“Do you think there’s discrimination against foreigners?”
That was when my interview with an elderly person for my Chinese one-on-two class got awkward.
She was a lovely retired teacher from Harbin who took care of her four younger siblings after the government sent their parents to a work unit in another city over fifty years ago. We talked about a lot of things, like the time one of her North Korean students brought kimchi for the whole class to try, and how her 90-year-old friends Skype with their children in America ever day. Then she dropped the question.
I knew what she was asking. Though it seemed like an invitation to talk about the challenges of living in China as a foreigner, no matter how I answered, I knew how she'd respond.
I could mention the perks, like how I’ve literally been offered jobs of the street, how complete strangers praise my exotic looks and my Chinese, or how I can befriend a restaurant’s entire waitstaff and patronage in ten minutes if I go to an out-of-the-way place. Or, I could say how I’m the subject of gawking and discrete (or very, very not discrete) smartphone photography every day, even at times when I would have a reasonable expectation of privacy. Like in a gynecology department’s waiting room. Or stepping out of the shower room in my dorm while maintenance is working on the washing machines.
Or in a wartime atrocity museum, that’s cool
The word she used was 歧视 (qíshì), which in its literal sense means “to regard as different.” But like “discriminate,” it has a negative connotation. I chose the most innocuous example I could think of. “Well, sometimes people take my picture without asking.”
“People are just curious, they may not have seen many foreigners, that’s not discrimination.”
It reminded me of another time in my conversation class: “In Beijing I had a Jamaican friend, and she had a very difficult time getting cabs. Once a cab driver pulled over, counted her and her three other Caribbean friends with astonishment, then waved his hand in front of his face and drove off. Once she called me to say she'd been trying to get a taxi for over an hour.”
“It often takes me a long time to get a cab, too. I think she might be jumping to conclusions.”
This is where you want to not be. (Beijing Airport)
As a “western” (white) foreigner, I definitely have it easier. Still, like Chinese water torture, these small acts of irritation, like cashiers responding to “Excuse me, what time do you close tonight?” with the old point-and-grunt, the panicky please-somebody-get-this-foreigner-of-my-hands look, the dismissive handwave before you’ve even opened your mouth, having questions about your age and nationality directed to your Taiwanese-American friend standing next to you, the seven tellers who swarm you at the counter when you’re trying to get that fake ¥100 bill that you definitely got from their ATM sorted out, the “helpful” sales clerk who follows you around the store and bags up anything your eyes fall on, day after day, do take a toll.
It’s a lot to take in at first, and, to be completely honest, a significant number of students from my study abroad program four years ago (including my friend from Jamaica) got fed up pretty fast and by the end couldn’t wait to go home. I’ve noticed most long-term expats here have a weird mix of passivity and fascination with China. Becoming accustomed to “discrimination” is part of the growing pains of moving to this strange and marvelous country.
As they said in the Fulbright pre-departure orientation, if the China Rage is particularly strong, stay in and watch Netflix.
Also, always get ATM receipts.
Aww, again?!
