Not only did Disney turn to Asia for a global animated feature in 1998, but it chose a traditional Chinese tale of a woman who fought like a man to break stereotypes. Later, in a television broad-cast, Olympic medalist Michelle Kwan interpreted the story on ice.

Somehow, after all the spectacle, one could not still believe that American media had made a great leap forward in the understanding and incorporation of Asian Americans as subjects, creators and participants. But history, in fact, may guide that interpretation.

Early American cinema used stereotypes of Asians as foreign/exotic, servile, wise but enigmatic and often untrustworthy. Few actors of Asian origin made it in Hollywood— Sessue Hayakawa and Anna May Wong often played mysterious Oriental villains. Many Asian/Asian American roles were played by Anglos in series like Charlie Chan (Warner Oland) or Mr Moto (Peter Lorre), while Katharine Hepburn (!) became Mei Ling, a “tall” Chinese peasant, in Dragon Seed (1944). Furthermore, there has long been confusion of place and identity, between Asian American and imported Asian films and readings, which become lumped together.

American media have been slow in reflecting the burgeoning Asian American population since 1965. Breakthroughs in documentary and independent film led to Joy Luck Club (1993); however, it was still marked as an “Asian story.” Images of urban gangs and drug connections have also overshadowed Hollywood films, especially as they interpret the gender roles of Asian American men as both strong enemies and weak, nerdish citizens.

One of the most vibrant areas of Asian American media is its independent voices, especially documentary. These voices of opposition, advocacy and cultural intimacy tackle issues marginal to the mainstream media, from the murder of a Chinese American in Who Killed Vincent Chin (1987) to a light-hearted detective story Wayne Wang’s Chan is Missing (1981).

Television inherited cultural stereotypes, while giving Asian Americans even fewer positions of independence from which to challenge them. Servants were long the predominant male role in the old western (Bonanza, 1959–73, NBC) or new West primetime soap operas (Falcon Crest). Jack Soo as a policeman on Barney Miller (1975–82, ABC) opened wider visions of Asian citizenry. Females have been more scarce—The Courtship of Eddies’ Father offered a subservient Japanese woman, while the 1980s sitcom Night Court introduced a Vietnamese woman married to an African American court clerk over both families objections. Margaret Cho’s Korean family sitcom, AllAmerican Girl (1994–5) was a short-lived breakthrough. Connie Chung’s brief career as television news anchor also made Asian Americans visible in non-narrative settings.

But the most famous Asian Americans on TV have been Bruce Lee in the 1970s Green Hornet and George Takei (Mr Solo) in Star Trek. It may also be telling that satellite television, videos and paid retransmission make it possible for recent immigrants to watch Korean, Chinese and other shows rather than relying on American television. This experience may not suffice, however, for emergent American generations, nor does it reach beyond the language community.

One striking footnote points to the emergence of Asian Americans in a different way: advertising. Both multicultural commercials and faces/families promoting a wide range of products show Asian Americans gaining face and agency against stereotypes not yet overcome in other media.