In America, the question isn't 'Why Asian?' — it's 'Why White?'

For my fiction class earlier this semester, I wrote about two thirty-something women living in New York City — typical adult, single Americans. They also happened to be Asian. My classmates asked, "Why Asian?" I asked, "Why not?"

The story didn't need characters of any particular race. Readers knew the women were Asian-American only because their full names and physical descriptions were given, as in most stories. There were no identity crises, no roots-searching, no references whatsoever to the culture, language or land of their ancestors. But "American" still means white, only white — enough so that my classmates questioned why a race-irrelevant story had nonwhite characters.

This "white is the default" attitude is similarly evident in Hollywood. Although many films are justifiably all-white — they're set in Victorian England, perhaps, or 1940s Princeton — even race-irrelevant parts are virtually all filled by whites. Perhaps the American people are merely conditioned to see whites, so studios just give them what they expect — a flimsy excuse. Even some Asian-American friends of mine, in response to Justin Lin's "Better Luck Tomorrow," expressed surprise at seeing Asian-Americans in a movie that merely called for American teenagers (note the race of the director who headed such an enlightened project). Even minorities themselves look for a justification for minorities on-screen, when in fact none is needed.

Is there no room for minorities unless it's "The Joy Luck Club" or "Soul Food," where race is integral to the story? Is there some sort of rule that says, "Characters must be white unless they cannot be," and if so, why aren't we doing something about it? Must every minority character justify his own existence by bringing a uniquely minority perspective? Must his value always lie in ethnicity?

Granted, there are stories that could not be told without race being prominent, for it is an essential part of their characters. Many minorities maintain a strong connection to their ancestral cultures, just as many others assimilate completely, still others falling somewhere in between. But the issue is that the media and the public's idea of "American" seldom includes minorities — even those minorities with solely American identities, even in race-irrelevant contexts, even in the view of minorities themselves.

The tide is turning, slowly. For example, studios have cast beautiful, young, talented women for parts that call only for those qualities. Lucy Liu plays an investigative agent in the Charlie's Angels movies. In an interview about her upcoming film, Halle Berry expressed delight that she wasn't "black Catwoman" — just Catwoman. But the progress is insufficient.

Maybe this column itself underscores my point. Usually I'm not the "Asian-American columnist;" I'm just a columnist — but right now my minority status is indeed relevant, for it's unlikely I would have written this column otherwise. Which brings me to a common objection I have heard: Minorities themselves tend to write "minority stories," with minority characters and minority problems. Minorities themselves make race a big deal.

But before accusing minorities of creating their own problem, consider the dilemma in which they find themselves. If I ever became a writer, I would be torn between writing stories from a perspective that I rarely read, if ever, and writing stories where the main issue is not ethnicity, but one of a million other things. Either way, it would feel a little wrong. While I'd greatly desire to write what is sorely underrepresented in literature, by writing such a book would I perpetuate the idea that minorities can't have stories without their race being a big deal, or relevant at all? Would I make it seem that without my race, I can bring nothing to my writing?

This is not to say that the state of affairs is not understandable, or that there is some big villain to blame, or that minorities are helpless victims. We all just need to examine our own assumptions.

Who do we visualize as an "American," and do we consider other possibilities for that prototype? Some demographers estimate a nonwhite majority in the United States by 2050. Who will we visualize then?

When's the last time you wondered, "Why white?"

Julie Park is a junior from Wayne, N.J.