A Head Nod Up: U.S. Citizens of Color

I was climbing the Great Wall the other day* when I came across a large group (about 50 or more) of U.S. college students on a "semester at sea" study abroad program. They were headed back from whence I had come, so I ended up passing the entire group over a fifteen-minute span on the Wall.

As I got to the last group of students, I found myself at the top of a high climb (a sort of "crest" of the Wall) looking down a steep decline. Desperately struggling up the incline (for them) were the stragglers.

Now, I should mention that I wasn’t on the most touristy segment of the Wall. I ended up on a long stretch, far from the nearest city (Beijing) or even large town, in which there were large portions of Wall that hadn’t been fixed up in quite a while (certainly decades, perhaps centuries or millennia). So there were piles of rubble, the steps were broken up and fallen apart, and loose gravel and dirt made the footing treacherous. On top of that, it was the first major cold-spell of the Northern China winter, meaning the Wall was covered in snow and ice, making the footing even more unforgiving. And it’s not like the Wall was designed for tourists originally, so every climb was vertigo-inducingly steep, and I found myself constantly wondering if I was about to die.

So imagine these conditions, as these last students come fighting up the hill. One girl slipped and slid her way up, but made it to the crest on her own. The last one? Not so lucky. She slipped. She fell. And, ultimately, she needed the physical support of her guide half-dragging her to make it to the top.

So when she finally made it, I had to tell her, "Congratulations, welcome to the top." ** And she just looked up at me, smiled, and then leaned on my shoulder like we were old friends, and said, "Whoo! Did you see that!? Thanks for the support."

It was so casual, so comfortable. I felt like I knew her. I then ended up chatting with her and her friend for few minutes (none of the other students had stopped to chat or give more than a quick "hello," if that) – again, totally comfortable and familiar, like we had known each other for a while.

So what’s your point, you may ask? Is the CVT trying to boast about his ability to flirt with college-aged girls?

This is when I mention that the two girls I’m talking about were the only students of color of their entire group (both black). And there was nothing even slightly flirty in our interactions.

So what was it? It was the U.S. citizen of color head-nod up. It was, for them – we’re the only two people of color on this entire trip, and the only people from our home country we’ve interacted with for the last few months have been white folks. Now, thousands of miles from home, on the freaking Great Wall, here’s another "American" of color – thank God. For me, it was much of the same. It was my glimpse – and interaction – with some brown folks. It was passing student after student*** with nary a black hair on their body, thinking to myself "where are the students of color? Is it a privilege thing or a cultural thing that keeps them from being here?"****

So when we laid eyes on each other, there was this instant relief. A moment in which we could let our guards down and let our shoulders slump for a second. Here’s somebody that shares at least a small taste of this very specific experience that I have, a piece of myself that I haven’t gotten to share for a minute.

We didn’t have to talk about it.

We just soaked it up for a few moments, filling ourselves up as much as we could, knowing it would have to last for a while. The one girl literally let me take some of the weight off while we chatted about nothing, asked each other the "what city you from, what are you doing in China?,etc."

And then we all took a deep breath, bid each other good luck and goodbye, and headed off in opposite ways – me to many more months in China, them to many more countries of the world.

We never exchanged names. But, due to the very specific experience of race in the States, we were able to give each other a moment of rest, far from home.

So, with that in mind (and Thanksgiving coming right up), here’s a virtual head-nod up to the readers of this blog (more-melanin-endowed or otherwise) for supporting me, sharing experiences, and taking a little of this particular weight from my shoulders – far from home.

I’ll get at you as soon as I’m able . . .

* How freaking cool is that, that I can just so casually throw out that first line? Gotta’ love it.

** And please think well enough of me to understand there was no sarcasm in my tone, and she could tell.

*** One group, while passing me, said "Nihao" – greeting me in Chinese, because they assumed I didn’t speak English, so when I kind of chuckled at that and said "hello" back, one of the guys muttered, "See? We try to greet them, and they just laugh."

**** And here comes the disclaimer: I’m not one to think, "white, college kid – must be ‘rich’ or ’spoiled’" or anything like that (I know too many struggling white kids – that I work with – that are fighting hard to gain access to college). Just an interesting situation, and I can’t help but wonder.

From Tradition to Modernity: the New Face of China

When I was walking through the subway station the other day, I saw a poster on the wall, advertising for an upcoming art showing. The title of the show was, "From Tradition to Modernity."

And something about that really struck me as so perfect and indicative of the Chinese mind-set these days. That "tradition" is great and all, but we have to break from that to become "modern." It’s exactly what you would expect from a giant country trying to catch up from 150 or so years of being slapped around by the "modern" world. Just like what I saw in Tanzania: in order to stop being so "backwards," we have to put away our traditions to move up.

But it feels different coming from arguably the most influential civilization in the history of the world. A nation built on 3,000 years of written history. A place where you can still walk over remarkable feats of engineering from almost two millennia ago. With a "tradition" like that, how can you go wrong?

And yet – every day here in Shanghai, I see a new building thrown up; an old neighborhood torn down. I see the metro get a face-lift while the hundreds of side-walk-style trinket vendors are kicked out. Famous market streets* – so representative of China, in so many ways – get broken up and torn up to build malls "for the tourists." Billions of dollars poured into the ridiculously high-tech facilities for the Beijing Olympics, a mag-lev train put into operation in Shanghai (but going nowhere); while the rural populace remain just as poor, and mostly ignored by a government and party that got its initial power from "the people."

