You can push us to the margins—but we're just going to centre ourselves.
For decades, Lea Salonga stood at a threshold that the industry refused to open — not for lack of talent, but for lack of imagination. Her casting as Eponine in Les Misérables was framed as an experiment, yet it quietly rewrote what was considered possible on the world's most storied stages. Now, as a new generation of Asian artists leads its own stories rather than petitioning to enter someone else's, Salonga's journey reveals both how far the culture has traveled and how recently it began to move.
- In 1991, a Tony-winning Lea Salonga was turned away from auditions simply because casting directors could not picture an Asian woman in roles they considered theirs to define.
- Her debut as Eponine was deliberately scheduled in theater's quietest month — a calculated hedge against failure, a reminder that her presence was tolerated as a test, not welcomed as a right.
- Singaporean actress Nathania Ong now plays the very role Salonga cracked open, yet still wonders whether she was cast for her talent or to satisfy a diversity metric — a quieter but no less corrosive form of doubt.
- Asian artists are no longer waiting for permission: Maybe Happy Ending became the first South Korean musical to win a Tony, BTS commands global stages, and Salonga herself is voicing a DreamWorks film rooted in Philippine folklore.
- The axis of the struggle has shifted — from fighting to enter the room to demanding that the room recognize excellence on its own terms, without the asterisk of representation.
In 1991, Lea Salonga had already won a Tony Award for Miss Saigon. It did not matter. When her agent submitted her for other roles, casting directors refused to see her — not because of her work, but because of her face. The rejection was quiet, systematic, and absolute.
The door that eventually opened came through an unusual path. Because the producers of Miss Saigon also controlled Les Misérables, Salonga was invited to audition for Eponine without going through the standard process. She became the first Asian actress to hold a principal role in the show — but the terms of her arrival were telling. She was scheduled for January, theater's slowest month, when the financial stakes were lowest. She was, by her own account, an experiment.
The pressure was unlike anything she had felt in Miss Saigon, where her casting was uncontroversial. Stepping into Eponine — a role always played by white actresses — meant carrying something larger than a performance. It meant proving that the door could stay open. "It meant that anyone who had their sights on Eponine could play it," she said. "Because if I could do it — then anyone else could."
More than thirty years later, that proof is visible in Singapore, where Salonga is performing in Les Misérables The Arena Spectacular alongside Nathania Ong, a 28-year-old Singaporean actress playing Eponine — the first Singaporean to do so on the West End. Ong grew up watching Salonga in the role. When she won it herself, she did not immediately understand what she had inherited. Watching her perform, Salonga felt something settle. "It makes me think the experiment worked."
But Ong is careful not to declare victory. The question she now carries is different from the one Salonga faced: not whether she can get in the room, but whether she was invited because she is good or because she fills a category. It is a subtler wound, but a wound nonetheless.
Meanwhile, something larger is shifting. Asian artists are no longer adapting themselves to Western narratives — they are authoring their own. The South Korean musical Maybe Happy Ending won the Tony for Best Musical, the first show from South Korea to do so. BTS carries the weight of a continent on global stages. Salonga is voicing a DreamWorks film built entirely from Philippine folklore — a project she once thought she would never live to see made.
For Salonga, these moments accumulate into something that feels like a reckoning. Her son grows up seeing people who look like him at the center of the stage. "You can push us to the margins," she said. "But we're just going to centre ourselves."
In 1991, Lea Salonga had already won a Tony Award for her performance in Miss Saigon. She was, by any measure, a success. Yet when her agent began submitting her for other roles, the response was consistent and crushing: no. The reason given was simple and absolute. She was Asian, and casting directors could not envision her in the parts they were trying to fill. "They were unable to imagine someone like me playing those roles," Salonga recalled in a recent conversation.
That world feels distant now. BTS and Blackpink command the Billboard charts. Shogun and Squid Game sweep Emmy ceremonies. Asian-led musicals find audiences on Broadway. The cultural landscape has shifted so completely that the barriers Salonga faced in her early career have become almost incomprehensible to a new generation of performers. Yet Salonga's own journey reveals just how recent and fragile that shift is, and how much of it rests on the willingness of a single artist to step into a role that was never meant for her.
