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

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.

I have spent the last 8 months living in a small town on the east coast of China. There, I have sat in on Italian language classes (Yes! You can learn Italian, Spanish, French and Portuguese in the Chinese countryside!), learned to cook alongside young migrants who will eventually work in restaurants and kitchens across Europe, and spent a lot of time listening to the stories of people who risk everything for a life in the West.

My book — “Journey to the West, a tale of Chinese migration to Europe” — is an intimately researched narrative that follows the lives of three migrants as they prepare to leave China for Europe.

Now that I’ve wrapped up my research in China, the next step is to go to Europe. That’s where you come in.

My fieldwork thus far has been funded, in part, with the help of a Pulitzer Traveling Fellowship. I also relied heavily on my own funds to complete my research in China. For the European leg of my research, I am now seeking funding to help offset some of my travel costs.

Find out more about my project and about how YOU CAN HELP here:

Every little bit helps. I have 31 days to raise $2,500.

I am so very grateful for your support. Please, feel free to contact me if you have any questions about my project!

Sincerely,

Suzanne

Qingtian 青田 is mountainous county in Zhejiang 浙江 Province, 300 miles south of Shanghai. For more than 200 years, its people have sought to escape a life of wretched poverty. So they went out. Today, more than 200,000 people – amounting to half of Qingtian’s current population – live in more than 120 countries around the world.

Qingtian’s migrants are spread out all over South America, in the United States and Canada, across Asia and in Africa. But, most of the migrants have ended up in Europe, working in restaurants and factories. For years they have sent their hard-earned cash back home, lifting their families out of poverty and transforming Qingtian County beyond recognition.

Over the last year and a half, with my trusty Canon DSLR, I’ve captured a changing Qingtian. New homes, apartments and yes, even a KFC have opened in the county’s biggest and most prosperous town, Hecheng Town 鹤城镇 (also called Qingtian City).

See how the old is clashing with the new in this album: Qingtian through my lens.

A young man who boarded a plane to Canada in disguise probably didn’t come up with the Mission Impossible-style ruse himself – he was probably helped by a human smuggler – his lawyer says.

Last week, the California legislature apologized to the state’s Chinese-American community for racist laws barring Chinese from owning land or property, marrying whites, working in the public sector and testifying against whites in court. That was back in the mid-19th century during California’s Gold Rush. About 25,000 Chinese crossed the Pacific ocean to work as laborers in mines and to build the Transcontinental Railroad.

The story, written by editor/reporter Ling Woo Liu, of Time Asia, notes that this apology is just the latest in a number of official acts of remorse around the world:

In 2006, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper made a similar apology, expressing regret to Chinese Canadians for unequal taxes imposed on them in the late 19th century. Last February, Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd apologized to his country’s Aborigines for racist laws of the past, including the forced separation of children from their parents. Five months later, the U.S. Congress formally apologized to black Americans for slavery and the later Jim Crow laws, which were not repealed until the 1960s. And most notably, in 1988 the U.S. government decided to pay $20,000 to each of the surviving 120,000 Japanese Americans imprisoned in camps during World War II. Says Donald Tamaki, a San Francisco–based attorney who helped overturn wrongful WWII-era convictions of Japanese Americans: ”Part of what a humane society does is recognize past injustices and address them.”

Liu ends her piece by commenting on how times have changed. These days, there’s a rush to bring Chinese tourists to California and and the Governator is working hard to foster business and trade with the PRC.

In 2005, Schwarzenegger toured China for six days to promote California’s produce, technology and raw materials. China is now California’s fourth largest export market, after Mexico, Canada and Japan. In 2008 California exported $10.9 billion worth of goods to China, up 40% since 2005.

Read the entire story here.  (Thanks to Christal, for the link!)

Courtesy: Brooklyn Historical Society

A new exhibit about Chinese immigration to Brooklyn is opening tonight at the Brooklyn Historical Society.

The exhibit, “Living and Learning: Chinese Immigration, Restriction and Community in Brooklyn, 1850 to Present”, will weave together a story about Chinese immigrant life in Brooklyn, showcasing historical newspaper and periodical articles, oral histories, caricatures and photographs.

I’ll be at the opening tonight to talk the curator, Brooklyn resident Andy Urban, who is completing his PhD in History through the University of Minnesota.

The exhibition will be on display between May 8 and August 30 at the Brooklyn Historical Society; 128 Pierrepont St. (at Clinton St.); Brooklyn, NY 11201.

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A new documentary debuts on HBO tonight, documenting the sorrow and rage of parents in Sichuan who lost their children when schoolhouses collapsed on them during the Sichuan earthquake almost one year ago.

I was able to screen this amazing film - China’s Unnatural Disaster: The Tears of Sichuan Province - at the Columbia Jschool, and blogged about it here. 

For me, I was holding back tears throughout the film. Struck by the raw testimony given by the grieving parents, but also inspired  by their striking resilience. Poor, ordinary citizens, willing to stand up, demand answers, and hold their governments accountable. The film spoke to the strength of Chinese peasants, who continue to endure many hardships and sufferings in the midst of China’s race towards modernization.

China’s Unnatural Disaster: The Tears of Sichuan Province airs on TONIGHT – Thursday, May 7 at 8pm on HBO.