12.17.07
Posted in Culture Clash at 5:56 am by Benjamin Ross
My return to the United States has been infusing upon me some introspection into the parallels between the perceptions of foreigners in China and those of foreigners in the USA. The longer I am back home, the more analogies I am able to draw between current Chinese society and that of the US at the dawn of the 20th Century, especially in regards to the perception of outsiders. Being that I was only born in 1979, it’s difficult for me to give an accurate description of what life was like in the US a century ago. So with that in mind, I’m going to yield my blog to American author John Steinbeck.
This excerpt is from East of Eden, published in 1952. It takes place in the Salinas Valley of California in the early 20th Century, and tells the story of the descendents of two men who both migrate out west—Samuel Hamilton who comes from Ireland, and Adam Trask who comes from Connecticut. The following dialogue occurs between Samuel and Adam’s Chinese servant, Lee, as they ride together to the Trask Ranch.
“What’s your name?” Samuel asked pleasantly.
“Lee. Got more name. Lee papa family name. Call Lee.”
“I’ve read quite a lot about China. You born in China?”
“No. Born here.”
Samuel was silent for quite a long time while the buggy lurched down the wheel track toward the dusty valley. “Lee,” he said at last, “I mean no disrespect, but I’ve never been able to figure why you people still talk pidgin when an illiterate baboon from the black bogs of Ireland, with a head full of Gaelic and a tongue like a potato, learns to talk a poor grade of English in ten years.”
Lee grinned. “Me talkee Chinese talk,” he said.
“Well, I guess you have your reasons. And it’s not my affair. I hoe you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe it, Lee.”
Lee looked at him and the brown eyes under their rounded upper lids seemed to open and deepen until they weren’t foreign any more, but man’s eyes, warm with understanding. Lee chuckled. “It’s more than a convenience,” he said. “It’s even more than self-protection. Mostly we have to use it to be understood at all.”
Samuel showed no sign of having observed any change. “I can understand the first two,” he said thoughtfully, “but the third escapes me.”
Lee said, “I know it’s hard to believe, but it has happened so often to me and to my friends that we take it for granted. If I should go up to a lady or a gentleman, for instance, and speak as I am doing now, I wouldn’t be understood.”
“Why not?”
“Pidgin they expect, and pidgin they’ll listen to. But English from me they don’t listen to, and so they don’t understand it.”
“Can that be possible? How do I understand you?”
“That’s why I’m talking to you. You are one of the rare people who can separate your observation from your preconception. You see what is, where most people see what they expect.”
“I hadn’t thought of it. And I’ve not been so tested as you, but what you say has a candle of truth. You know, I’m very glad to talk to you. I’ve wanted to ask so many questions.”
“Happy to oblige.”
“So many questions. For instance, you wear the queue. I’ve read that it is a badge of slavery imposed by conquest by the Manchus on the Southern Chinese.”
“That is true.”
“Then why in the name of God do you wear it here, where the Manchus can’t get at you?”
“Talkee Chinese talk. Queue Chinese fashion—you savvy?”
Samuel laughed loudly. “That does have the green touch of convenience,” he said. “I wish I had a hidey-hole like that.”
“I’m wondering whether I can explain,” said Lee. “Where there is no likeness of experience it’s very difficult. I understand you were not born in America.”
“No, in Ireland.”
“And in a few years you can almost disappear; while I, who was born in Grass Valley, went to school and several years to the University of California, have no chance of mixing.”
“If you cut your queue, dressed and talked like other people?”
“No. I tried it. To the so-called whites I was still a Chinese, but an untrustworthy one; and at the same time my Chinese friends steered clear of me. I had to give it up.”
Le pulled up under a tree, got out and unfastened the check rein. “Time for lunch,” he said. “I made a package. Would you like some?”
“Sure I would. Let me get down in the shade there. I forget to eat sometimes and that’s strange because I’m always hungry. I’m interested in what you say. It has a sweet sound of authority. Now it peeks into my mind that you should go back to China.”
Lee smiled satirically at him. “In a few minutes I don’t think you’ll find a loose bar I’ve missed in a lifetime of search. I did go back to China. My father was a fairly successful man. It didn’t work. They said I looked like a foreign devil; they said I spoke like a foreign devil. I made mistakes in manners, and I didn’t know delicacies that had grown up since my father left. They wouldn’t have me. You can believe it or not—I’m less foreign here than I was in China.”