All in the name of "modernity." And it’s not exactly all bad – not at all, really. In the name of national pride, China has blown the doors off the competition in terms of modern engineering and feats of large-scale technology. The speed at which highways and other infrastructure is improved and created is astounding. All of these are contributing to the economic rise of "the Dragon" – as well as giving the Chinese people much needed self-esteem on a global level.

But I wonder – when is the back-lash going to come? When are the "modern" Chinese going to look back and wonder – what happened to our culture? Our traditions? When did we become so much like the "West" – our enemies from such recent times – and lose connection to what made us so important and proud on a historical level?

The Chinese tea-culture wanes. These days, only older folks drink tea regularly, maybe some younger folks in rural areas. Tea – that drink which (arguably) gives the Chinese their famous longevity and good health – has been replaced by Coke and Pepsi products. The only tea I see regularly is a faux-tea drink composed of high amounts of sugar and food coloring. Just wait 20 years until the Chinese are "modern" enough in diet to battle diabetes and obesity.

I now have had several conversations with Chinese women in which they talked about having "eaten too much" and how they "needed to exercise" right away, so they "wouldn’t get fat." This from the stereotypical, reed-slender "modern" Chinese woman. An entire culture based on food and the appreciation of food (and eating it in large amounts) is now confronted with the first hints of eating disorder.

More and more Chinese people are learning English, while forgetting their regional tongues. Bikes are being traded in for cars. Bowing swapped for handshakes.

This is modern China.

And this is why I belong here. Right now.

Because every day I see new ways in which I represent the new face of China.** I am the deal with the devil – Chinese blood mixed with Western culture paying off in greater power, privilege, and opportunity. At a cost.

A loss of connection. As my bloods mixed, my identity became an amalgam of the two, without belonging to either. I am more "American" than Chinese, and yet . . . the Chinese part of me chafes at that fact, longs for a connection, a piece of the ancient culture.

I find myself looking back – so thankful for my mix and how that has helped me become who I am, to learn and experience so much; and yet, I often fight for a connection and sense of tradition. And so here I am, living in China, finally really learning the language, and trying to scrape together what culture I can, on my own, without anybody to really guide me.

And I can see the same thing happening to China in a couple decades. When China finds itself looking back – thankful for what this push to "modernity" has done for its people. The increased wealth. The status. The return to power and glory. And yet, at the same time, trying to figure out where the "Chineseness" all went. Seeing in themselves only a reflection of the "West," and having to turn deeper, without the guidance of the elder generation, to re-connect to the 3,000-year strand that makes this land China.

It’s going to be a painful time. A difficult road. And so very rewarding (and exciting) at the same time. The people will only come out of that process stronger, and I only hope they do not allow too much to slide before they reach that point.

From tradition to modernity and back again – that’s what the multicultural experience is all about. And that’s why I find myself in the most perfect place right now.

China, meet the CVT, your face of the future.

* Where thousands of little tables and carts are crammed together, selling everything from clothes, to jewelry, to souvenirs, to ripped-off cds and dvds.

** Not literally, of course, I think I already mentioned how no Chinese people actually think I look Chinese.

*** And . . . drumroll please . . . the first appearance of my actual face on this blog! Please, nobody panic. And yes, I know I look young . . .

I Look Young

A few years back (maybe four or five years ago), I went to the corner store to pick up a case of beer. The nice old Korean lady that ran the place took my id and looked at me. Then back at the id. Then back at me. Then back at the id again. And then she asked me, "do you have Asian in you?"

I replied, "Yeah, actually, my mom is Chinese."

And she said, "of course, of course – you cannot look like you do and be your age without having Asian blood."

I smiled, took my beers, and walked out of the store.

Of course, there were two pieces of information conveyed to me that evening that weren’t actually new to me at all: 1) I look quite a bit younger than I actually am.* 2) My Asian blood contributes to that youthful appearance.

These are two facts that I have lived with and been aware of for the majority of my conscious life. My boss’ (at the middle school) favorite joke was to take visitors by my class to see what we were up to and tell them, "It’s hard to tell, but that’s the teacher over there." My friends of color and I would always talk about how good it was to have melanin, because it helped us age so much more gracefully than those without.

Over and over again – I look very young, and it’s because of my Asian blood. I have Chinese blood, so I look much younger than I actually am. Years and years and years. You get the point?

So it took me by surprise at my first interview here in Shanghai when the lady (Chinese, obviously) said, "How old are you?" in a shocked tone of voice (this is after she had read through my resume and seen my many years of experience). When I told her I was 29, she could only say, "But you look so young."

And, in my head, I was thinking, ‘But I’m in freaking China now, where everyone has full Asian blood – how can she think I’m so young? Must be a fluke.’

But let’s just keep it brief and say – it wasn’t. Interview after interview: "How old are you? . . . But you look so young." Random Chinese folks in the street, "You’re a teacher? You mean you’re a student, right? You’re how old? But you look so young." Every Chinese person I meet has the same reaction – they think I can’t possibly be older than 25 at the most, probably a few years younger than that.

So what’s going on? As long as I’ve been aware of how young I look for my age, I’ve "known" that it’s because of my Chinese blood. And, suddenly – it’s not. Not at all. Chinese folks don’t believe my age.

