Review: Sinners

Released in theaters on April 18th, 2025, Sinners has since captivated the minds of many, including myself. I admire director Ryan Coogler’s fervor for filmmaking, and his passion shines through in all of his past projects. After watching his work with the Black Panther movies, I knew Sinners would be an excellent watch and was excited to see a new perspective on racial dynamics in American society. The film’s overall spirit and spotlight on the Chinese community in the Mississippi Delta ultimately led me to write about the Chow family’s role in Sinners.

Set in the Mississippi Delta during the 1930s, Sinners follows a story of racial tensions, morality, and sacrifice. The film begins with its protagonists, the SmokeStack twins (both played by Michael B. Jordan), as they return to their hometown in Mississippi to fulfill their wish of opening a juke joint. Along with their cousin Sammie (Miles Caton), the twins recruit help and entertainment for their big opening night. Of the many they approach, they enlist the help of Bo and Grace Chow (Yao and Li Jun Li), a Chinese couple who own two grocery stores in town. As night falls, the juke joint proves to be a flourishing haven for the Black community to gather and socialize, away from the regular white-dominated spaces. Guests dance the night away to Sammie’s vocals that are powerful enough to warp time and space. Unfortunately, the party draws the attention of evil beings lingering in the night, turning their perfect night into one of pure horror. 


Coogler, R. (Director). (2025). Sinners [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

Sinners represents the Chinese community in the Mississippi Delta through the Chow family. In the film, Bo, Grace, and their daughter, Lisa (Helena Hu), run two grocery stores. The stores are a mere five-minute walk from each other, serving the white and Black communities separately. Coogler introduces the Chow family‘s place in the community through Grace’s quick walk from one store to the other. This visual is undoubtedly purposeful, as it depicts the racial limbo in which Asian Americans existed. In a society so heavily divided between Black and white, Asian Americans were not fully accepted or rejected by either side of the racial binary. As a result, they learned to make ends meet by making strides in any way this racial binary allowed, which often meant catering to both sides. This visual evolves later in the film, of course, with Coogler showing both Black and Chinese cultures being celebrated in the juke joint.

Coogler, R. (Director). (2025). Sinners [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

At the climax of the twins’ party, Coogler illustrates that the power of music can not only transcend time but also bring together cultures. As Sammie sings, Black dancers swirl onscreen, and once Bo and Grace start dancing, two Chinese dancers appear alongside them. These dancers represent and celebrate their respective cultures, and their peaceful coexistence signifies that the juke joint is a safe place for cultural expression and mixing. This visual is especially significant considering the history of Black and Asian solidarity in the U.S. Of course, social constructs like the model minority myth (implemented so that Black and Asian communities turn against each other instead of against oppressive systems) often challenge and overshadow moments of solidarity. As we can see from the collaboration of college student organizations in The Third World Liberation Front, as well as more recent examples, the unity in the Black Lives Matter and Stop Asian Hate movements, marginalized groups have supported each other against a larger oppressor and are more effective together than apart. Consequently, not only does Sinners remind its audience of the long history of Black-Asian solidarity, but the vibrancy of Black and Chinese dancers joined in celebration in the juke joint also reflects the perseverance and unity of marginalized groups in America despite oppressive forces against them.

Coogler, R. (Director). (2025). Sinners [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

As the night grows darker, Grace becomes the catalyst for a major fight between the humans and the vampires. Up until this point, Grace had to actively reject the taunts of Remmick (Jack O’Connell), the main villain of the film, and the vampire version of her husband. They try their best to convince Grace to follow them into vampirism, manipulating her longing to be with Bo. After being verbally harassed in her native language by Remmick, Grace accepts her husband’s unfortunate fate and allows the physical and metaphorical door to shut between them. Supported by her fellow survivors in the juke joint, Grace’s resilience and refusal to comply refreshingly subvert the submissive stereotype that so many Asian women are subjected to. 

Though many may disagree, Grace further demonstrates her strength and agency by later allowing the vampires into the juke joint. Moments before she says those magic words, Grace thinks of her daughter left behind at the store. As long as vampire Bo and the other vampires are alive, Lisa is in danger. On her own terms and determined to do whatever it takes to ensure her daughter’s safety, Grace prioritizes her family’s preservation by eliminating the threat that vampire Bo poses. Familial protection is a common theme in Asian communities, especially within the diaspora. Moving from a land of shared culture to a foreign land with significant racial tensions is daunting and demands support. Families can function as a built-in support system while living in a white majority society. Not to mention, a growing family in the United States overcoming its obstacles is an indicator of American prosperity. Grace’s sacrifice guarantees that her family legacy in the Mississippi Delta continues through Lisa. Grace’s battle cry and sacrifice dismantle the submissive Asian woman stereotype and highlight the value of family preservation in Asian American communities.

