I managed to snap a photo with a couple of RCMP officers at the Shanghai Expo in Sept, 2010.

The UCC tries to tackle difficult and controversial subjects about Chinese Canadians/Americans. It’s run by a bunch of “opinionated characters who care about issues that don’t often see the day of light”, according to the site.

Some cool facts about The Ugly Chinese Canadian:
1) During the month of May (2011), the blog hit a quarter of a million page views/month

2) A number of Canadian political parties read the blog to get a feel of the “Chinese pulse” in the community

Here’s my post below. You can also read it on The Ugly Chinese Canadian website.

What does it mean to belong somewhere? Does citizenship and a passport help define who you are? Is your identity established by how others see you? Or do you decide that for yourself?

I began seeking the answers to my questions when I first moved to China in 2007.

When I was 24 years old, I quit my job and moved to Beijing, enrolling in an intensive Chinese-language course at Tsinghua University.

People cracked a lot of jokes about returning to the “motherland” to learn my “mother tongue.” But as a Canadian, I always considered my mother tongue to be English. And what about the motherland? I was born in Toronto, my mother was born in Hong Kong and my father in Taiwan. So where is the motherland, really? I wasn’t so sure.

When I got to Beijing, most of my classmates were South Koreans – all of whom could read and write Chinese better than I could (did that make them more Chinese than me?) – while the rest were an assortment of Americans, Australians, Africans and interestingly, Kazhaks.

But in the hallways and in my dorm, I often passed by a group of Chinese-looking students speaking a guttural European language that sounded something like German. Overcome with curiosity, I approached them one day and quickly discovered they all spoke fluent English.

“Where are you all from?” I asked.

“The Netherlands.”

“Oh wow,” I said. “I didn’t know there were so many Chinese people in Holland!”

“And I didn’t know there were Chinese people in Canada.”

In retrospect, we sound pretty ignorant. Of course there are Chinese people in Holland (and in Canada!). There are Chinese people everywhere! At the time, my concept of an “overseas Chinese” included Chinese Canadians, Chinese Americans and maybe Chinese Australians and Chinese from the UK. In other words, English-speaking Chinese people. But here they were, Dutch-speaking Chinese people. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Little did I know that three years later, I’d end up marrying one of the Dutch-born Chinese friends I made that day.

People cracked a lot of jokes about returning to the “motherland” to learn my “mother tongue.” But as a Canadian, I always considered my mother tongue to be English. And what about the motherland? I was born in Toronto, my mother was born in Hong Kong and my father in Taiwan. So where is the motherland, really? I wasn’t so sure.

The group was actually more diverse than I originally thought. In addition to the Dutch Chinese, there were American Chinese, a Chinese student born in France, an Australian Chinese and a Swedish-born Chinese in the group. Though we came from different countries, all of us seemed to click instantly, finding solace in our dual identities and even a shared history:

We bonded over the dreaded Saturday morning Chinese lessons we were all forced to attend; we shared in the frustration we felt when we realized we we could not speak Chinese fluently; and we revelled in the serendipitous decision we made to take a gap year in school/work to come to China to learn this so-called “mother tongue” of ours.

My Putonghua improved dramatically through the months. But while living in Beijing, I never felt more Canadian. That’s what a foreign environment does to you. When you’re thrown into a strange, new world, you start to really define who you are by first establishing what you are not.

In Beijing, I looked different from the average Chinese woman, from the way I dressed, down to things I could not change, like my height, weight and facial features. The food in Beijing was very different from the kinds of foods my Cantonese mother made at home in Canada. And there seemed to be a cultural (and language) gap between the foreign students and the local students at Tsinghua. We tried to mix up a few social events, but in the end, I forged deeper and more lasting friendships with the overseas Chinese.

During our time in China, all of us were confronted with the question of identity. It was an internal struggle that often manifested itself in every day encounters. Beijing cab drivers liked to play guessing games with us. Hearing us speak accented Chinese, they couldn’t help but ask:

“Where are you from?”

“Where do you think we’re from?” we’d reply.

“Korea,” they often said. “You must be from Korea.”

It was difficult for many local Chinese to understand why Chinese-looking people couldn’t fluently speak their own “mother tongue.” Sometimes, it became tiresome having to explain it over and over again.