“I’ll have to believe you because it’s reasonable. You’ve given me things to think about until at least February twenty-seventh. Do you mind my questions?”
“As a matter of fact, no. The trouble with pidgin is that you get to thinking in pidgin. I write a great deal to keep my English up. Hearing and reading aren’t the same as speaking and writing.”
“Don’t you ever make a mistake? I mean, break into English?”
“No, I don’t. I think it’s a matter of what is expected. You look at a man’s eyes, you see that he expects pidgin and a shuffle, so you speak pidgin and a shuffle.”
“I guess that’s right,” said Samuel. “In my own way I tell jokes because people come all the way to my place to laugh. I try to be funny for them even when the sadness is on me.”
“But the Irish are said to be a happy people, full of jokes.”
“There’s your pidgin and your queue. They’re not. They’re a dark people with a gift for suffering way past their deserving. It’s said that without whisky to soak and soften the world, they’d kill themselves. But they tell jokes because it’s expected of them.”
Lee unwrapped a little bottle. “Would you like some of this? Chinee drink ng-ka-py.”
“What is it?”
“Chinee blandy. Stlong dlink—as a matter of fact it’s a brandy with a dosage of wormwood. Very powerful. It softens the world.”
Samuel sipped from the bottle. “Tastes a little like rotten apples,” he said.
“Yes, but nice rotten apples. Taste it back along your tongue toward the roots.”
Samuel took a big swallow and tilted his head back. “I see what you mean. That is good.”
“Here are some sandwiches, pickles, cheese, a can of buttermilk.”
“You do well.”
“Yes, I see to it.”
Samuel bit into a sandwich. “I was shuffling over half a hundred questions. What you said brings the brightest one up. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. The only thing I do want to ask of you is not to talk this way when other people are listening. It would only confuse them and they wouldn’t believe it anyway.”
“I’ll try,” said Samuel. “If I slip, just remember that I’m a comical genius. It’s hard to split a man down the middle and always to reach for the same half.”
“I think I can guess what your next question is.”
“What?”
“Why am I content to be a servant?”
“How in the world did you know?”
“It seemed to follow.”
“Do you resent the question?”
“Not from you. There are no ugly question except those clothed in condescension. I don’t know where being a servant came into disrepute. It is the refuge of a philosopher, the food of the lazy, and properly carried out, it is a position of power, even of love. I can’t understand why more intelligent people don’t take it as a career—learn to do it well and reap its benefits. A good servant has absolute security, not because of his master’s kindness, but because of habit and indolence. It’s a hard thing for a man to change spices or lay out his own socks. He’ll keep a bad servant rather than change. But a good servant, and I am an excellent one, can completely control his master, tell him what to think, how to act, whom to marry, when to divorce, reduce him to terror as a discipline, or distribute happiness to him, and finally be mentioned in his will. If I had wished I could have robbed, stripped, and beaten anyone I’ve worked for and come away with thanks. Finally, in my circumstances I am unprotected. My master will defend me, protect me. You have to work and worry. I work less and worry less. And I am a good servant. A bad one does no work and does no worrying, and he still is fed, clothed, and protected. I don’t know any profession where the field is so cluttered with incompetents and where excellence is so rare.”
Samuel leaned toward him, listening intently.
Lee went on, “It’s going to be a relief after that to go back to pidgin.”
“It’s a very short distance to (your) place. Why did we stop so near?” Samuel asked.
“Allee time talkee. Me Chinee number one boy. You leddy go now?”
“What? Oh, sure. But it must be a lonely life.”
“That’s the only fault with it,” said Lee. “I’ve been thinking of going to San Francisco and starting a little business.”
“Like a laundry? Or a grocery store?”
“No. Too many Chinese laundries and restaurants. I thought perhaps a bookstore. I’d like that, and the competition wouldn’t be too great. I probably won’t do it though. A servant loses his initiative.”
To me what sticks out the most from this passage is the perceptions we, as humans create about those of us who are different, especially outwardly different. We subconsciously create visions of what those people should look like, how they should act, and even how they should talk. I think the most integral component of this is physical appearance, as Lee points out. Even though he was born in America, can speak perfect English, and is well-educated, Lee is superseded by the fact that, he, from an outward perception, is a Chinese, and thus he should act like a Chinese. This draws quite the foil to Samuel, who by all accounts is less American than Lee, but because of his skin tone, is able to integrate into mainstream American society.