Coogler, R. (Director). (2025). Sinners [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

Before Smoke gets his revenge, he recounts the events leading up to the juke joint’s big opening. He remembers some of his last moments with his friends and family as they set up for a seemingly perfect night. Although her appearance is very brief, Grace’s costume immediately caught my eye: a denim jumpsuit, with her hair in an updo tied back by a red bandana. The outfit of the American cultural icon Rosie the Riveter, the exemplar of the average American woman. Although this movie is set years before World War II, when the image of Rosie the Riveter first appeared, a majority of its audience would undoubtedly recognize Grace’s costume. Consequently, this fleeting yet powerful image breaks the perpetual foreigner stereotype often placed on Asian Americans and challenges the idea of what a true American looks like.

Coogler, R. (Director). (2025). Sinners [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the amount of work and research that went into producing this film, and judging by its remarkable success and praise on the internet, I am not the only one. I’ve watched it twice so far and am more than willing to watch it again. I appreciate Ryan Coogler’s attention to detail in composing this story, which allows me to spot something new in each watch. I always find it especially powerful when a film can evoke multiple powerful emotions throughout the two hours we are together. There is joy, grief, comedy, and overall a lot of heart in this film, easily making it a favorite of mine. 

The film’s soundtrack plays a significant role in the harmonious composition of emotion and movement in a scene, which further draws audiences into the world of Sinners. I find it highly captivating how Coogler deliberately characterizes music, specifically the blues, in Sinners to have otherworldly properties that bring together time and space. In doing so, the blues serves as a totem for Black culture that is constantly sought after by outsiders, an issue that still remains today. Blues music in Sinners demonstrates the timelessness and resilience of creativity and spirit in the Black community. The scene where Sammie sings “I Lied to You” is especially stunning, as audiences do not often see grand celebrations of Black and Chinese culture, and this is the perfect visual to give the audience before the conflict begins.


Coogler, R. (Director). (2025). Sinners [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

I also appreciate Coogler’s initiative to hire a cultural consultant to ensure that the Chows’ story and the spirit of the Mississippi Delta Chinese community are accurately portrayed on screen. It is so easy to gloss over this piece of history or exclude it altogether, but implementing the Chows adds so much nuance to the racial social politics in Sinners and 1930s America. The inclusion of the Chows’ story gives value to not only Asian American representation in media but also the range of Asian American experiences. Sinners also sheds light on the often unheard-of Mississippi Delta Chinese community to a wider range of audience members, including myself. Sinners is a must-watch film, crafted with so much heart and thought; I’m glad it’s getting the recognition it deserves.

Written by Kristi Viray, 2025 Summer Intern, William & Mary ’24

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Review: Unassimilable by Bianca Mabute-Louie

How do Asians in the United States create a sense of belonging and liberation in a nation structured by white supremacy, colonialism, and anti-Black violence? Sociologist, educator, and activist Bianca Mabute-Louie explores this central question in her powerful memoir-manifesto, Unassimilable: An Asian Diasporic Manifesto for the Twenty-First Century. Combining her personal narratives and sociological inquiry, Mabute-Louie introduces “unassimilability” not as a deficit, but as a political and cultural stance—a refusal to conform to the demands of the American empire and a call to build alternative forms of belonging rooted in solidarity, justice, and care. She advocates for the term “Asian Diaspora” over “Asian American” to reflect the global and historical complexities of migration, and to shift away from U.S.-centric narratives of identity. Framed as both a memoir and a manifesto, the book interweaves Mabute-Louie’s life experiences with deep reflections on race, religion, gender, queerness, and imperialism, ultimately offering a bold and radical vision to build collective belonging alongside and among each other.

