FIRST PERSON | I’m Japanese Canadian, but will my baby who passes as white be accepted that way? | CBC News

This First Person column is the experience of Sachi Lovatt, who lives in Toronto. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

Like many children of immigrants, I disliked my name growing up. 

Sachi — although easy to pronounce (“Sa” like sat, “chi” like cheese) — was the butt of jokes and went through many a butchering over the years. Most francophone teachers in my French immersion program at school called me Sashi. There has also been Sushi, Sochi, Sasha, Sawchi, Saki, and if you can believe it, Ashley. 

Then there were all the puns: some harmless (Sachilicious), some fun (Sachelorette— the name of my bachelorette party) and others downright problematic (Sachitory rape). My name became such an ordeal that I seriously considered going to high school by my middle name, Hannah. 

So when it came time to name my child, you’d think I would have stayed far away from anything “ethnic.” Instead, I chose an unmistakable Japanese name for my daughter: Midori (pronounced Mee-doe-ree). Why inflict the same pain upon my child? Why so sadistic? Or should I say, Sachistic?

Because despite all the name butchering, my name is Sachi and I love that I’m half-Japanese. 

My father is a white man, born and raised in England, and my mother is Japanese, born and raised in Japan. The genetic roll-of-the-die spit me out looking more white than Japanese. The majority of people I meet assume I’m white. If I share that I am half-Japanese, many don’t quite believe me or seem confused. 

The need to prove I’m Japanese

Proving my Japaneseness has been a recurring theme in my life. At best, I am overlooked for being Japanese. At worst, I am denied it. 

I work as an actress and I know it’s not evident from my headshots that I am Japanese, so I sometimes point it out to casting teams to increase my chances of getting an audition, particularly if the role is for an Asian woman or if racialized actors are being prioritized. If I looked Asian, I wouldn’t feel the need to do this.

As an adult, my name has also proven to be a useful tool — proof that I am indeed Japanese — as well as speaking Japanese without an accent. My husband is white and my daughter looks even more white than I do. If I’ve had a hard time proving my Japaneseness, it will likely be even more difficult for her. So giving her an unmistakable Japanese name it was.

I will never be considered totally British or Japanese. Although this is a fact I have now accepted, I still feel a deep yearning to belong within both communities.

Perhaps my need to prove I’m Japanese runs so deep because my mother instilled in me a strong sense of Japanese identity. She regularly took me to Japan and even enrolled me in kindergarten and Grade 1 there during my Canadian summer holidays. 

At home, if she made a Western meal, she’d always include sticky rice and miso soup on the side (and still does). 

She also went to great lengths to ensure I could speak the language: speaking to me in Japanese all the time, even in front of non-Japanese-speaking family and friends; pretending she couldn’t understand if I’d respond in English; allowing me unlimited TV time if it was a Japanese show (if it was English TV, I was limited to 30 minutes a day) and sending me to Japanese school every Saturday morning until I was 17, even when I was kicking and screaming in protest. 

I distinctly remember yelling at her as a child that I would never be as cruel as she was and force my kid to go to Japanese school. Now that I am a mother myself, I have every intention of doing just that. 

I fear much of our connection to Japan will die with my mother. Being her only child, I feel the weight of this cultural responsibility on my shoulders. 

I don’t ultimately consider myself half-Japanese, although it is a useful identifier for others. I am Japanese. Full stop. As a result, I would like to instil the same cultural identity in my infant daughter. But it feels like an uphill battle. Her father is a white, monolingual anglophone from rural Nova Scotia. How can my one-quarter Japanese child feel Japanese when she looks like a white girl and is raised in Canada? 

It pains me to think she will likely face even more resistance and rejection than I have in claiming her Japanese identity. I can’t help but think if her father were Asian (but not Japanese) she’d probably be more accepted as Japanese because she’d look more the part. Yet, in both that theoretical scenario and reality, she is still one-quarter Japanese. 

Confronting my own biases

I recently attended a social event for Japanese Canadians. I felt a great sense of ease and delight being in a room full of fellow Japanese people who were so diverse looking, like me. 

Being with people who not only didn’t question my identity but also understood it on a deep level themselves is a rare and cherished occurrence. As much as my heart was full being there, I also had the nagging fear if my daughter would be accepted in such a space when she is older. 

At the event, I noticed a white woman. At home, I wondered aloud to my husband what she was doing there. The next day I saw pictures on social media from the event and saw her tagged. I immediately snooped and discovered she is one-eighth Japanese: she has a half-Japanese grandparent. In other words, she is the ethnicity my potential future grandchildren would be. 

The irony was not lost on me of how I was exhibiting the type of judgment I feared my daughter would face. I was humbled. But it gave me hope that if a one-eighth Japanese person is invited to and welcomed in such a space, surely my daughter would be, too.  

I’m encouraged that we’re in an age where self-identification is taken more seriously and that giving unique names to babies is on the rise. Perhaps Midori will not be remotely tempted to go by her middle name, Dawn, out of exasperation or shame. 

In the meantime, it’s my job to instil in her assuredness and pride that she belongs to our community. I intend to do everything for her that my mom did to make me proud to be Japanese, to the best of my ability. 

If I can accomplish that, regardless of how the world receives her, I should be, and will be, Sachisfied.

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