These preconceptions become diffused over time, mainly through exposure, as is already happening in major Chinese urban centers, due to the growing population of Westerners. But what Steinbeck posthumously reminds us of is that much of what we see in China today in regards to preconceptions of foreigners isn’t much different from what was happening during an earlier period of American history. For any Westerner who has lived in China, it’s not uncommon to recount situations where your feelings and experiences were similar to those of our old friend Lee. We are expected sing, dance, eat hamburgers, “act crazy,” or have any of the multitude of traits which are expected of Westerners. If you don’t believe me, you probably haven’t been watching enough Chinese TV.
Personally, I know I have at times felt as Lee does, that I am trapped into being an American, and no matter how long I would have stayed in China, my identity would have still been constricted into the confines of Chinese peoples’ preconceptions. Rather than fight it, sometimes you just go through the motions as Lee does, and keep your eyes open for opportunities when your personality can penetrate through the wall of stereotypes. In the meantime I can only imagine how hilarious our pidgin Chinese must sound to those on the other side of the spectrum.
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12.13.07
Posted in Culture Clash at 5:59 am by Benjamin Ross
In the movie Pulp Fiction, Vincent Vega (John Travolta) explains to his partner (Samuel L. Jackson) about his recent trip to Amsterdam. He breaks it down like this.
“They got the same shit over there they got over here, it’s just there it’s a little different.”
After living in China for 3.5 years, and now having been back in the US for 3.5 months, I would have to concur with Mr. Vega on his simplistic assessment of life abroad. While there are some major disparities between life in the US and life in China, it’s the little differences which really strike a chord. With that in mind here are some random observations about myself and my native country which I have noticed during my bout with repatriation.
-American public restrooms which at one time I would have considered below human standard, now don’t seem so intimidating.
-Learning the Chinese language was a formidable, yet attainable task, however utilizing the multiple remote controls now necessary to operate an American television set has proven to be far beyond my intellectual capacity
-I have become a habitual jaywalker.
-I suffer from inexplicable, random cravings for rice.
-Sometimes while waiting to board the subway, I find myself guarding my place in line, so as to prevent others from jumping in front of me and stealing my place. I have even caught myself a couple times trying to sneak into the train before all of the exiting passengers have gotten off.
-I cross streets one lane at a time.
-Friends and family have had to reminded me a time or two that spitting food out directly onto the table is not proper etiquette at an American dinner.
-Before I left for China, I would eat American Chinese food at least once a week. Now I can’t touch the stuff without feeling as if my entire gastrointestinal track is about to implode…Damn you General Tso!
-I now wear far more winter clothes than actually necessary, as after 3 years of baking in the Fuzhou heat, my body is not yet acclimatized to the Chicago winter.
-Planning anything more than a few days in advance has taken some getting used to. In China I would rarely plan anything more than a week in advance, and even if planned, dates would frequently change. Now I am finding myself already having to plan into January.
-I am no longer embarrassed to sing in public.
-On the basketball court, my blocked shot and offensive rebound totals have dropped off considerably.
-I have gone from smoking 2-3 cigarettes per day to 2-3 cigarettes per month.
-The ground is absolutely disgusting! Well not really, but living in China has socialized me into believing (and rightly so) that the ground anywhere outside my own home is filthy and infested. I still refuse to put my backpack or any other personal items on the floor anywhere, and the thought of wearing shoes inside still makes me slightly uncomfortable.
-Often it’s difficult to fully gauge the different nuances of life abroad until one returns to their own country. While the major cultural differences (i.e. different language, eating with chop sticks, etc.) tend to stick out at first, it’s often the little differences which are the most poignant. If Vincent Vega were with me today I’d probably tell him I agree wholeheartedly with his view of life abroad. I might also tell him that a Big Mac in China is called a “Ju Wu Ba,” and I have no idea what they call a Whopper because I didn’t go into a Burger King.