The structure of the book is chronological, tracing the author’s life from her childhood through adulthood as an individual from the Chinese/Asian diaspora who has lived in the United States. Each of the eight chapters explores a facet of diasporic life—assimilation, racialization, anti-Blackness, religion, gender, mental health, education, and migration—through both personal and collective lenses. In the first chapter, Mabute-Louie unpacks the historical concept and label of Asians as “unassimilable” and reclaims the term as a marker of resistance against assimilation in an anti-Black, colonial nation-state. The second chapter examines two common stereotypes of Asian Americans as perpetual foreigners and model minorities, and how these narratives restrict individual agency among the Asian Diaspora and reinforce white supremacy. Chapter three directly tackles anti-Blackness within Asian communities and calls for cross-racial solidarity in achieving collective liberation from empire and colonialism, encouraging the Asian Diaspora to see the struggles of other communities of color as inseparable from their own.

Subsequent chapters challenge dominant frameworks around religion, gender, and mental health. Chapter four critiques the role of Christianity in upholding colonial power, while also acknowledging its potential as a site for decolonial resistance and spiritual reimagination among Asian diasporic communities in the US. In the next chapter, Mabute-Louie highlights the experiences of queer, femme, and gender-nonconforming Asians in the Diaspora, questioning heteropatriarchal norms both within families and broader diasporic institutions. In chapter six, she later discusses intergenerational trauma, war, and silence within Asian immigrant households, reframing mental health not as an individual failure but as a collective opportunity for healing. The seventh chapter underscores the transformative potential of ethnic studies and storytelling as tools for empowerment and raising consciousness. In the final chapter, Mabute- Louie places Asian diasporic struggles within the broader global context of U.S. militarism, refugee resettlement, and settler colonialism, and critiques narratives that erase the violent histories behind migration and refugee resettlement.

Unassimilable is especially relevant to the Asian American community for its refusal to separate Asian American identity from colonialism and US empire and local complicity with white supremacy. Rather than simply celebrating cultural difference or assimilation, Mabute-Louie calls for a more radical transformation: one that requires deep interrogation of racial privilege, anti-Blackness, and settler complicity within the Asian Diaspora. Her concept of “relational liberation”—a framework grounded in truth-telling, mutual care, and intersectional
and interracial solidarity alongside one another —pushes readers to reimagine community beyond the bounds of nationalism, capitalism, or cultural pride. The book makes a significant contribution to Asian American scholarship and literature by expanding the scope of what Asian
identity can mean and what it must confront, offering an urgent intervention for a community often left to navigate harmful stereotypes in silence.

I found Unassimilable to be deeply moving, intellectually rigorous, and politically generative. Its balance of storytelling, academic insight, and actionable vision makes it a standout text in the growing field of Asian diasporic/Asian American studies. What struck me
most was Mabute-Louie’s vulnerability in sharing personal moments of contradiction, growth, and re-education—experiences that mirror the internal work many in the Asian Diaspora must do to unlearn dominant narratives and build coalitions across differences. At the same time, she never loses sight of the systemic forces that shape the experiences of the Asian Diaspora. This dual attention to individual and systemic realities gives the book its emotional and analytical power.

I highly recommend Unassimilable to anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the complexities of Asian diasporic identity, particularly in relation to race, gender/sexuality, empire, and liberation. It is an especially important read for those in the Asian Diaspora
grappling with inherited traumas, discrimination, and the desire for collective belonging and healing. In a moment marked by increased discrimination and state oppression against marginalized communities, Mabute-Louie’s manifesto is both a refusal as well as an invitation:
to reject assimilation into violent systems and to build a new world together, one rooted in care, history, and possibility.

Written by Sraavya Chintalapati, 2025 Summer Intern, University of Texas, Austin ’24

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Review: Four Treasures of the Sky

Four Treasures of the Sky by Jenny Tinghui Zhang

If you think you already are familiar with the Chinese Exclusion Act and its consequences, this novel will make you realize hat there is so much more to learn about its history through voices that, unfortunately, will never be heard. This book falls into the category of historical fiction but it also carries elements of spirituality and lyricism that give it emotional weight.

The novel opens in 1882. Lin Daiyu, a young girl of 13, suddenly finds herself alone. Essentially orphaned – her parents have disappeared—she is sent away from her fishing village by her grandmother to the nearby city of Zhifu and told she has to make it on her own, but she will carry a new identity as a boy, Feng. It is a desperate move to save her life. The tone of the novel is set: survival hinges on her ability to learn skills she needs to survive while also learning about who she is and striving to be true to herself.