I don’t know what to think, then. Why do I look so young? It’s not because of my white side. It’s not because of my Chinese side. Could it be the mixing? Do most mixed folks age well? Or is it just random? My mom looks much younger than she is . . . but I guess that’s not because she’s Chinese – just lucky genes, in general.

Many of you probably don’t understand why this is such a big deal to me. If I look young, I look young – so why would that change just because I’m in another country? Signs of age and youth are generalizable to all humanity, so it should follow that I would appear "young" wherever I went in the world – and that just held true. So why the surprise?

Because race is such a constant factor when you live with it in the U.S. You can never escape it. So many different life experiences and ways of being become tied to our racial identification (at least for those of us with some color) that it becomes second nature to attribute various realities to our racial backgrounds. I can’t go a day without thinking about my phenotype and racial make-up in the U.S. (or, possibly, anywhere else), and so it only becomes natural to connect different ways in which I am "other" to my main "otherness" – my race.

I have a problem trusting people and feeling accepted? Must be due to how I’ve stood out, visually. I’m better able to "code-switch" and get along with different groups and cultures? Probably because of my mixed-heritage. I look much younger than all these white folks around me of the same age? Must be my Chinese blood.

It’s a wake-up call, in a way. If my youthful appearance isn’t due to my Chinese blood, what else might not be due to my ethnic combination? How much of the way I’ve ended up is actually just due to my random genetically-inherited personality and physical characteristics and not because of racial experiences?

In Psychology, you learn about people’s "personal narratives." In brief, these are the stories we create about our own lives and experiences. They’re based on what actually happened, but we have a tendency, as human beings, to want to find themes and connections – and so our brain tries to find a way to explain our own personalities and life-paths through a narrative structure. An example being the "rags to riches" story – where a "self-made" man or woman will tell their story (and even remember their lives) through the context of pulling themselves up all on their own, conveniently forgetting all those lucky breaks that actually had nothing to do with their own hard work. Got the job through a friend? Well, that was because of their networking abilities and jumping on opportunities, and not nepotism, etc.

And the crazy thing is – we fully believe those personal narratives. Our brain "forgets" things or actually changes our memories to fit the structure we’ve created in our heads. It happens all the time. It’s common human behavior. We’re a species that constantly looks for patterns – and is very good at finding them, even when they’re not there.

So . . . I look young, but not because I’m Chinese. That very clearly goes against the narrative I’ve created for myself. Which now makes me ask . . . what else might go against the narrative I’ve created if I really examine it? How much of my experiences have absolutely nothing at all to do with my mixed-blood? What has my brain created to make me believe that so many have?

That’s the new question I must ask myself. Now, and from here on.

Because I look young.

But not because I’m Asian.

* When I was 24, I was working at a middle school, and a random college student who was trying to run an after-school class tried to sign me up. When I told her, "Um, I don’t think I’m eligible," she still didn’t understand and told me, "but it’s going to be so COOL."

Dripping with Privilege

I thought I’d share some relevant frustrations with you all.

I’ve been looking into getting some part-time* work here in Shanghai, to supplement my finances to help me basically break-even on this trip. Of course, as a teacher, and native English speaker, the most obvious work available here is teaching English.

The thing is this: here, in China, people want to learn how to speak English. The school system doesn’t really teach it that well, and people have very noticeable accents when they speak. So schools and individuals are constantly trying to find native English speakers to help them learn to speak English better. Whenever I look at the classifieds, there’s a million English teaching jobs. Of course, they are so desperate for native English-speaking teachers, that they will basically take anybody with a college degree, whether or not they know how to teach (because they – much like most folks who don’t appreciate teachers back home – don’t understand the difference between a real teacher and "figuring it out"). I even visited one school where their "native English-speaking" teacher was actually a Frenchman with a terrible accent and even poorer English grammar posing as a Canadian (Quebecois, I guess).

So you’d think lining up a job would be cake for me. I’ve taught professionally for four years in an "American" middle school (one of the hardest of the lot, too). I have taught English in Tanzania. I’ve tutored immigrants and refugees in English in the States. I’ve got over six years’ teaching experience, overall. And I’m damn good at it. Not to mention that anybody who has ever seen me with a kid for ten seconds knows that I love them, and that generally means we get along really well.

Compared to faux-English-speakers with no teaching experience? No problem.

So I’ve applied to all sorts of kindergartens. I’ve applied for tutoring positions. I’ve sent my resume all over the place.

And I keep not getting jobs. Before I even get an interview (which frustrates me so much, because I am confident that – given an interview – I’ll always get the job) I am told that I am not what folks are looking for.

Why? Because they are looking for female teachers. Because they think that female teachers are more appropriate for working with younger kids. Or because – in the case of the most recent rejection – they don’t think a male (me) could get along as well with their daughter.

Now, maybe in the case of the tutoring, it’s a safety thing for them. Maybe they just don’t want to say they feel more comfortable with a female in their house. Cool. That would be acceptable, I suppose. I can deal with that.

But these other rejections? Because kindergarten teachers are supposed to be women. Period. I’m in China. Women have their place (although it is slowly changing here). Some folks could say that them preserving positions for women should be a positive. But this particular manner seems more similar to a "positive stereotype" than progress to me. And it’s not like they’re hiring Chinese women for the jobs.