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11.03.07
Posted in Barbershop, Culture Clash, Down in Chinatown, Personal Anecdotes at 5:56 am by Benjamin Ross
After spending the majority of the past two months in my hometown of Kansas City, I am now in Chicago beginning the next phase of my re-entry into American life. One of the reasons I chose Chicago was because of its ethnic diversity. As are most larger American cities, Chicago is full of ethnic enclaves scattered around this city. One of which is the Chicago Chinatown, home of the much of Chicago’s Chinese population as well as numerous restaurants, groceries, boutiques, and small businesses.
After my experience working in a Fuzhou barbershop last May, I thought it would be only fitting for my first experience in Chicago Chinatown to be a haircut. There are actually several barbershops in the Chinatown, but I chose one called “Urban Roots,” because it most closely resembled a “middle class” Chinese barbershop, like the one where I had worked in Fuzhou.
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| “Urban Roots,” one of Chinatown Chicago’s finer haircutting establishments |
With its bright colors on the wall and the mellow sounds Chinese pop music, the interior of Urban Roots looked and felt nearly identical to a Chinese barbershop (Chinese in the sense of actually being in China). The entire staff was Chinese, as were all of the other customers, and by the subtle look of surprise from the boy behind the counter, I am guessing they do not get too much non-Chinese clientele. Walking through the door, there was one blaring difference. Rather than being greeted by a chorus of “Huan Ying Guang Lin!” from the entire staff, a young boy behind the counter casually asked me, in accented English, “How can I help you?”
After telling the boy I wanted a haircut, I was led to the back of the salon by a woman in her mid-thirties. She sat me in a padded chair and leaned my head back into an attached sink, and began washing my pre-cut hairwash, just as they do in China. Conveniently located on the wall, at a perfectly aligned angle from where my head was tilted back, was an LCD screen playing Chinese karaoke videos. As I sat there, I felt for a moment as if I had been teleported back to Fuzhou.
The hair wash woman didn’t speak much English, so we chatted in Mandarin, and she told me she was from Guangzhou and had lived in Chicago for around 7 years. I told her how I had lived in Fuzhou for 3 years, and we exchanged stories and feelings about our years living in each others’ respective countries.
Throughout our exchange, one thing stood out as a blatant difference from China. That was that a woman in her mid-thirties was washing my hair. In China, working in a barbershop is a position considered to be low on the totem pole of social status. Furthermore, the job of a hair washer (or little brother/sister) is even lower than that of a barber. Most little brothers and sisters in Chinese barbershops are fresh out of high school, (or sometimes middle school) and rarely, if ever, older than their early twenties. Additionally, hair washing and cutting in China is a field still dominated by men, as many Chinese women stay at home to fulfill domestic responsibilities, especially those past child bearing years. Seeing a woman in her mid-thirties washing hair in China would probably be even less likely than seeing a 6 foot gringo from Chicago doing the same job. It would simply involve too much loss of face.
In China, face is a factor which can often determine which jobs are acceptable and which are not. Working as a businessman in a large company, a teacher in a university, or a government official comes with it a high degree of face. Work as a commissary employee, construction worker, or hair washer does not. This is why virtually none of the thousands of barbershop employees in Fuzhou are actually from Fuzhou. Rather, they come from small townships and rural areas in Fujian and surrounding provinces. A Fuzhou city native might consider working in a barbershop in say, Shanghai, but doing such work in their own hometown would cause too much loss of face. It would not even be an option.
When Chinese go abroad however, all of these rules are thrown out the window. Once in America, working in a barbershop, a restaurant, or a laundry service does not bare the embarrassment it would cause if such jobs were worked in China.
A close Chinese friend of mine, who comes from a wealthy family in Fuzhou, explained it to me like this, “If I went to Hong Kong, or England, or the United States, I could work a part time job such as one in a barbershop. But I could never do such work in Fuzhou. It would bring too much embarrassment to my family.”
One component of this is financial. Wages in Western countries are many times higher than those in Mainland China, and blue collar work in the West can lead to a life of comfort and luxury in China. Would an upper-middle class American with a college degree feel comfortable working as a cashier at McDonald’s? Would it be a job that he would want his friends to know he was working? Not likely. Now, imagine if McDonald’s restaurants in Canada were paying $250/hour, but Canada’s borders were closed, and only 5,000 Americans per year could emigrate to Canada to work. Suddenly the job, and the status which comes along with it, becomes more appealing.
