Stranger in the Village

Qingdao, China – a beatific ocean city bustling with a 99.9% Chinese population; modern yet still developing; distinct in its verdant mountains, red roofs, and hauntingly blue sky, yet representative of my homeland, the country where my childhood dreams planted seed. When the Ohio State University’s U.S.-China Link Program invited me and my friend Lauren to teach English there, the summer of my sophomore year, I envisioned a soul-warming journey back to the familiar life and culture that had shaped me from my birth.

What I found was a classroom of students confused about my race and my appearance. After introductions on my first day of teaching, an 18-year old high school senior pulled me aside to ask a serious question. Sweeping his narrowed eyes across my straight black hair, dark brown eyes, and yellow complexion, he unknowingly tilted his head in wonderment and mumbled in a low voice, “Why do you look Chinese?”

What I encountered was a veil of contempt for the English that rolled naturally from my tongue. As I returned to my hotel one night, a Chinese businessman was leaping on and off the lobby-elevator, fluctuating in indecision. Noticing my American friend Lauren, he remarked in English “you must think I am weird.” Amused, Lauren merely laughed while I responded in English “No, it’s okay.” Immediately, the smile metamorphosed into a jeering sneer as he muttered “…pretending to be American.”

What I witnessed were strange stares, like blinding x-rays, piercing through my body, haunting my every move as I strolled, exposed, through the streets. From time to time, even the black lens of binoculars focused from me to Lauren as their native Chinese owners puzzled at the spectacle suddenly appearing in their city…

So I turned to the American college students learning Chinese in Qingdao (also part of the U.S.-China Link Program), hoping to find a niche. Yet, what I discovered was a ruddy-cheeked American student from the University of Virginia who always greeted Lauren but ignored me. When finally at a dinner together, I began to converse in English, his blue eyes widened, his shocked expression frozen in place, as he stared at me like I had broken an unspoken universal law.

At first, I confronted the estrangement with humor, mimicking Chandler on Friends as I laughed, and greeted the uncomfortable situation with a smile. It wasn’t so much that I found it comical but rather that I always wear such a demeanor like a pre-carved mask, stretchable to any unusual circumstance. Because of the separation from my mom and the struggle through heart disease during my childhood, I learned from a very young age to repress pain and feeling. Thus possessing a need to appear strong & unaffected, my instinctive response was to create a neutral distance from the events and perceive the strange stares and the misconceptions about my race as lighthearted jokes.

But I could not ignore the disbelief boiling within my heart. I could not accept that after living seven years in China in a small, plain apartment on the ancient streets of Xi’An, an 18-year could ask me why I didn’t look Chinese. I could not accept that after a flood of memories – like when my dad biked me to the hospital in the snow, or when my cousin and I chased a chicken around the yard – that a Chinese citizen could question my respect for the culture and country. I could not comprehend how such an emotional and physical connection to my native homeland could be invisible to others. What confused me even more was how I can live in the U.S. for 10 years, become an American citizen, eat fries and pizza, speak the language fluently…and still encounter a college student who could be completely shocked at the possibility that I am American.

Then self-righteousness kicked in, as I grew bitter and angry. Tending to think idealistically, I adhered to the theory that I should belong to both the Chinese and American world. Thus, when reality dawned, I felt like I had been wronged – the citizens on the street were ignorant and rude; the Chinese businessman, jealous and derisive; the American student, blatantly racist; the 18-year-old, purposely disruptive… Such self-indignation, fury, despair, confusion, and mock detachment mixed and escalated into a soaring height…until finally, I reached an understanding.

The glorious United States of America, the land of golden opportunities and a welcome haven for immigrants from all around the world, proudly hails its potpourri of races and color as an essential ingredient of its chief identity. Each Asian, each African, each Native American, each European not only brings a unique heritage and custom but also adds various strengths to the American hodgepodge, so that together the unusual diversity forms one unifying country. But from the Chinese perspective, of both the old and the young, the stereotype still exists that all Americans have white skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. Judging only on the basis of classic movies, limited travel abroad, and the unchanging view of 1 billion other Chinese citizens, all with black hair, yellow complexions, and dark brown eyes, it seems natural that the Chinese mind-frame assumes that Americans look like the famous Shirley Temple, without much variance.

Interestingly, that same stereotype also extends in some degree to the United States. Caucasians are first and foremost identified as Americans – when strolling down the street, 99/100 times, no one will reflect, “Is he/she Irish? German? French? British?” The immediate nationality profile will register American – since the first settlers who migrated to the U.S. to establish the New England/Chesapeake colonies, searching for religious freedom and economic opportunity, constituted white Europeans. Similarly, the years of history and the civil rights movement involved with slavery and the ensuing fight for freedom and equality are so imbedded in the American experience that African Americans, too, are not perceived as Tunisians or Algerians, but naturally as United States citizens. In contrast, the Chinese, Koreans, Indians, and the Japanese, whether born or living in the U.S, are commonly labeled Asian first, American second. This isn’t racist or exclusive; it’s chronically explainable – Asians didn’t start immigrating in significant numbers until much later in history.

Nevertheless, associated with the primary Chinese identity comes the expectation, (from Americans, but the Chinese in particular), of utilizing the language in conversation. For Chinese citizens, only three possible scenarios exist if English is used instead of Chinese. 1) You’re an American Born Chinese who has lost the language and culture, and therefore deserve the deepest pity. 2) You’re a recent immigrant to the U.S. who speaks English with a horrifying accent, and therefore deserve scorn for not appreciating the native tongue. 3) (what I encountered in Qingdao) You’re a first or second generation immigrant who speaks both Chinese and English fluently, but chose to speak English, and therefore deserve contempt for showing off. Although superficially judgmental and perhaps harsh, it reflects traditional Chinese patriotism and the strong belief in maintaining pride and culture through language.

Social expectations play off of that same focus on upholding racial reverence – In China, Chinese people associate with Chinese people. If a close or friendly relationship of equal status is established with an American (for example), that’s interpreted as looking down upon the Chinese race and parading shame for the country. Such racial tension also exists (although not nearly as strongly) in the United States, as demonstrated by the controversy of interracial marriages. The truth reveals that despite barriers broken and milestones made, the pure, warm embrace of all races and the insightful penetration beyond surface skin color remain ideals for the future.

For now, each country has its own rich culture, history, and expectations – to truly understand them would weaken boundaries and ease the strangeness in the village.