It’s a card game that tackles microaggressions Asian Americans encounter and pressures within their own communities with a snappy twist: Draw a card from the “deck of oppression” that says something like, “If you’re more feminine, you’ll get a man” or “Me love you long time, LOL” — awkward, ignorant lines a woman of Asian American heritage might hear to her dismay.
How to respond in a way that might shut down clueless or racist comments?
Similar to Cards Against Humanity or Apples to Apples, players of the new Clapback game have plenty of ideas. And the cards they’re holding challenge unwanted comments with enlightening — and funny — responses.
Twin Cities Hmong artist May Lee-Yang, who developed the Clapback game, is best known for her work as a playwright, performance artist and educator. Her projects, often infused with humor, pop culture and sharp social commentary on gender, sex and race, have appeared in numerous publications and been featured at Theater Mu, Illusion Theater and festivals across the country.
Now she’s moved into an unexpected new venue: card and board games. But once you learn more about Mayhem Games, it becomes clear how it represents an extension of her creative vision of more than 20 years. Mayhem Games, once suggested as a spoken-word stage name for her, has become a memorable name for her venture.
Clapback, her first game, created in collaboration with FAWK (the Funny Asian Women Kollective), aims to empower Asian Americans.
“When creating a board game company, I wanted it to center on Asian American stories, and something based on clapbacks was the easiest thing for me to start out with,” she told Sahan Journal. “It uses comedy to speak back to your haters and stand up for yourself.”
Lee-Yang is a founding member of FAWK, along with Saymoukda Duangphouxay Vongsay and Naomi Ko. The group uses comedy and improv to combat the invisibility and dehumanization of Asian women.
Houa Moua, a comedian, actor and advocate for disability justice who also performs with FAWK, says she loves the game.
“In our community, we were raised not to make waves [or] rock the boat,” she said. “So when people say this stuff to us, we’re not used to clapping back. When someone does say something completely bonkers, you’ll remember this game and things that were said.”
‘I wanted to make my own stories’
Lee-Yang began writing as a teen growing up in Minnesota in the mid-1990s.
“The world was very restricted for Hmong girls, so I couldn’t go out, and could only do after-school programs,” she said. “I started reading a lot of books and watched a lot of TV. Eventually, I wanted to make my own stories.”
She grew up navigating expectations within Hmong culture and microaggressions she would encounter as an Asian American woman.
“I felt invisible because people were telling me my story wasn’t really the norm,” she said. “I wasn’t a normal Asian woman or a normal Minnesotan. I didn’t feel normal in so many spaces. As an artist, it gave me material. I think a lot of art is born out of trauma, and I used art to think through these things.”
Lee-Yang became interested in writing nonfiction after reading a Hmong newspaper featuring Hmong writers. In her early 20s, she applied for a Playwrights’ Center Many Voices Fellowship. Since then, she has received numerous grants and fellowships to support her work, including from the McKnight Fellowship and Jerome Foundation
Her theater works, covering non-fiction and fiction, include “The Korean Drama Addict’s Guide to Losing Your Virginity,” “Confessions of a Lazy Hmong Woman” and “Ten Reasons Why I’d Be a Bad Porn Star.”
Lee-Yang said one of her most memorable projects is “Letters to Our Grandchildren,” a documentary theater piece created with Hmong elders.
“Elders were dying and their stories weren’t being told,” she said. “I spent 10 months with senior citizens at an adult center gathering their stories. They wanted to do a comedy show, and even after the program was over, I got them gigs doing other theater.”
Another Lee-Yang project is “Hmong Organization,” a mockumentary web series created with her husband, Peter Yang, about a dysfunctional Hmong nonprofit. Its nine short episodes are on YouTube.
“Every single person who is on that show is a filmmaker in their own right,” Lee-Yang said. “It was just really cool that it started with me and my husband and ended up with 30 to 50 artists still working to this day.”
Taking Clapback on the road
Lee-Yang recently hosted a Clapback game night at Arbeiter Brewing in Minneapolis. About 20 people played, bonding over shared experiences and laughing often.
They took turns as the “aggressor” player reading a “card of oppression” that said things such as “I hate it when people turn everything into a race issue,” “Where are you really from?” or “Are you married yet?”
The other players responded with their best comeback line from the seven cards they’re holding, including: “Try turning your brain off and on again,” “That’s something you should keep in your head” and “Ugh. Let’s not do this today.” Players must say their responses aloud, giving them a chance to practice an apt clapback. The aggressor then picks the best response.
“One of the nice things is that there are cards relatable to us as Asians,” said Talee Yang, a player at Arbeiter. “One of the oppression cards was, ‘Your English is really good’ or ‘Your American accent is so good.’”
Another player at the brewery, Gary Vang, pointed out one of his favorite clap cards, which says: “My parents didn’t run through the jungle, dodge bullets, cross a river, and learn a new language so I could take this [expletive].”
“When I saw that, I was like, I can relate to that. I’m going to start using it,” Vang said.
Lee-Yang’s nephew, Noah L. Song, a student at the University of Minnesota, has been helping her sell the game at various events.
“It’s not only important to connect with Asian Americans in general, but to also focus on the youth,” he said. “We’re the next generation, and this is the type of thing we need to learn how to do. The game just brings everybody together.”