No, instead, they’re reinforcing the good old stereotypes: women are caregivers and can only do a good job if it’s taking care of people – preferably children or old people. So we’ll hire accordingly, which will make those types of work disproportionately carried out by women, which can then reinforce our stereotypes that that’s "what women are good at" because it’s so common. Keep the loop going, and, before you know it, the whole world is comfortable thinking that women are only "good at" taking care of people, because that’s what so many women do for a living, which then reinforces the flip – that they are not naturally "good at" other things (such as math, or science, or running things, etc.).** End result? It’s been hundreds of years since teaching was a profession for unmarried women – and yet, that’s still the majority of teachers.

This then leads to making people wonder why men don’t work with kids or old folks, etc. Must be that a real man doesn’t do that kind of thing. In fact, there must be something wrong with a man that does want to do that kind of work.

As a youth worker, I know the deal – men that work with kids are probably pedophiles of some sort. That’s the underlying assumption. I was the first male to ever be hired at one of my earlier daycare jobs (while I was in college), and the parents went crazy with complaints when they saw me working there. They didn’t feel "comfortable" with it. They wanted their children cared for by women.***

In my other work, I am constantly on alert to make sure I do not ever end up alone with a kid. If they are just hanging out with me in my classroom and nobody else is there yet (guy or girl, it doesn’t matter), I stand in the doorway while I chat with them. If one kid wants to hang out after school for homework help, I help them in the cafeteria. When I was recording my kids’ lyrics, I always brought another kid (or two) with me, whether they were going to record or not. This is what I have to do to protect myself – and the kid – due to assumptions about male youth workers.

And the fact of the matter is – I don’t complain about it. I don’t actually think it’s all that unfair. I certainly don’t take any of this to mean that "I understand what it’s like" for women in the workplace. It’s the job I chose and, as a man in this world, I could choose another job and get paid more than an equally-qualified woman for it. That’s the world we live in. So to put up with a little bit extra and have to be a little more careful to do a job I love?

It’s all good.

However, it’s the incessant reinforcement of these stereotypes about who’s "good at" what, gender-wise, that kills me. Give me 10 minutes with the kids, and you’ll be begging me to work for you. Just get me an interview. That particular frustration perhaps does give me a tiny glimpse into the much greater frustrations of those of you with "ethnic names" who know why your resume wasn’t enough to get the interview. Maybe a slight taste of what you ladies feel when you just can’t seem to get the promotion.

And it all makes me understand – I don’t "get it." Not at all. I’ve got so much privilege in this department. My name is as "white" as it gets – people probably picture "standard white guy" when they see my name on a resume. When they read my cover letter, it’s written in perfect, "white-majority, middle-class, college-educated" English. By the time I’ve snuck into an interview and they realize their mistake – it’s too late, because that’s when I blow them away, and they can’t refuse me at that point because it would be too obvious.

And then I get all pouty about not getting some freaking part-time work to subsidize my privileged, United States citizen’s ass, while I traipse about China seeing "what it’s like" (when "what it’s like" is the most tragic separation between rich and poor that I’ve ever personally witnessed)? Give me a break. It’s enough to make me feel like a total hypocrite.

I don’t get it. At best, I know that I don’t get it. But that doesn’t give me understanding. From my many positions of privilege, I can’t ever fully understand what it’s like in the other positions. I can never confidently speak out on those others’ behalf. I don’t represent anybody other than me and my particular background.

But at least I know it. And that’s a start. Because I’ve always believed that the day I stop doubting myself and finally feel totally confident and "qualified" . . . is the day the rest of the world will know that I’m full of sh–.

* Only part-time because I want the freedom to see what I want to see, when I want to see it, as well as keeping the flexibility to go teach at my grandmother’s school whenever I get the permission.

** One day at my old school would take care of that stereotype for you – our girls are some of the smartest kids, in whatever subject, you’ll ever see. And my boss? The most efficient, brutally productive boss you’ll ever know (hands-down the best I’ve ever had) – and just so happens to be a woman.

*** By the time I left? I had received the most positive feedback from families, compared to my co-workers.

Dripping with Privilege

I thought I’d share some relevant frustrations with you all.

I’ve been looking into getting some part-time* work here in Shanghai, to supplement my finances to help me basically break-even on this trip. Of course, as a teacher, and native English speaker, the most obvious work available here is teaching English.

The thing is this: here, in China, people want to learn how to speak English. The school system doesn’t really teach it that well, and people have very noticeable accents when they speak. So schools and individuals are constantly trying to find native English speakers to help them learn to speak English better. Whenever I look at the classifieds, there’s a million English teaching jobs. Of course, they are so desperate for native English-speaking teachers, that they will basically take anybody with a college degree, whether or not they know how to teach (because they – much like most folks who don’t appreciate teachers back home – don’t understand the difference between a real teacher and "figuring it out"). I even visited one school where their "native English-speaking" teacher was actually a Frenchman with a terrible accent and even poorer English grammar posing as a Canadian (Quebecois, I guess).

So you’d think lining up a job would be cake for me. I’ve taught professionally for four years in an "American" middle school (one of the hardest of the lot, too). I have taught English in Tanzania. I’ve tutored immigrants and refugees in English in the States. I’ve got over six years’ teaching experience, overall. And I’m damn good at it. Not to mention that anybody who has ever seen me with a kid for ten seconds knows that I love them, and that generally means we get along really well.

Compared to faux-English-speakers with no teaching experience? No problem.

So I’ve applied to all sorts of kindergartens. I’ve applied for tutoring positions. I’ve sent my resume all over the place.