Her name, Lin Daiyu, is taken from a Chinese myth. In the legend, a boy falls in love with Lin Daiyu but she is a sickly girl and his family objects to their son’s love. On their wedding day, his family disguises another girl under heavy veils as Lin Daiyu. When Lin Daiyu learns of this deceit, she falls ill and dies. The boy, unaware of the switch, goes through with the marriage. Upon learning the truth, he goes mad. The real Lin Daiyu clearly does not like her name as it represents weakness to her. As the novel unfolds, a deeper meaning to the name and the legend is revealed.

One of the first skills Lin Diayu, now the boy Feng, learns is calligraphy. Master Wang, her teacher, explains: “Calligraphy is not only about the methods of writing but also about cultivating one’s character.” It is not just a practice but a philosophy. He asks his students “What makes good handwriting?” After listening to several good answers, Master Wang responds, “All true But you are forgetting the most important of them all: to be a good human. In calligraphy, you must have respect for what you are writing and who you are writing for. But above all, you must have respect for yourself.” We learn, along with Feng, that calligraphy is made up of the Four Treasures of the Study: the ink brush, the ink stick, the paper, and the ink stone and learning how to use them, to balance them properly. Throughout the book, Master Wang’s lessons return to Lin Daiyu. As she practices over and over to write the characters properly, their deeper meaning is revealed to her. The lessons prepare her to face the challenges that lie ahead.

One day while in the fish market, Feng (Lin Daiyu) is kidnapped. Thus begins a long, horrific journey to America where she ends up in a brothel in San Francisco. Today’s news brings us disturbing and tragic stories about child trafficking, but author Jenny Zhang’s description of the life through Lin Daiyu’s third identity, Peony, raises it to a different level of understanding.

All the characteristics of human interaction—friendship, trust, betrayal, courage, perseverance—are at play in the brothel. Peony manages an escape, and in the book’s final section , she once again takes on another identity, as a boy named Jacob, in Idaho. Master Wang said calligraphy is about the Four Treasures of the Study. He instructed his students to make the writing a reflection of you, your spirit, who you are. The author, Zhang, transforms the art of calligraphy into the title of the book, Four Treasures of the Sky. Lin Daiyu is similarly transformed throughout the book leaving the reader to ask what meaning are we to take away from her life and from this extraordinary book.

Review by Ting-Yi Oei, Education Director

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Review: Mamie Fights to Go to School

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Summary
Mamie Tape Fights to go to School, written by Traci Huahn and illustrated by Michelle Jing Chan, takes readers through the journey of how access to education became a right to children in the United States, including Chinese children. Based on a true story, Mamie Tape was on her way to her first day at Spring Valley Primary School in San Francisco. An all-white school in their neighborhood. When they arrived on the steps of the school, the principal flat out denied them, claiming that their “kind” was not welcome. A strange concept for Mamie, as she played with the children in her neighborhood just like anyone else, but wasn’t allowed to learn with them? Though the neighborhood did have a school for Chinese students at some point, it was in the basement of a church and shut down by the time Mamie was old enough to attend. It was an effort to prevent the Chinese community from receiving an education, and therefore making roots in the United States. Mamie’s community fought with and for her though. With neighbors to tutor and play with her, Mamie barely skipped a beat while her lawyers fought for her right to do those things in a classroom with her peers.. After back and forths with courts, the California
Supreme Court finally decided that all children, including those of Chinese descent, have the right to attend school. But even with the Court’s decision and a mandatory vaccination from a non-Chinese doctor, the principal still denied Mamie admission. The school board opened a
school for Chinese children (again) across town and above a grocery store; a stark contrast to Spring Valley Primary School. Though this was not the ideal Mamie and her family had in mind, it was a win for the community and would later set precedents for other cases fighting to end segregated schools. On April 13, 1885, The Chinese Primary School opened and Mamie and her little brother Frank became the
first to attend. This school would later be renamed to the Oriental School in 1906 to encompass
the education of Korean and Japanese children until the abolishment of racially segregated schools in California in 1947.

Significance
The decision to educate Mamie to any degree was a shock to both American and Chinese cultures. On the one hand, the school physically and legally restricted access to education. On the other, Chinese culture (especially at the time) did not generally believe that women should be
educated. The decision made in Tape v. Hurley (1885) was one of the earliest steps in the Civil Rights Movement and directly challenging the public education system. Just a few years prior, in 1882, the Chinese Exclusion act was signed into law under the Arthur administration. This policy prohibited the immigration of Chinese laborers, restricted status to only those who were able to get certified by the Chinese government, and permanently prevented Chinese immigrants from becoming citizens. Tape v. Hurley would later be used in decisions for cases like Brown v. Board of Education (1954), another landmark case in working towards a desegregated society.