“I’ve been outside of China for 20 years now, but to Spaniards I am still a foreigner,” he said. “I can change my passport, but my veins pump Chinese blood. My face will always be Chinese.”

My experiences in China got me thinking about where someone’s sense of identity comes from and how malleable that concept might be. A lot of us would like to believe that identity comes from within. It’s a romantic notion to think one has control over his or her own sense of self, that one can confidently say, I’m Chinese or I’m Dutch or I’m Canadian because “I feel it in my heart” or “I know it in my soul.” But I came to realize that identity is actually created and reinforced by external circumstances. One’s identity can change depending on who is asking. For example, friends who identified themselves as “Dutch” in China, often told Dutch people in Holland they were Chinese.

The concept of the “social identity” was originally formulated by psychologists Henri Tajfel and John Turner in the 70s and 80s. Identity, they said, was derived from perceived membership in a relevant social group. Social identity is therefore dependent on one’s status, legitimacy and permeability in a group environment. There are also different kinds of identity. There’s national identity, ethnic identity and cultural identity, to name a few.

Sometimes, people had difficulties articulating to me how they identified themselves. One friend, who was born in China and immigrated to the Netherlands when he was four years old, used Olympic sports to describe his sense of national identity.

“If I’m watching ping pong, I’ll cheer for the Chinese team,” he explained. “If I’m watching football, I’ll cheer for the Dutch team.”

“But then you’re just cheering for the winners,” I said. And don’t we all like to cheer for the winning team?

Recently, I was in Spain conducting research for a book I’m writing on Chinese emigration to Europe. I spoke with a 30-year-old Chinese entrepreneur in Madrid. Yong Jin emigrated to Spain when he was 10 years old. Today, he speaks fluent Spanish and is married to a Spanish woman.

I asked him how he felt about China and Spain. Which country did he identify with more? Did he perceive himself to be Chinese? How did Spaniards perceive him and did it affect the way he looked at himself?

If it came down to choosing whether he preferred one country over the other, Jin said he couldn’t make such a decision.

“Basically you are asking me to choose between my mother or my father,” he said. “On one side we have China, my mother who gave birth to me. On the other side, we have Spain, my father who raised me and who passed on a lot of culture and education to me. I cannot choose one or the other. I love both my parents equally.”

But ultimately, he said, his sense of identity had already been determined for him:

“I’ve been outside of China for 20 years now, but to Spaniards I am still a foreigner,” he said. “I can change my passport, but my veins pump Chinese blood. My face will always be Chinese.”

Chinese immigrants in Europe are entering into societies that are less accustomed to newcomers and therefore, at times, less welcoming. In Spain, immigration is a relatively new phenomenon. And there is already a pre-conceived notion of what a typical Spaniard should look like. Jin doesn’t fit that description.

I came to realize that identity is actually created and reinforced by external circumstances. One’s identity can change depending on who is asking. For example, friends who identified themselves as “Dutch” in China, often told Dutch people in Holland they were Chinese.

Other European nations, like the Netherlands, have a longer history of immigration and are generally viewed as more open and accepting towards foreign residents. But my husband, who was born and raised in Holland, told me he has never felt whole-heartedly “Dutch.” He grew up acutely aware that he was different from everyone else. While I have generally enjoy my visits to the Netherlands over the years, I am surprised when children shout the names of Chinese fast food dishes when I am passing by on my bicycle.

A typical Chinese restaurant menu in Holland will not feature chow mein or beef and broccoli as an American or Canadian might expect. Instead, you’ll find Indonesian-inspired Chinese food. Some of the most popular dishes are: loempias (spring rolls), nasi (fried rice), bami (fried noodles) and babi pangang (a deep-fried pork cutlet drenched in red sauce). On several occasions, while visiting Rotterdam, I’ve been called a loempia. Okay, so there could be worse insults. But it’s puzzling that this sort of name-calling is still going on in Holland.

For me, I have always considered myself “Canadian” whether I’m at home in Toronto or abroad. My black hair, olive skin and angled eyes are characteristics that define me, but never in Canada have I been made to feel different or uncomfortable about who I am.

After spending the last few years living abroad, my husband and I have decided to settle down. We’re hoping to start our new lives in Vancouver soon. In a few years time, I wonder if he will also come to identify himself as a Canadian. I hope this country and its people show him the same kind of acceptance, legitimacy and permeability I have experienced my entire life.