After my hair wash, I was lead over to the barber chair to meet my new barber, a Chinese man, also in his mid-thirties. I greeted him in Mandarin, to which he replied, in English, “I don’t understand Mandarin, only Cantonese and English. I’m from Hong Kong.” Like the situation with the woman who had washed my hair, you would never see a Hong Kong native working in a Chinese barbershop in mainland China. Hong Kongers in mainland China find themselves propelled to the top of the social ladder, and certainly would not be cutting hair in the mainland. (I can’t comment on how this would play out in Hong Kong itself, since I haven’t spent enough time there). However, in the US, this job is perfectly acceptable by Chinese social norms.
After my haircut was complete, the woman from Guangzhou gave my head another wash, thus completing a process which was nearly identical to that which I had received so many times in China. The only major difference of course was the cost…a walloping 26 dollars, not including the 4 dollar tip I gave the barber. In Fuzhou, the cost of a haircut at my barbershop was 30 RMB (aprox $4), and as is custom in China, there is no tip.
My experience at Urban Roots not only gave me a sentimental throw-back to China, but it served to reaffirm a good lesson for all those coming from China to the United States. Here in Chicago I can have an authentic dim sum lunch, watch CCTV, and get a Chinese haircut complete with 2 washes and karaoke videos, but life in the US is not the same as it is in China, and this applies for both Chinese and laowai (which by the way, we are also referred to as by Chinese in the US). Long-standing beliefs and traditions, such as the concept of face, can last for millennia when maintained within their native countries. However, when exported to foreign lands, they are often no match for the social and economic forces of life abroad. And who knows?…Maybe someday doctors and lawyers from Chicago will emigrate to Fuzhou to cut hair.
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10.24.07
Posted in Culture Clash, Sino-US, Relations and Comparisons, Society at 11:04 pm by Benjamin Ross
This past week I had the pleasure of acting as interpreter and cultural facilitator for a delegation of Chinese businessmen visiting Kansas City. For several of them, it was their first trip to the US, and for all of them it was their first time in Kansas City. For me it was a chance to begin reciprocating the Chinese people for all of the help and assistance I received from them during my time in the Middle Kingdom. Here are some memorable quotes from this week as my Chinese associates described their impressions of Kansas City, and the US as a whole.
When asking how their flight was…
“American airport security is such a pain. We had to wait in line for half an hour, and it seemed like they searched everything. In China, it’s much easier.”
While driving through a suburban office park…
“Nobody is on the streets. The street life here is so boring.”
Also while driving through a suburban office park…
“There are so many trees, and the sky is so clear. It is so beautiful.”
While walking in the front door of the company…
“Did you see that sign on the door which had a gun with a circle and a line through it? You would never see anything like that in China.”
At the steak house…
“These steaks are quite different from the ones we have in China. They aren’t served on a flaming skillet and there’s no egg.”
While discussing China with Americans who had never been…
“The impressions Americans get from reading about China are completely different from the impressions they would get from visiting China in person.”
At a strip center…
“All of these little shops look so unique. In China, the small shops are all the same, and none of them have colorful signs like the ones here.”
While shopping for men’s clothes…
“Man…these are expensive!”
Heard throughout the week…
“Americans are so fat. Everywhere there are fat people. Why are Americans so fat? Is it the food?”
(heard on several occasions, often with “fat” gestures made by arms)
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08.04.07
Posted in Culture Clash, Society at 2:45 am by Benjamin Ross
When Chinese people hear I come from a family with three sons, they are often somewhat envious. When they find out my younger brothers are identical twins, the envy grows even more. In a country where child birth is limited by the Family Planning Policy, having twins is the equivalent of winning the national jackpot. For many families, having a second child can lead to heavy fines and possibly the loss of employment (in the case of government workers). The birth of twins is the legal way to beat the system, and does not bring with it any penalties.
Twins in China are easy to spot because they are invariably dressed alike by their parents. In the US, this also occurs, but if far less common. When my brothers and I were growing up, my parents would often buy similar outfits for my them, but would always make sure to get them in different colors or different patterns, so that they were never dressed exactly alike. The idea was that dressing them alike would discourage others from treating them as individuals and also create tension as they fought to distinguish themselves from one another.