And I keep not getting jobs. Before I even get an interview (which frustrates me so much, because I am confident that – given an interview – I’ll always get the job) I am told that I am not what folks are looking for.

Why? Because they are looking for female teachers. Because they think that female teachers are more appropriate for working with younger kids. Or because – in the case of the most recent rejection – they don’t think a male (me) could get along as well with their daughter.

Now, maybe in the case of the tutoring, it’s a safety thing for them. Maybe they just don’t want to say they feel more comfortable with a female in their house. Cool. That would be acceptable, I suppose. I can deal with that.

But these other rejections? Because kindergarten teachers are supposed to be women. Period. I’m in China. Women have their place (although it is slowly changing here). Some folks could say that them preserving positions for women should be a positive. But this particular manner seems more similar to a "positive stereotype" than progress to me. And it’s not like they’re hiring Chinese women for the jobs.

No, instead, they’re reinforcing the good old stereotypes: women are caregivers and can only do a good job if it’s taking care of people – preferably children or old people. So we’ll hire accordingly, which will make those types of work disproportionately carried out by women, which can then reinforce our stereotypes that that’s "what women are good at" because it’s so common. Keep the loop going, and, before you know it, the whole world is comfortable thinking that women are only "good at" taking care of people, because that’s what so many women do for a living, which then reinforces the flip – that they are not naturally "good at" other things (such as math, or science, or running things, etc.).** End result? It’s been hundreds of years since teaching was a profession for unmarried women – and yet, that’s still the majority of teachers.

This then leads to making people wonder why men don’t work with kids or old folks, etc. Must be that a real man doesn’t do that kind of thing. In fact, there must be something wrong with a man that does want to do that kind of work.

As a youth worker, I know the deal – men that work with kids are probably pedophiles of some sort. That’s the underlying assumption. I was the first male to ever be hired at one of my earlier daycare jobs (while I was in college), and the parents went crazy with complaints when they saw me working there. They didn’t feel "comfortable" with it. They wanted their children cared for by women.***

In my other work, I am constantly on alert to make sure I do not ever end up alone with a kid. If they are just hanging out with me in my classroom and nobody else is there yet (guy or girl, it doesn’t matter), I stand in the doorway while I chat with them. If one kid wants to hang out after school for homework help, I help them in the cafeteria. When I was recording my kids’ lyrics, I always brought another kid (or two) with me, whether they were going to record or not. This is what I have to do to protect myself – and the kid – due to assumptions about male youth workers.

And the fact of the matter is – I don’t complain about it. I don’t actually think it’s all that unfair. I certainly don’t take any of this to mean that "I understand what it’s like" for women in the workplace. It’s the job I chose and, as a man in this world, I could choose another job and get paid more than an equally-qualified woman for it. That’s the world we live in. So to put up with a little bit extra and have to be a little more careful to do a job I love?

It’s all good.

However, it’s the incessant reinforcement of these stereotypes about who’s "good at" what, gender-wise, that kills me. Give me 10 minutes with the kids, and you’ll be begging me to work for you. Just get me an interview. That particular frustration perhaps does give me a tiny glimpse into the much greater frustrations of those of you with "ethnic names" who know why your resume wasn’t enough to get the interview. Maybe a slight taste of what you ladies feel when you just can’t seem to get the promotion.

And it all makes me understand – I don’t "get it." Not at all. I’ve got so much privilege in this department. My name is as "white" as it gets – people probably picture "standard white guy" when they see my name on a resume. When they read my cover letter, it’s written in perfect, "white-majority, middle-class, college-educated" English. By the time I’ve snuck into an interview and they realize their mistake – it’s too late, because that’s when I blow them away, and they can’t refuse me at that point because it would be too obvious.

And then I get all pouty about not getting some freaking part-time work to subsidize my privileged, United States citizen’s ass, while I traipse about China seeing "what it’s like" (when "what it’s like" is the most tragic separation between rich and poor that I’ve ever personally witnessed)? Give me a break. It’s enough to make me feel like a total hypocrite.

I don’t get it. At best, I know that I don’t get it. But that doesn’t give me understanding. From my many positions of privilege, I can’t ever fully understand what it’s like in the other positions. I can never confidently speak out on those others’ behalf. I don’t represent anybody other than me and my particular background.

But at least I know it. And that’s a start. Because I’ve always believed that the day I stop doubting myself and finally feel totally confident and "qualified" . . . is the day the rest of the world will know that I’m full of sh–.

* Only part-time because I want the freedom to see what I want to see, when I want to see it, as well as keeping the flexibility to go teach at my grandmother’s school whenever I get the permission.

** One day at my old school would take care of that stereotype for you – our girls are some of the smartest kids, in whatever subject, you’ll ever see. And my boss? The most efficient, brutally productive boss you’ll ever know (hands-down the best I’ve ever had) – and just so happens to be a woman.

*** By the time I left? I had received the most positive feedback from families, compared to my co-workers.

A Chinese British Guy

This isn’t going to be one of my "deeper" posts.

Last night, I was doing a language exchange with a company that sets you up (for free) with language partners and self-guided language lessons (so I get paired up with a native Chinese speaker who wants to learn English; we spend one hour all in Mandarin, to help me practice; then the next hour is all in English, to help them). It’s a pretty good deal, and I had some interesting conversation about being "hunxue’er" with my language partner. However, that’s not the focus of this post.