The breakthrough came through Les Misérables. Because the producers of Miss Saigon also controlled that show, Salonga received an invitation to audition for the role of Eponine—bypassing the traditional audition process entirely. She became the first Asian actress to land a principal part in the musical. But even as she was cast, the framing made clear what was at stake. The producers scheduled her arrival for January, a slow month in theater, when the financial risk felt minimal. She was, in her own words, an experiment. "I think I was the only person of colour in that entire company at the time," she said. "So it was like, is this a stunt? Is this trying to prove a point? Let's see if this is going to work."
The stress was immense. Salonga found herself more anxious about Les Misérables than she had been about Miss Saigon, where she was an Asian actor in an Asian role. There was no controversy in that casting. But stepping into Eponine—a role that had always been played by white actresses—felt different. It felt like she was being asked to prove something larger than herself. Yet she understood the magnitude of what her presence in that role could mean. "It meant that anyone who had their sights on Eponine could play it," she said. "Because if I could do it—then anyone else could, regardless of ethnic background."
More than three decades later, that possibility is unfolding in real time. In Singapore, Salonga is performing in a new production of Les Misérables The Arena Spectacular alongside Nathania Ong, a 28-year-old Singaporean actress who plays Eponine—the exact role Salonga made possible for other Asian performers. Ong was the first Singaporean to play the part on the West End. She grew up watching performers like Salonga depict the character. Yet when Ong won the role herself, she did not immediately grasp what she had accomplished. "I didn't even realise what a big deal it was," she said. It took months before the weight of it settled on her. Watching Ong perform the role, Salonga felt a quiet satisfaction. "It makes me think that the experiment worked," she said.
But Ong is also clear that the fight is not over. The battle has simply shifted. Where Salonga had to fight just to get into the audition room, Ong now fights to be valued for her talent alone, not as a diversity hire. "Have we been hired to meet a diversity quota, or are we actually being hired because we're good at our jobs?" she asked. It is a question that reflects a new kind of exhaustion—not the exhaustion of being shut out, but the exhaustion of never being certain you belong.
Yet beyond casting, something larger is happening. Asian artists are no longer simply trying to fit into Western stories. They are writing their own. The South Korean musical Maybe Happy Ending won critical acclaim on Broadway and made history as the first show from South Korea to win a Tony Award. For Salonga, witnessing a show so "intrinsically" Asian achieve that kind of success felt almost impossible to imagine when she was young. "If something is just so good that it cannot be ignored, it will be seen," she reflected. She points to the global dominance of BTS as another model—artists who carry the weight of representing not just themselves, but an entire continent. She is a devoted fan, and recently delayed a vocal warm-up by fifteen minutes just to watch a BTS concert livestream.
Salonga is also working on a DreamWorks animated film rooted entirely in Philippine folklore—a project she never thought she would see made in her lifetime. For her, the accumulation of these moments—Ong playing Eponine, Maybe Happy Ending winning Tonys, her son growing up in a world where he sees people who look like him on stage—represents something profound. "You can push us to the margins," she said, "but we're just going to centre ourselves."
Notable Quotes
They were unable to imagine someone like me playing those roles.— Lea Salonga, on rejection she faced in 1991
Have we been hired to meet a diversity quota, or are we actually being hired because we're good at our jobs?— Nathania Ong, on the new challenge facing Asian performers
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you were told no in 1991, did you believe it was permanent? That this was just how the industry worked?
I think I had to believe it could change, or I wouldn't have kept going. But I also didn't know what change would look like. I just knew I had to prove something—not just for me, but for whoever came after.
And when you were cast in Les Misérables, did you feel like you were proving it?
I felt like I was being tested. There's a difference. I was terrified. But I also understood that if I failed, it might close the door for others. That weight was real.
Nathania Ong didn't feel that same weight when she got the role. Why do you think that is?
Because the experiment worked. She grew up knowing it was possible. But now she's fighting a different battle—wondering if she's there because she's good or because of a quota. In some ways, that's harder to prove.
Do you think the fight ever ends?
No. But it changes. We're not fighting to get in the room anymore. We're fighting to be seen as complete artists. And we're also building our own rooms now. That's the shift I'm most excited about.
What would 18-year-old Lea think if she could see this moment?
She'd be shocked. But she'd also feel less alone. And that's everything.