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| In China, identical twins are often regarded as “exactly the same” and dressed accordingly. |
Last week, I spent 2 days in Wuyi Shan with my friend Frank visiting his friend Jiu Jie. Jiu Jie is a woman in her early forties who has twin daughters (pictured, right) who are 10 years old. Every time we saw them, they were dressed in identical white dresses with black dots.
While she was schlepping Frank and I around town in her Volvo, I brought up the topic dressing identical twins alike with Jiu Jie.
“I noticed that most identical twins in China are dressed the same.” I mentioned to her.
“Yes, that’s right. Is it not that way in the United States?” she replied.
“Sometimes it is, but usually they are dressed differently,” I told her, and then explained the reasons listed above, using my brothers as examples.
“In China, we think identical twins are exactly the same. Since they are exactly the same then they should also be dressed exactly the same. Right? Once they grow up, maybe around high school, they can start choosing their own clothes, and if they want to dress differently, then they can do so.”
Although I was not surprised at her response, hearing a parent say that her two children were “exactly the same” did not sit well in my stomach. However, child rearing is a subjective art, and is bound to vary across cultures. Examples such as these often make me wonder to what degree theories of psychology and parenting are dependent upon the societies from which they develop. Is it possible to create universal theories of child psychology? Are there any ‘rules’ which are consistent across all cultures. I would posit that dressing twins alike in the West would be detrimental to their development in a society which stresses individualism. Yet in China, where individuality is not as stressed, I’m not 100% convinced that dressing twins alike would have all of the same negative effects.
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07.23.07
Posted in Culture Clash, Travel Log (Asia) at 9:21 am by Benjamin Ross
After a last second travel plan, I have been spending the past two days in Wuyi Shan, in Northern Fujian. Wuyi Shan is what I like to call a “scenic spot.” I am convinced that every Chinese province has a token “scenic spot” which is allegedly the most beautiful place in China. Visit Zhejiang and they will surely tell you about West lake. Go to Anhui and they will tell you about Huang Shan. Visit Qinghai and you will hear stories about Qinghai Lake, and on and on. From my experience, most “scenic spots” are worth a weekend trip, but certainly not a trip across the country. That being said, after three years in Fujian, I felt like I owed it to myself (and Fujian’s 32 million inhabitants) to check out Wuyi Shan.
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| Tourists in Meizhou Island (Fujian) standby waiting for instructions from the leader. |
One of my favorite things about visiting Chinese scenic spots is observing the other tourists. As China’s economy continues to grow and expand, more and more middle class Chinese are finding themselves with disposable incomes. One use for this disposable income is travel. The travel industry in China is quite young, and as most Chinese still don’t have the concept of a family vacation, the idea of picking up and visiting a new place for leisure is still a relatively new idea. Thus, generally speaking the Chinese are still quite inexperienced in this endeavor. Consider this conversation I had at an English corner, after my first big China traveling excursion in the summer of 2004. I had only been in China 3 months, spoke minimal Chinese, and did a three week solo trip to Xi’an, Chengdu, Kunming, and Xishuangbanna. After telling my university students about the trip here was the dialogue which transpired.
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| Tourists in Xiahe, Gansu eagerly wait to board the bus and get whisked off to the next destination. |
student: How do you know about Chengdu?
me: I read all about it in a book I bought in the US.
Student: How did you get to Chengdu?
me: I rode the train.
student: How did you get on the train?
me: I bought a ticket to Chengdu and showed the ticket to the lady at the train station.
student: Where did you get your ticket?
me: I bought it at the train station.
student: How did you know where the train station was?
me: I bought a map, found where it said “train station” and walked there.
My students were all amazed that a foreigner who didn’t even speak Chinese could make it halfway around the country by himself without getting injured, killed, or abducted by aliens. Part of the reason for this is that independent travel in China is still rare. Most Chinese tourists travel in herds organized by China’s ubiquitous “travel companies.” The herds can be seen at any scenic spot, and are a sight in and of themselves. A crowd of people all wearing the same colored hats follow around a tour leader who carries a flag of the same color. As they follow the leader, he shouts instructions at them over a megaphone. I have been warned several times by Chinese friends that I should travel in a tour group, and that independent travel is too dangerous. So far, I am not convinced.