Upon leaving, I shared an elevator ride with this Chinese guy. One look at him, and I could tell he obviously wasn’t a "born-in-China" Chinese guy, so I assumed he must be American. But, before I could speak, he started up some idle chit-chat . . . and he had a British accent!

And I should be the last person in the world who should be all amazed or surprised by a Chinese guy with a British accent, but I am sorry to say that I was. I was flat-out shocked. And intrigued. I just kept wanting to talk to this guy, so I could continue to have this jarring experience of speaking to a Chinese guy (from outside of London) with a clipped British accent. I found myself thinking, "that would be cool to have a British Chinese friend . . ."

And in those few minutes, from my own personal reactions, I can understand exactly why this guy (he can’t be that old) has lived in China for the past 6 years-plus. If I had that internal response, I can only imagine what kind of external responses this guy has had to put up with all of his life.

Which then begs the question: if stereotypes and media representations are so powerful that I still had this reaction to a Chinese British guy, after all my years of examining race, and representations, and identity, and "being the other other," how can we defeat it? What kind of massive movement is necessary to ever convince people that this Chinese dude having a British accent isn’t "exotic" or interesting on a "parlour-trick" level? What would it take?

I have no idea. Because the worst thing about all of this is that – even after thinking about all of this and writing this post – my mind is still saying, "A Chinese British guy . . . cool!"

Aiyaaaa . . . the battle never ends.

I Miss Brown People

Of all the things I could do here in China – I just watched an episode of "So You Think You Can Dance?". Because that’s what people do here – they illegally acquire American television shows and movies and watch them.

And part of it is definitely the heavy quantities of caffeine I imbibed through the gallon of tea I drank today (with the subsequent crash), but it has left me feeling oddly nostalgic. For dancing? No. American pop culture? That’s not it.

You know what it is?

I already miss brown people. And other non-Asian non-white people. Because, no matter how much I complain about Portland, it’s still got about 18% more non-Asian people of color than this entire country. And seeing a decent amount of black people,* specifically, on the show has me thinking about that. That – no matter how great this experience is for me – the reality of my world is that a large portion of people I spend real time with – and have significant relationships with – in the States are brown folks.** And they’re not here, people that look like them aren’t here, and brown people, in general, are just not going to be a part of my life here. Period.

And it’s going to be interesting to see how that affects me. I’ve mentioned before in my references to "code-switching" that I have a lot of mannerisms and speech patterns of the American urban culture of color due to my tendency to identify as a form of "brown," and here – I suddenly have to erase that, almost entirely, from my existence. Because the foreigners I see who are primarily English-speaking aren’t going to be from that background. My cousin is an assimilated ABC. And the Chinese folks simply don’t understand that way of being and have even worse stereotypes about that than folks back home.***

Now what do I do about it? I came here fully aware that I was going to have to let some things go. I came here kind of excited about that. I’ve done my "white side" to death – time to see what my "Chinese side" really feels like. But I’m not just a sum of those parts.

My "in-between-ness" has created a third part to my identity – the "person of color." The sense of being a part of a bigger struggle – that of people of color, as a whole – that doesn’t quite get fully expressed on either of those two blood-sides. Being mixed has drawn me towards the urban culture of color ("brown American culture"), and participation in that community has actually been the most influential in helping me finally feel comfortable with who I am and what I do. Sadly, it hasn’t been the Asian-American community. Nor, obviously, has it been the Caucasian majority culture.

So the question is this: when I’m speaking English to Chinese folks, and I "code-switch" to British-style English, and my sort of "English-as-a-Second-Language" mannerisms, am I "selling out" to a degree? When I’m teaching (mostly English, in all likelihood), and I do not bring any of the non-dominant American culture English to the table – is that contributing to Chinese stereotypes of Western people of color?

And on the other side – if I ever succeed in tracking down the "Chinese hip-hoppers," would it also be contributing to stereotypes and a form of cultural appropriation if I allow that side of me to come out?

I really don’t know. I hadn’t thought of any of this. In my anticipation of this trip, I only thought of immersing myself in Chinese culture and allowing it to seep into my understanding on different levels. But I never thought ahead about what I am allowing to slip by "going with the flow" in that way. As an ambassador of a very specific kind of American culture that doesn’t see its way here very often (outside of mainstream American pop media culture – which is not the best ambassador for creating awareness), what is my responsibility in regards to representing that culture?

I’m too aware these days to only take from this opportunity.

But code-switching has always been my gift. To be able to soak up and understand different cultural contexts and adjust to make others more comfortable, and to help me gain a better understanding of the cultures I travel through. It’s what made me establish truly meaningful relationships when I lived in Tanzania.**** It’s why I can do the youth work I do as well as I do it. It’s why I have the understanding of race and privilege that I do. It’s something I’ve always been proud of and such a part of how I am in the world.

So, for the first time, really – I find myself immersed in a different culture, and I wonder if fully code-switching is the right thing to do. Or if it’s time that I intentionally disrupt "the way they do things" here to attempt some education.

Of course, when I put it that way, it sounds too much like the privileged Westerner trying to tell the rest of the world how to do things, because "I know best" (a sort of mental imperialism). Like a snotty American just out of college trying to lecture Chinese people about Tibet before they’ve even lived here for any length of time.

But I know it’s not so simple as that . . .

And so, unfortunately, this post will have no tidy wrap-up. It won’t come to a satisfying conclusion, or even pass basic literary muster by finishing off an arc.

