Like the characters in the video games she produces, Dr. JC Lau has faced challenges in her career, but has overcome them one by one to land at a job she enjoys, helping make the video game industry more welcoming to people from all walks of life. Currently a producer at Harebrained Schemes in Seattle, Washington, she served as a founding member of their Justice, Equity, Diversity and Inclusion Council, a group comprised of studio leadership and members of underrepresented groups, to consult and provide guidance for positive studio impact. Her masterās degree in philosophy from Western Michigan University guided her on that path, as she worked as a teaching assistant for then faculty specialist and current department chair Dave Paulās class on race and gender issues in America. Lau gravitated toward the course to gain an academic perspective on her own experience as the only non-white, non-male, non-American student in her cohort of 12. Later, she taught the class, focusing on how the marginalization of certain groups is reinforced by the gaming industry. After graduating from Western in 2007, Lau earned her doctorate at Australian National University ā the top ranked university in the southern hemisphere. Her connections at Western played an integral role in her acceptance into their doctoral program. Lau subsequently worked at Virginia Tech for a couple of years, teaching moral, political and legal philosophy, as well as a race and gender topics course. It was then that she decided she wanted to make games ā the fruit of a seed that had been planted decades before.
PURSUING A CHILDHOOD PASSION In the early 1980s, Lauās mother ā thinking computers might be a good investment ā presented her three-year-old daughter with her ļ¬rst computer. On that āclunky Apple IIe,ā Lau got her start as an avid Pac-Man player. For the ļ¬rst few years, she noticed that all video game characters were white males. But the introduction of a lead Chinese female character, Chun-Li in Street Fighter II, was a literal game-changer for her. Lauās ļ¬rst role in the gaming industry came at Microsoft, where she worked on the Xbox team in localization ā translating the words on the screen into other languages. The nature of the work lent itself toward empathy and openmindedness, and the team she eventually led was diverse and inclusive. Then she took a job at Bungie, a large studio working on video game titles rather than consoles. She kept projects with thousands of tiny moving parts on budget and on schedule. āI love working on video games,ā she said. āItās weirdly chaotic. Thereās a magical element to how they get made.ā
THE āINTERCHANGEABLE ASIANā
quoted in a June 6, 2021 NewYork Times article on this topic, āThe Cost of Being an āInterchangeable Asian,āā by Brian X. Chen:
At the 800-person studio, a team member could go for years without meeting other people on their project ā only seeing their messaging icon. Of that group, however, only about 10 were women of color or Asian women.
On one occasion, multiple colleagues congratulated Dr. Lau, who identiļ¬es as Chinese Australian, on a presentation led by a colleague of Korean heritage. āThese were people I worked with on a daily basis,ā she said.
And in a studio with ā200 guys named Dave ā there were more Daves than women!ā colleagues still called the women by the wrong name, or mistakenly gave them credit for work others had done.
Dr. Lau, 40, left the company in 2018, after two years, and said a major factor behind that decision was the feeling that she wasnāt being recognized for her contributions, which included testing games and founding the companyās diversity committee. She suspected that her gender and race ā and her co-workersā inability to even recognize who she was ā put her at a disadvantage, especially at a large company.
The occurrence of mis-naming oneās Asian workplace colleagues is so frequent that the phenomenon has been termed the āInterchangeable Asian.ā Lau was
arts&sciences | 2021
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āWe have to do more to stand out from any other Asian we might be mistaken