Suzanne Ma is a Canadian journalist currently writing a book about Chinese emigration to Europe. You can read more of her stories on her website: http://www.suzannema.com

Today's ad in the Apple Daily. Online users raised $100,000 HKD to campaign against Chinese mainland visitors to HK.

The locust is now synonymous for some very unwelcome mainland Chinese visitors to Hong Kong. Web users coined the term to describe the 28 million Chinese visitors now looked upon as marauders, bringing chaos to Hong Kong’s order and rule of law and consuming precious resources in the city.

Hong Kong residents are particularly vexed about the tens of thousands of pregnant mainland women who cross the border every year to give birth, obtaining Hong Kong benefits for their children and putting a strain on congested public hospitals. There is also much resentment towards the nouveau riche who come to the territory and splurge on luxury goods and apartments, driving up already exorbitant rents in the property market.

In less than a week, an online group raised $100,000 HK dollars to place the ad in The Apple Daily newspaper.

The advert, I fear, now signals that the gloves are off in an already vicious and long simmering dispute, dividing Hong Kong residents and those who come from the Chinese mainland.

But maybe the gloves were already off. Last week,a Beijing academic went on an internet talk show and went on a 15 minute rant, calling Hong Kong people “bastards,” “thieves” and “dogs” for insulting mainland Chinese visitors.

Illustrations featuring locusts, aka invading Chinese mainlanders, have gone viral on the internet.

But this recent blow up can be traced back to an incident in January when more than 1,000 people protested outside a Dolce & Gabbana shop. The fashion store banned locals from taking pictures outside, telling them only mainland Chinese visitors could do so.

Later, a video of a group of Hong Kong people angrily confronting a mainland Chinese family for eating on the city’s underground train network where food is banned went viral.

I totally get why the Hong Kong people are pissed. It’s a bit of an invasion. Out of the 42 million visitors Hong Kong gets each year, 28 million come from China. Though Hong Kong is now officially part of China, the two places couldn’t be more different. I have always marvelled at how clean and orderly Hong Kong is (even by Canadian standards) compared to cities in mainland China. Just crossing the border from HK to the city of Shenzhen gives travellers a stark comparison to see just how different the territory is from the mainland. The clean toilets disappear and we are met with dirty squatters. The orderly line ups in Hong Kong give way to frantic clambering and pushing. Everything changes. Even the air quality.

At Harbour City in Hong Kong’s Tsim Sha Tsui, where many mainland visitors shop, it is easy to spot who comes from China and who is a local. Some of the worst stereotypes come true. The mainland shoppers move in loud, boisterous packs, line up outside Chanel and LV, squat on the sidewalks instead of finding a nearby bench, and they spit, a lot.

We lived in Hung Hom, where there was a train station directly connecting Hong Kong to Shenzhen. We watched as the apartments in our neighborhood were bought up by the Chinese. Our land lady was one of them and she was impossible to deal with. She dropped by unannounced. Even stayed a night at our place after handing us the keys and signing a one-year contract with us. In the end, she refused to return our deposit and we left Hong Kong a few thousand dollars short. The real estate agent apologized profusely to us. “These mainland Chinese,” she said. “I just can’t deal with them. They don’t listen.”

And that’s why the noodle incident caused such a big uproar. I think the Hong Kong locals shouldn’t have gotten so worked up about it, but when the family was confronted about eating on the subway, the Chinese mother of the family was defiant and unapologetic. “So we’re eating? What’s it to you?”

I get that a lot in China. “Um, there’s a line up here,” I would meekly say. “What’s it to you?” is the answer I usually get. “You line up if you want. I’ll do what I want.”

So obviously, I think the mainlanders need to be more respectful of Hong Kong’s rules. I don’t know how we can do this, how we can go about mass educating and enacting some kind of mass change of behaviour. It’s also important to remember not to hold all Chinese mainlanders accountable for the unruly behaviour of some and the hate speech of one loony professor. And finally, I can say for certain, that taking out a full page advert depicting locusts isn’t going to help.

That’s because, well, he’s a Chinese immigrant in Holland. The slave wages? Uh huh. The 12-hour work days? Been there, done that. The loneliness? Of course. And separation from family??! Wouldn’t be a migrant life’s without it!

I sometimes wonder what Chinese immigrants will think when they finally get the chance to read my book. They might have the same reaction as my father-in-law. That’s life, they might say.