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07.16.07
Posted in Barbershop, Business 'n Economics, Culture Clash at 9:50 am by Benjamin Ross
Allow me to reintroduce you to Mao Mao. She works at the Roman Barbershop and is from Fuqing, the small town, an hour outside Fuzhou where I spent my first year in a half in China. Like many Fuqingers, Mao Mao’s family emigrated (illegally I assume) to Japan when she was twelve. Her parents worked as cooks in Chinese restaurants, and she attended school with Japanese classmates. Mao Mao remained in Japan until she finished college, and then moved back to China.
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| Mao Mao dries and styles my hair after my first wash at the Roman Barbershop. |
Currently, Mao Mao works as a little sister, and makes around 800 RMB ($100 USD) per month. She has been in the hair industry for almost three years and this August will attend a month long training session, after which she will become a full-time barber.
Mao Mao was telling me about her career plan, when out of knee-jerk reaction I asked her, “Have you thought about looking for a white collar job, such as working in an import/export company? After all, you have a college education, and you speak fluent Japanese.”
Mao Mao was slightly taken back by my question, and replied, “While I was in Japan I decided I wanted to be a hairdresser. I want to work my way up the ranks and eventually be a hairdresser in an expensive salon. It’s my dream.”
I felt like an ass. Here was this young girl, on the verge of reaching her goal, and I was subconsciously attempting to talk her out of it, so that she could make a few more bucks by sitting in an office.
Upon analyzing the situation, I know exactly why I asked Mao Mao this question. Generally speaking, working in a barbershop is considered an undesirable job by Chinese standards. None of my former colleagues worked in a barbershop as a means to fulfill a dream. Rather, it was a logical choice after other factors, namely lack of further education, sealed off other career opportunities. Most of them would jump at a different opportunity if it were to present itself. Even Mr. Zheng confided to me that he would gladly never do another haircut again if a chance to do business or switch careers were to arise. However, the chances of this happening are slim. None of the workers in my barbershop have college educations, and only a handful finished high school. None one of them can speak a foreign language. By Chinese standards, Mao Mao is far over-qualified to be working as a hairdresser.
I apologized to Mao Mao for asserting she should contemplate a career change, and explained to her why I had brought it up.
She responded. “I think my ideals and those of the other barbershop workers are quite different. I work in a barbershop because I enjoy it, and want to make it my career. The others do it just as a means to make money. I think it’s more of a Chinese thing. Chinese people usually don’t care about chasing their dreams. They just do stuff for money. In Japan, things are different. People choose a career because it is what they want to do, not because it is the only option. I lived in Japan from the time I was 12 until I finished college. Most of my best friends are Japanese. So in many ways, I think more like a Japanese than a Chinese.”
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06.14.07
Posted in Culture Clash at 8:16 pm by Benjamin Ross
note: I wrote this piece with a small dose of anger and several large helpings of humor (hopefully) and sarcasm…please try not to take me too overly serious on this one.
Whether it’s the spitting, the bones in the fish, the public urination, or the “beefsteaks” with fried eggs and macaroni, Westerners on the whole have a lot of grievances about daily life in China. In my time in China, I feel I can honestly say that one of my personal proudest accomplishments has been coming to terms with most of these “annoyances” and being able to either dismiss them as culture difference or to attribute them to the hyper-sensitivity inherent in my own native culture. I have also tried as much as possible to prevent this site from becoming another “Oh my God, I can’t believe the Chinese (insert specific behavior)” blog, which there are already enough of out there..
All that being said, there is one habit of my Chinese brethren which still drives me bananas, and which I have yet to find some kind of sociological or economic reason to justify. And this habit is the very reason I am awake right now writing this entry.
As you might already know, my parents are in China right now. For several completely unrelated reasons I have slept an average of 4 hours the past 4 nights. My parents, due to their jet lag are quite exhausted as well. After a day at the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square, we all decided to go back to the hotel and retire for a late afternoon nap. An hour and a half later my cell phone rang. I was not expecting a call from anybody, plus I’m on vacation, so I just let it ring, figuring I would catch some more much needed sleep, and call whoever it was back when I woke up. After about 20 rings, the phone subsided…ahh, back to sleep in my comfy, comfy hotel bed….But No!!! One minute later the phone starts ringing again. Knowing if I got up to see who it was I would not be able to return to sleep, I lay in bed, trying to block out the racket of the unanswered call. Again, after twenty or so rings, it subsided. And then sure enough, just as I was regaining some hope of getting back to sleep the phone rings…AGAIN! I get up, check the call history, and sure enough it is the same person who has called me three times in a row! Is this really necessary??? This is not an isolated incident. It usually happens two or three times a week, usually when I am alseep, and the culprit is always a Chinese caller.