I’m hanging. I don’t know. I miss brown people because there are almost none here. But, everywhere I go, there is one.

Me.

So what does any of that even mean?

* And hearing them talk.

** And yes – plenty of white folks, too, but I’m just going to be honest and say that I don’t miss that yet (a big reason being that the "foreigners" I do end up seeing around here are white folks, so they’re still a presence, to a certain degree; plus, Portland overwhelmed me so much, a break isn’t the worst thing in the world).

*** I’ll definitely do a post on my search for "Chinese hip-hop" sometime soon . . .

**** And ultimately got me "fired" from a basically volunteer job because I sided too much with the locals. Isn’t that a story for another day?

I Don’t Feel Like Writing (Audio)

Obviously, there’s been a lot going on out here. I’m loving it, and there’s so much to think about and process. But I just haven’t been feeling the writing, lately (and I don’t know if folks are still following along, anyway).

So yesterday, as I sat on a wall on Nanjing Lu (I mis-labeled my audio file), I got the inspiration to wax poetic. So I wrote a little something right then and there, and – even more fun for me – I then recorded it right then and there on this digital recorder I bought specifically for this trip. And there you have it – "live" on the streets of Shanghai, the CVT performing a brand-new piece* (so forgive sound-quality, etc.). I very minorly produced it back at home, but it can only be so professional, considering the circumstances.

Unfortunately, all the file-storage sites are blocked out here, so you’ll have to download the piece from this link (and you only have 5 days to do so, for those that need a re-up, let me know in the comments):

http://www.transferbigfiles.com/Get.aspx?id=73fa1a99-dfec-4b10-a4c8-503f4349f6b5

* In case you were wondering, the folks around me were completely indifferent to the hunxue’er speaking words into his digital recorder on the side of the road.

** For the first time on Choptensils, here’s an actual photo that I took. And that’s the back of my head. This is my view while I was writing this (although, for some reason, this photo makes the street look decidedly not-crowded . . .).

“American,” meaning “White”

Well, it didn’t take me long to learn the Mandarin word for my "condition."

The other day, I was wandering around the city with my cousin (we’ll call him "E") and his girlfriend ("J") as they were looking for a new apartment to move into. As we were chatting, J suddenly went from English (which she speaks pretty well) to Mandarin with E, and I caught a few references to me. I was able to pick out that she was reconfirming my mix – that my dad was "American," and my mom was "Chinese."* E said that that was so, and we continued on.

A little bit later, as they were talking to a sort of realtor-type lady, the lady looked at me and then began speedily asking questions of J. This time, I didn’t catch a whole lot, but I did hear some more references to "dad" and "American," so I was able to figure it out. J then told me that the lady had asked if I was "hunxue’er" – a "mixed-blood" (I also saw it translated as "half-caste," but I’d prefer to live in post-colonial times). She continued to say that the lady said she could tell because my hair was very different.**

So – two things stuck out at me here: first, my "mixed-blood" seemed more an item of curiosity for both, as opposed to a reason for judgment, which is nice to know (although this is very pro-Western, capitalist Shanghai, where that kind of thing might be taken quite differently than elsewhere). Second, all over the world, when people say "American," they’re talking about white people.

Because determining my mix in relation to the nationalities of my parents is nothing new in my international life. The same thing happened in Tanzania – where I would explain that my father was "American," and my mother was "Chinese." Of course, "Chinese" is a nationality and an ethnicity, which is where this confusion comes from.

Because, in much of the rest of the world, nationality and race are tied together, historically. The original inhabitants of China were Asian (although not necessarily Han Asian, as now), therefore those of Chinese nationality are almost universally Asian, racially. Same with Tanzania, where the history has consistently held black-Africans in that area (again, not necessarily Bantu Africans, but black-Africans, nonetheless). Scottish tribes were made up of white people. Germanic peoples were also white. Persians lived in Persia (now Iran). Etc.

But the era of Imperialism changed a lot of that, pretty drastically. Sure, there were some nations that were mixed from an early stage, but if we’re talking in generalities, Imperialism is what really altered the racial make-up of many countries. Because, suddenly, there were white people in charge of African nations, bringing in East-Indian laborers to become the merchant class (or to do more menial labor). In the West, those white people were dominating West-Indian people, shipping in black-African slaves, and encouraging the immigration of East-Asian coolies for off-plantation manual labor. Over the course of only a couple hundred years (after thousands of years of civilization), different races of people were living in large numbers all over the world.

And with the onset of globalization, that is only set to continue. And yet, in spite of all that mixing, people the world over still think of an "American" as white. In fact, most "Americans" think of the typical "American" as white. And yes – "white" is the majority right now, so that makes statistical sense – but that’s not all it is. It’s the fact that, when people around the world read about or see things on tv or in the media about "America," they see the obvious – a country of white people overseeing subjugated peoples of color.

Because it’s not like the international world isn’t aware of black-Americans. Black-American culture (specifically, the music, but also sports) is probably the most-consumed aspect of America (other than fast-food) in the rest of the world. And yet – it is clear to these international people that all these black people they see and follow are not really Americans. Because the "Americans" they actually end up meeting in the world are white ones – the ones with the money and privilege to be out traveling the world in large enough numbers to be considered the norm.

And it will be interesting to see how this changes over the next couple decades. With Obama’s face now the face internationally associated with American diplomatic power, how will that change international perceptions of who an "American" is? As white people slowly lose majority-numbers in the States, will money and power shift enough for Americans of color to be physically seen traveling the world (or doing global business, etc.)?