But as for you, dear readers, I think the realities of their world might come as a bit of a shock to you. Throughout my travels in Europe, I found myself in awe, in tears, and feeling really lucky and grateful for the life I have.

Here’s a primer on a Chinese migrant’s life in Europe:

Chinese migrant workers sewing name-brand Italian swim wear at a factory near the coastal city of Rimini.

1) The average Chinese migrant worker in Europe works at least 12 hours a day.

2) You can demand more pay if you have experience, but if you’re just starting out, you can expect to make about 500 Euros a month if you work at a bar or restaurant. Even less if you work in a factory. Room and board is usually provided by your employer. Most workers are given a bed or a room in their boss’ home. While 500 Euros seems little to us, that’s already five times more than a waitress will make in China.

3) When Chinese migrant workers arrive in Europe, they usually don’t have a problem finding employment. Even in this economic recession, migrant workers of Chinese nationality often have a job lined up before even arriving in Europe.This is especially true of those who come from Qingtian. The network of Qingtian immigrants is so tight and extensive, employment is not difficult to come by.

4) Chinese employers like to hire workers who hail from the same hometown. That way, they feel there’s a better guarantee that the worker will be a good one. Or, at least he or she will be accountable for how she works and behaves.

Working for friends or family can be comforting for the worker, if the boss is nice. If not, workers often have a harder time because they are hesitant to ask for a raise or a day off, for fear of souring the relationship.

5) Many Chinese emigrants are isolated from mainstream society, working for Chinese employers alongside Chinese co-workers. As a result, they can live in Europe for a decade and still not speak the local language.

* * *

Behind the smiles, many Chinese migrant workers are overworked and underpaid.

I remember noticing how red and blistered the young girl’s hands were. She had been working less than a month, but the constant washing and scrubbing and polishing had taken its toll.

I clutched her swollen hands and found myself blinking back tears.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m ok. Really. I’m doing fine!”

Here I was, in a position to comfort her, to provide her with encouragement and counsel. Instead, this young girl was comforting me. Telling me things were going to be alright. It was at that moment I realized how strong she was.

Italy was not what she imagined. But she was determined to work hard. Her goal was to save enough money to someday run her own bar and support her entire family financially.

When that kind of responsibility is dealt to you, you have no choice but to work hard. That is the stuff Chinese immigrants in Europe are made of. Even if you’re only 17 years old.

But here I am in Italy. And this is the tourist I have become.

A Chinese restaurant run by Qingtian immigrants in Rovigo, Italy.

So before coming to Europe, I brushed up on my Chinese. Nearly all of my interviews have been conducted in Putonghua. And, getting around Europe using English has worked just fine. Until I got to Italy.

Maybe it’s just bad luck. But during our first week in Italy, we encountered at least five people who were upset we could not speak Italian and hostile when we tried, in vain, to communicate.

“Italiano,” said the man in Torino, minding the front desk that night. He glared at me sternly. It happened again in Monselice, a town near Padova. A man at the front desk of a hotel refused to try and talk to me when I inquired about hotel prices. And then again when we tried to buy bus tickets at a bar. I may not understand Italian, but I know when someone’s pissed off — it has often come in the form of one speaking rapid fire Italian to him or herself while rolling their eyes and throwing up their hands.

I should have a thicker skin. I’m a trained journalist and I know what it’s like to be sworn at, to have doors slammed in my face, to be hung up on, to battle other reporters in a scrum. Alas, it still gets to me when people are less than courteous.

To be fair, I have met a good number of nice Italians. Italians who saw us admiring a church in Verona, came over to ask where we were from, and said: “Welcome to Italy!” We have met wonderful hotel staff across the country. People who go out of their way to make us feel comfortable.

But we get shouted at a lot. “NI HAO”s in bars and on the street. Perhaps it’s just their way of being friendly. But I find it condescending. I feel, at times, I am a spectacle. For them to shout “NI HAO” and to get a response is a thrill. Sometimes, I respond with: “Hello.”

For sure, this kind of greeting doesn’t just happen in Italy. I was constantly called “China-man!” in Havana, Cuba. In China, foreigners are often greeted with a jeering: “HALLO! HALLO!” It can be really, really annoying. And when I was still living in New York — multicultural capital of the world — a friend and I were out for the evening and stopped briefly in the Times Square subway station to watch the performers who often gather just outside the famous Latin music store. A young, black performer came up to the crowd and asked everyone to take a step back. When he saw my friend and I (both Chinese), he pressed his hands together and bowed deeply to us, saying: “Konichewa!”