By Izzy Liu, Fall 2024 Intern

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Review: The Making of Asian America

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“The Making of Asian America: A History” by Erika Lee offers an exploration of the Asian
American experience from the earliest migrations in the 16th century to contemporary times.
Lee, a professor at Harvard University, examines themes of migration, exclusion, adaptation, and
resistance, emphasizing the significant yet complex role of Asian Americans in U.S. history. The
narrative addresses historical policies like the Chinese Exclusion Act and connects them to
present-day issues of immigration and racial discrimination. Lee also discusses the impact of
major global events, such as World War II and the Cold War, on Asian Americans, and explores
the post-1965 transformations within the community. Through meticulous research and a
compelling narrative, Lee reconstructs Asian American history as an integral part of America’s
broader saga, challenging mainstream perceptions and advocating for a deeper understanding of
this diverse community.

By Jenny Gong, Fall 2024 Intern

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The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui — Review by Hannah Ku

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“And though my parents took us far away from the site of their grief… certain shadows stretched far. Casting a gray stillness over our childhood…hinting at a darkness we did not understand but could always feel” 

The Best We Could Do memoir by Thi Bui

In this beautifully illustrated memoir titled, The Best We Could Do, Thi Bui tells the story of her family’s journey of fleeing Vietnam and migrating to the United States. During the initial draft of writing this book, she felt that it came off as too ‘academic,’ and thought of alternative ways to relay history in a relatable manner. As a result, Thi learned to draw comics. This graphic memoir embarks on the complicated task of trying to tell a comprehensive story about war, family, migration, and loss. 

As a child of an immigrant family, I deeply resonated with the narrative Thi drew of her relationship to her own family. Thi recalls growing up with Bô, her father, looking after her and her brother Tâm while her Má and her older sisters were at school. Thi vividly remembers the fear she had while growing up in that household such as the fear of when her father would lose his temper or the terrifying stories he would tell them regarding the supernatural. What becomes evident is the lack of comfort and safety that Thi felt during these moments of her childhood. However, as Thi grows older and later becomes a parent, she feels the need to understand how and why her parents are the way they are. As children of immigrants (in Thi’s case, refugees), we often interpret our family’s coldness/distance from us as a fundamental part of who they are rather than something they were constructed to be. 

As Thi delves into the past experiences of her family, we learn of Bô’s difficult childhood and his fraught relationship with his abusive father over the years. Moreover, we hear about the tumultuous environment of Vietnam during a period of massive upheaval with the surrender of the Japanese, the invasion of the French, and infighting between the Northern region and Southern region of Vietnam. Additionally, we later learn how Má’ experiences multiple instances of her babies dying after birth. While I want to stress that her parents’ past does not minimize the trauma she later experiences growing up, I think this memoir reminds us that these two concepts can co-exist: their parenting was not perfect (and can be harmful at times), but they are also humans that experienced a lot of hardship in their life. 

One of the reasons I was drawn to reading this memoir was because Thi utilizes oral history interviews. As a graduate student studying oral history methodology and theory, I recognize that oral history is an imperfect practice. Interviews are often riddled with mistaken recollections, lapses in memory, and other related issues. Even Thi mentions the difficulty of interpreting her family’s oral histories and reconciling it with the dominant narrative told about the Vietnam War. Regardless of its imperfections, I still stress the uniqueness and importance of oral histories as a way to counter hegemonic narratives of war and atrocities. 

Another main reason that I was drawn to this novel is that Thi puts into practice what I have been wanting to convey as a burgeoning historian myself: how can we present history in a way that can reach a general audience rather than these discussions being confined to insular spaces of academia?

To finish off this post, one persistent question came to mind when reading this memoir – What are the survival mechanisms immigrant families deploy when they live in the wake of war? 

In my mind, the answer is in the title: the best they can do. 

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Hannah Ku is an intern at the 1882 Foundation. She is a master’s student studying Asian American history, public history methodology, and critical adoption studies at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. She graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a BA in History, a minor in Chinese, and a certificate in East Asian Studies.

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