the Asian American experience, have little or no knowledge of him. Through this film, I want to introduce Vincent Chin to generations too young to remember him and to rekindle his memory for generations who have since forgotten him. By reigniting interest in Vincent Chin, I hope to contribute toward the day when “Vincent Chin” becomes a household name among Asian Americans, and the names of individuals like Lily Chin, Helen Zia, and Stewart Kwoh stand among this country’s pantheon of civil rights leaders.

VINCENT WHO? is admittedly a humble documentary, a modest tribute to the towering legacy of Vincent Chin and all who have fought for racial equality, justice, and progress for Asian Americans. But what the film lacks in production value, I hope it makes up for in heart. I made VINCENT WHO? as a pure labor of love, accomplished without a budget and without a crew, and working in whatever spare time I could muster. I take comfort, however, in that a simple “V. Chin” T-shirt changed Nhung Truong’s life, and in turn, Nhung’s story of Vincent Chin has changed mine. I believe that if I tell the story and legacy of Vincent Chin with humility and honesty, his story will do the rest.And to those who come away from this documentary with the desire to make a difference, I’d simply impart four words:
Just tell the story…