My friend was not amused. He stared the young man down and said: “Dude, I’m American.” The boy seemed surprised by my friend’s reaction, thought for a moment, then extended his hand and said: “Sorry, man, just jokes.”

Chinese immigrants are buying up bars in Italy. The new business venture gives them a chance to interact with Italians on a daily basis.

Growing up in multicultural Toronto, I’m used to seeing immigrants everywhere — in school, at work, on the bus, in the subway, at the parks. But here in northern Italy, I often find myself looking around and noticing ‘wow, I’m the only Asian here.’

So I have started to do something I thought I’d never do — I have, on several occasions, sought out Chinese restaurants in Italy. Please, before you start with me, just let me say: I love pasta! Rigatoni, Penne, Lasagna, Gnocchi, you name it. I love pizza! With a glass of wine? Heaven. And the fromaggio! Oh, how I do love cheese.

But there’s just something about having a warm, bowl of soup noodles and a nice helping of dumplings in my tummy. Or rice. A nice steaming bowl of fragrant white rice, with crispy stir-fried vegetables, maybe some garlic shrimp, and some spicy tofu. Slurping up the flavours! Biting into juiciness! But this isn’t only about comfort food. There’s something else: it is *so* nice to be able to go into a restaurant and order with fluency. No need for wild hand gestures. No need to second guess. No surprise dish showing up on the table.

A Chinese man pushes a cart-load of clothing in Milan's wholesale garment district.

So here I am, doing exactly what I think Chinese immigrants shouldn’t do when they are in a foreign country: Speak only to other Chinese and eat only in Chinese restaurants.

Chinese workers in a factory near Rimini sewing swim suits for an Italian brand.

It’s very easy to be unsympathetic. “Here are these immigrants coming to a new country and just building mini Chinatowns, with no regard or respect for the local language and culture…” But over the past few weeks, I have been given a small taste of what it must be like for these new immigrants, many of whom have little education and no grounding in any Western language. Already, I am at a huge advantage as a Chinese born Canadian. But I have experienced first-hand what it’s like to feel like an alien — isolated and alone. Not being able to speak Italian in Italy is a major impediment. And the urge to find someone who looks like you and speaks the same language as you, can be irresistible.

They lean over and chat with customers; they work the espresso machine effortlessly; and the coffee, the sandwiches and the patatas bravas are just as good as any other bar.

I always ask where the bar owners or waiters come from, and in almost every instance, they have told me: “I come from Qingtian.”

The phenomenon of Chinese-run bars in Italy and Spain is a fairly recent development, something that began in earnest about five years ago. Some of the earliest immigrants started off running restaurants, serving Chinese food catering to the local populations. In Spain and Italy, “almond chicken” seems to be a favourite and of course, everyone (whether you’re Italian, Spanish or American) seems to love the spring roll. Then, the Chinese started opening garment and shoe factories. As China’s manufacturing industry boomed, the import/export businesses proved to be a lucrative venture. The Chinese bring over shiploads of clothing and products that are “Made in China” and sell them for double the value in Europe.

But all of these markets are now saturated as migration from China has continued to flow to Europe.

So the immigrants are branching out. Now, bars seem to be the all the hype. I have met migrants who have left the clothing business behind for a life behind the bar. One closed down a garment factory in Rimini after more than 15 years in operation and moved to Torino this year to run a bar.

There has been some nasty talk in the streets and in the Italian and Spanish media about Chinese immigrants stealing business opportunities from the locals. But, the fact is, running a bar is hard work. The hours are long and you are always on your feet. Many young Italians and Spaniards don’t want this life, so family bars are sold to Chinese immigrants who are willing to take on this lifestyle.

The more interesting question is: What do the Chinese know about running bars? Coffee and wine are a way of life here in Europe. Can an immigrant be a part of this scene here in Europe?

I believe they can. But there are some common missteps Chinese immigrants should avoid. I sat down with a young Qingtian entrepreneur in Italy named Leo Chen. Chen has done a lot of research on the bar scene in Italy. Not only is he an Asian who can hold his liquor, he’s preparing to open a bar in Torino this month. According to him, here are some of the common mistakes Chinese bar owners make:

Kecheng "Leo" Chen, a young Chinese entrepreneur in Italy, will open a new bar in Torino later this month.