Can "American" stop meaning "white" in our lifetimes, or is it going to take much longer than that?

We can only wait and see.

* For the duration of this post, I am going to use "American" to refer to denizens of the United States. Obviously, this is not accurate at all (as there are so many "Americans" that have absolutely nothing to do with the nation of the U.S.), but, as I am coming at this from an international stance, and that is what folks generally mean when they say "American" in other parts of the world – that’s how I’m using it.

**Which is interesting, because, when I lived in Tanzania, they would say that they "knew" I was Chinese because I had "Chinese hair."

The CVT in China: First Impressions

So I’m here now: Shanghai. And I’ve been here almost exactly two days. Not very long at all, but just long enough to have some first impressions (with sufficient mental alertness post-jet-lag to articulate them).

My first comment will be about my flight over here, and not really concern China, itself. So I flew in on Asiana Airlines, which is a Korean airline (quite a good one, at that). And on my ticket, it very specifically stated that I was in "Zone A" for boarding. At my gate (in San Francisco), they carefully called out the various boarding "zones," and I had to wait until my "zone" was called to board. Of course. That’s how you board a plane, right?

Well . . .

My layover (12 hours later) came in Seoul. And in Seoul, things changed. My new boarding pass clearly stated that I was in "Zone A" again. And this time, the gate was very specifically labeled, with big clear signs, "Business" class and "Travel" class. Two different sides of the main counter where it seemed the two different classes would board. Except, once the boarding began, there was no mentioning of "zones." There was no mentioning of different "classes." Hell, there wasn’t even a mention of "pre-boarding" for those with young children or those needing assistance. Instead, all bets were off, and we all just massed together to get on the plane . . . I kind of loved it.

Welcome to the East.

So then I arrived in Shanghai, catching an evening cab-ride to my cousin’s apartment in the heart of the city. And on that ride, I was able to develop a few more first impressions. As we sped down the highway, zigging in and out of traffic, I looked out at the city, and its lit-up night. So many buildings with neon lights, or LEDs lighting them up. It reminded me of the future . . . That’s all I can really say. The future.

Because Shanghai is no Orientalist fantasy – it is modern to the Nth degree. For those who have visited New York City . . . think of that bastion of cosmopolitan America as a freaking backwater in comparison to Shanghai. The freeways, the building designs, the level of sophisticated technology and modern construction in this city is beyond what I had imagined on a large scale. This place really looks like the future.

And I mean that in the best and worst ways. The best is the innovative architecture. The brilliant use of glass and beautifully gaudy lights. The artistically sweeping highways and bridges. It’s some kind of beautiful. On the other hand, it’s a Western capitalist’s dream: store after store; branding and advertising galore. Walking down one street I saw LensCrafters, Papa John’s Pizza, and KFC. There’s a Starbucks (of course) in the neighborhood I’m staying at. Banks and ATMs. Nokia, Adidas. This is the metropolitan city of the future. A future where location means nothing, because the globalized economy is the ultimate nullifier. It kind of looks like the city in BladeRunner.

And that’s what hit me the most: the most shocking and surprising thing about this city is how little it has shocked me. How "normal" it feels here. Yes, there are tons of Chinese people all over. Yes, everything is in Chinese script. But no – it doesn’t feel that odd to me.

It’s just like a gigantic Chinatown to me (a real Chinatown, like in Oakland where my grandma lived – one where Chinese people actually live, and it’s not just for tourists). The sense of greatened height is nothing new to me. Sure, I stand out differently here, but it’s the same standing-out I’ve dealt with before.

Although I do wonder what people think of me here. What they think I am. Because they don’t really react to me in any special fashion. I’ve had more people just start speaking Chinese to me than trying any English. And yet, I obviously stand out. I don’t look like them. I dress very "American." But it’s not quite a flip on being the non-white guy in a white-dominated America (or Portland).

Because there’s one huge difference – here, I stand out, and I am obviously an outsider. And nobody really calls overt attention to that fact. That’s no different from the States.

However, here – nobody would say, if asked, that I didn’t stand out. Here, everyone would expect me to be very aware of my foreign-ness. Nobody would expect me to feel like I’m just one of the many. Because it’s just so obvious. In the States? The majority (the white folks) constantly act surprised that I feel separate. They act shocked that I don’t feel accepted or part of the many. It doesn’t even occur to them that I don’t quite fit in due to my appearance, and that that might make me a little bit uncomfortable.

And it’s exactly that difference that – so far (very early on, of course) – has me feeling perfectly normal here. Because my standing out is a given. Because nobody would deny that fact or be ignorant of it. That makes me feel like this is a place where I can be comfortable. Whereas, in the States where I’m actually from, people deny the obvious so much and expect me to ignore it so much that it makes me more uncomfortable.

So beautifully ironic, no?

So here I am. In a Chinese city so very obviously smashed together with the Western world. So very Western in its "modernity" and capitalist feel, but also so Chinese in so many ways. This collision of worlds has given this city such an interesting flavour, just as my combined blood and worlds has created me. And so I can’t imagine a place any more perfect for a mixed-Chinese-American like me to begin this journey.

So come join me on this next chapter, as I wade through the other half of my blood, trying it on and attempting to fully understand it for the first time in my life. From what only these first two days have shown me, it’s going to be an amazing journey, indeed.