Mistake #1
Not turning on the lights. “I’ve walked into bars run by Chinese where there are 10 lights and the owners will only turn on two or three,” Chen said. “They just can’t bring themselves to turn on the other ones for the sake of saving electricity. It’s a problem because customers walk into a bar and it’s dark and unpleasant. They’ll turn around and walk right out of there.”

Mistake #2
Not turning on the heat. “Again, it’s a problem because many Chinese immigrants don’t even turn on the heat at home. They see it as a waste of electricity,” Chen explained. “I’ve also been in Chinese-run bars where the owner can’t bring himself to turn on the air conditioning during the summer.”

Mistake #3
No free food. “Italians expect that if they go into a bar and order a drink, there will be appetizers like potato chips, or bread and parma ham for them to much on,” he said. “In my bar, I hope to provide not only free appetizers, but also biscotti, and eventually maybe even sushi.”

Mistake #4
The owners won’t allow the bar tender to drink with patrons. “It’s important to establish a good rapport between bar tender and customer,” Chen said. “Running a bar is not just about pouring the drinks and serving them.”

I will be in Torino next week for the opening of Chen’s new bar. Let’s see how this young entrepreneur fairs in this new business venture!

YPRES, Belgium — Under pristine, white tombstones in the British military cemeteries dotting the landscape throughout Belgium and northern France, the graves of thousands of Chinese labourers can be found.

Chinese labourers cross a brook in Vlamertinghe, near Ypres, Belgium in 1919. (c) In Flanders Fields Museum

You just have to know where to look.

The Chinese Labour Corps unloaded cargo ships and trains, chopped down trees for timber, and maintained docks, railways, roads and airfields. Skilled mechanics repaired vehicles and even worked on tanks. Later, after the Armistice, the Chinese stayed behind to clean up the mess. As late as 1919, Chinese labourers remained in France and Belgium to help clear the rubble, bury the dead and clean up the battlefields.

Though the Corps was the largest ethnic minority group to participate in the Great War, their story is often left out of the history books, said Belgian historian Philip Vanhaelemeersch.

“In the West, the labourers were no war heroes. They fought no battles, they had no share in any of the great victories during the war,” said Vanhaelemeersch, a Sinologist at University College West-Flanders in Bruges. “Their presence in Europe during the war was, at best, a footnote in the history books on the war.”

Crucial link between China and the West

The Chinese recruits “figured importantly as messengers between Chinese and Western civilizations,” wrote Xu Guoqi, author of “Strangers on the Western Front,” a new book published this year on the Corps.

“Although most of the Chinese labourers were illiterate farmers with no clear ideas about China or the world when they were selected to go to Europe, they had a part in developing that new national identity and would play an important role in China’s internationalization,” Xu wrote.

Vanhaelemeersch agreed. “Chinese labourers to Europe during the war was China’s first ever entering the international political scene,” he said. “Today, the increasing interest in the Corps perfectly fits in the international agenda of the new superpower which China wants to be.”

Secret passage through Canada

Contrary to the recruitment campaigns that exploited Chinese labourers during the construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway in the late 19th century, members of the Chinese Labour Corps signed contracts promising daily wages, food, clothing, housing and medical support. The labourers’ families also received regular payments.

Such rewards were tempting enough to encourage thousands of men to sign up for three years of work on the front lines of a war they knew very little about. Most of the labourers recruited by the British came from the north-east provinces of Shandong and present-day Hebei. The French also recruited labourers from China’s southern provinces.

En route to Europe, more than 80,000 labourers passed through Canada, landing in Vancouver and travelling by train across the country to Halifax. Most Canadians don’t know about this for one simple reason: Their passage through Canada was a top secret operation.

Capt. Harry Drummond Livingstone, a 29-year-old doctor with the Canadian Army Medical Corps, served at a recruiting station in Shandong Province. He examined thousands of men; only the strongest were selected to be a member of the Corps. Those who passed the medical examination were given uniforms – a dark blue tunic, dark blue pants, and a straw hat and hatband marked “CLC” – before marching out to the ships bound for Vancouver.

In his diary, Livingstone described the Chinese tradition of setting off firecrackers before a long pilgrimage: “…strings of firecrackers [are] set off, thousands in all, which noise brings safe journey, no storms or submarines.”

Between April 1917 and March 1918, more than 84,000 men were shipped from China to British Columbia. At this time, the Canadian government was imposing a head tax on all Chinese emigrants coming to Canada. Fearing members of the Labour Corps might try to “jump train,” the men were locked in their train cars and put under armed guard until they reached the east coast. There, they boarded ships headed for the battlefields in France and Belgium.

The journey was a treacherous one. At least 700 labourers died en route. In the fall of 1917, Livingstone left China and accompanied a contingent to the Western Front. While crossing the Pacific, he described “mountainous seas” in his diary: “On [Nov. 11] we ran into [a] bad gale and boat listed so far over that chairs and tables all slid to side. Dishes broken in dining room and couldn’t walk on deck.”

Chinese legacies in the European countryside

There are about 2,000 Chinese graves spread out across 17 cemeteries in Belgium and northern France, though some Chinese scholars argue the number of Chinese deaths was as high as 20,000. Most died between 1918 and 1919 from the Spanish Flu; some died from wounds and injuries received during the course of their duties; others lost their lives during German air raids.

More than 2,000 Chinese labourers are buried across Belgium and northern France. Photo by Suzanne Ma

The descendants of Belgian peasants, who continue to live on family farms in the area, can still recall hearing stories of Chinese labourers setting up camp in the neighbourhood.

The field is now chock-full of Brussels sprouts, but on the evening of November 15, 1917, 500 Chinese labourers were camped here. When a labourer came out of his tent to light a cigarette, the flame attracted the attention of a German pilot in an airplane overhead. A bomb was dropped killing 13 Chinese men.

“Although forgotten soon after the war, the labourers remain present in the collective memory of the local population,” said Vanhaelemeersch, the Belgian Sinologist. “If you pay attention to the small details of the changing landscape, you can still detect the Chinese presence here.”

Suzanne Ma is a Canadian journalist currently writing a book on Chinese emigration to Europe. Her research has been funded in part by a Pulitzer Traveling Fellowship from the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism.

Haven’t heard of it before? Neither did I, until I came to the Netherlands.

Babi Pangang is actually an Indonesian delicacy of grilled pork. In Holland, the pork is fried and covered generously in a sweet and sour red sauce.

“Chinese-Indonesian” restaurants can be found all over Holland. Most of them are run by Chinese emigrants from Guangdong and Zhejiang Provinces. So why the Indonesian fusion?

The Netherlands has a long history with what is now modern-day Indonesia. The colonies of the Dutch East India company came under the administration of the Netherlands in 1800, and it wasn’t until 1949 that Indonesian sovereignty was recognized. So, over the course of 150 years, the Dutch had developed a palette for Indonesian food. Chinese emigrants saw a niche.

A typical Chinese restaurant menu in Holland will not feature chow mein or beef and broccoli as an American might know it. Instead, these are some of the dishes you’ll see:

Nasi — fried rice
Bami — fried noodles
Loempia — deep-fried spring roll
Foe Yong Hai — a stir-fried egg omelet with green onions and ham.
Kip Saté — Chicken in a peanut satay sauce
Tjap Tjoy — this is actually “Chop Suey” – Cantonese for stir-fried leftovers. A medley of vegetables and meat stir fried.

Today, I had a dish called “Kip chili sauce” which is breaded chicken stir-fried in a spicy sweet and sour sauce. Here are some photos of the young Chinese chef in the southern town of Brouwhuis who cooked it up for us:

Classes here start two hours later than Chinese school in Toronto started — It’s 11 a.m. and outside a community college on a brisk Saturday morning, parents are putting money in the parking meters and ushering their kids through the front doors of the school and up to their classrooms.

The children, cheeks flushed and panting heavily, trudge into class and unload their backpacks.

I remember resenting having to wake up early on Saturday mornings to attend Chinese language classes in Toronto. Why did my “white” friends get to sleep in? Why did I have to spend yet another day in school? Why do I have to learn Chinese, anyway?

Back then, I had not been back to China and did not yet feel a connection to my roots. China wasn’t booming as it is now and learning Chinese just wasn’t on my radar.

The kids today are in a bit of a different situation. Chinese language classes are not only reserved for Saturday mornings, and they are no longer exclusively for second-generation Chinese. There are companies setting up Mandarin language courses for their employees, schools in Canada and the U.S. providing classes in Chinese, in addition to French and Spanish, and university students going on exchange to Chinese universities.

Children today are also growing up in a more multicultural society, a globalized and ever-connected world, and with a heightened (but just as confusing) sense of cultural and racial identity.

Most of the 600 kids who attend Saturday morning classes here are second-generation Chinese Dutch. They were born in Holland; their parents were born in China, Hong Kong or Taiwan. In one particular class, students ranged from 10 to 12 years of age. They whispered and bantered with one other in Dutch, but responded to the teacher if called upon, in good putonghua.

The class flew by quickly (for me) as the students practiced reading aloud, learned new vocabulary, and had a surprise dictation. But the most interesting lesson of the day was in the announcements.

“I need to talk to you all today about something very serious,” the teacher began. “Recently, a glass door has been shattered here in the school. There have also been problems with students damaging the faucets in the bathrooms and breaking the paper towel dispensers. The school is now negotiating rent with the community college for next year and it appears these actions may have very serious consequences. Because of the damages, the Chinese school may have to find a new home,” she said.

“We don’t want the Dutch people to say how Chinese people are miscreants. That’s something we really don’t want them to hear. We want people to say Chinese people are…” the teacher held up her hand and produced a thumbs up. “Am I right?”

Was she right to appeal to the students this way? Was she appealing to pride? To Chinese nationalism? To an image upheld by the Chinese diaspora in Holland? Does pride or Chinese nationalism exist among second- generation Chinese in Holland? Are they that image conscience? And if so, what image are they striving to uphold? Are there diverging images? And, do they differ from what their parents, first generation Chinese, have in mind?

These are some of the very questions I hope to explore further here in Holland.

Over 70,000 Chinese migrants and their descendants live in the Netherlands. The Chinese are the fifth largest non-Western immigrant group in the Netherlands after the Turks, Moroccans, Surinamese and Antilleans.

My book project is charting the migration stories of one particular group of Chinese. These people hail from a small, mountainous region in eastern China called Qingtian. They have been leaving home and migrating abroad for more than two centuries.

Qingtian people have fanned out to more than 120 countries around the world. You won’t just be finding them in big cities. One of my first stops will be to Faro, Portugal. Population 58,000. My sources tell me, there are Qingtian people to be found.

I am about to set off on an ambitious two-month trip across Europe to find Qingtian emigrants in Holland, Belgium, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy and Hungary.

Since launching my Kickstarter campaign to help raise funds for the research trip, 29 generous people have pledged more than $3,500. I am so grateful for the generosity and support. I promise to travel frugally and wisely!

I’m at the Toronto Int’l airport now, and will be boarding a flight to Rome, and then catching a connecting flight to Amsterdam.

On Saturday, I’ll be doing something I once dreaded as a child: Saturday morning Chinese school. Yep, I’ll be visiting a Chinese school in Rotterdam. Let’s see how those Dutch children are embracing their mother tongues.

Courtesy of Flickr user dslrninja

This week, the Telegraph is reporting that a seaside Italian retreat is now banning “ethnic” food like sushi, kebabs and Chinese take-out from opening up in town.

Forte dei Marmi is an upscale beach resort area in the province of Lucca on the north-west coast of Italy. It is apparently home to tenor Andrea Bocelli and designer Georgio Armani is said to have a summer home there.

The town, however, is experiencing what’s called the fervor of “culinary nationalism.” Seriously? Indeed. Apparently, it’s a huge issue facing Italians today as they “struggle to hold onto centuries-old culinary traditions in the face of globalisation and immigration.”

Whatever happened to fusion? Variety? Enticing the palate? Real foodies want to be stimulated with new flavors and combinations. But not the people of Forte dei Marmi.

“This measure has nothing to do with xenophobia – it is about protecting and valuing our culture,” said Umberto Buratti, the centre-Left mayor of the town. “We would also say no to American hamburger chains.” (It’s always safe to mad mouth the local McDonald’s, isn’t it?)

Buratti said existing ethnic restaurants will not be closed down. It’s the new establishments that will not be permitted.

All this, in the name of preserving Tuscan and Italian cuisine.

Fair, not fair?