Ok, now before I get really angry and turn this into another merciless China bashing post, let’s backtrack and lay down some facts for those of you who have never lived in the Middle Kingdom. Firstly, cell phone and cell phone technology are neither new nor uncommon in Chinese urban areas. 99% of the Chinese people over the age of 18 whom I have ever associated with own cell phones. (Those who don’t are primarily rural people, who would have no reason to call a 6 foot Jewish honkie from the Bible Belt anyway). I have never seen a cellular phone in China which did not have caller ID and a call history. In other words, WHENEVER I MISS A CALL, I KNOW EXACTLY WHO WAS TRYING TO REACH ME AND CAN CALL THEM BACK AS SOON AS IT IS CONVENIENT. In case you are wondering, I did not accidentally hit the caps lock key. I am authentically on the verge of (defecating) a brick.
Secondly, and maybe I am the oddball here, but there certainly are times during my day when I absolutely do not want to answer the phone, period. These occur mainly when I am sleeping, in the middle of a meeting, playing basketball, having what Bill Clinton might refer to as “relations,” or doing any one of a number of activities which I consider more important than blabbing away into my portable digital leash. If I sound bitter and nostalgic for the good ‘ol days before no one toted cell phones except professional athletes and drug dealers, that’s because I am.
So…here is my question. If you call me once, and I don’t answer…why, why, why must you keep calling me again and again ad museum until I pick up??? Why is your phone call so important that I must answer it immediately or else get phone bombed for the next 5 minutes? Are you afraid I will not know you called? That my caller ID has suddenly malfunctioned? That a cell phone virus has destroyed the remaining remnants of my call history?
One minor reason might be that in China, nobody uses voice mail. While I do find this a bit strange, I have come to accept it and adapt, especially with the assistance of a brilliant and far less intrusive technology known as text messaging. Unlike voice mail, text messaging is quite common in China, probably even more so than it is in the US. If I don’t answer the phone, why not send me a text? What could it possibly accomplish, other than annoying the (excrement) out of me by calling back over and over?
So here is my suggestion. Call me once, any time, any day, anywhere. I might be annoyed to be woken up in the middle of the night, but I can live with a single call. If I don’t answer, you have one of two options. If you are the very patient type, just hang tight. As soon as I return to my cell phone (which like most homo sapiens usually occurs in intervals no less than every 5 minutes) I will see you have called me and call you back as soon as I can. Or if you are of the impatient stock (i.e. yours truly), or if your call is of an urgent nature, send me a TEXT MESSAGE. Tell me what the issue is or any other pertinent information. I will gladly contact you back. If somebody is dead, has contracted Ebola, or has been run over by a bus, please call me repeatedly until I answer. Otherwise, ONE CALL IS ENOUGH!!! Alright, I’m going to try to get back to sleep.
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05.27.07
Posted in Barbershop, Culture Clash at 10:41 am by Benjamin Ross
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Yesterday was an exceptionally busy day at the barber shop as customers flocked in for haircuts, washes, and perms. At about 3 o’clock I looked around the store and noticed that all nine of the little brothers and little sisters were occupied either giving hair washes or massages. I was sitting near the front door chatting with Cheng Qing and two other unoccupied barbers when two middle-aged women walked in the door.
“2 hair washes,” one of the ladies said to Cheng Qing. He looked around the room, saw that all of the little brothers and little sisters were busy, and told the lady “It’s going to be about a twenty minute wait. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink of water?” The women sat down at the one of the tables, and Cheng Qing returned to his chat with me and the other two barbers. The women sat chatting and glancing around the shop for about 5 minutes, and then decided to leave.
I should point out that everything the little brothers and little sisters can do has been done already hundreds of times by the barbers. All of the barbers worked as little brothers for several years before graduating into hair cutting. Seeing that all of the little brothers and sisters were unavailable, wouldn’t it have made more sense for two of the barbers to wash the women’s hair themselves? Instead, they went back to their conversation and 24 RMB walked right out the door.
This situation can be justified by the hierarchy system imbedded into the barber shop food chain. There are three main levels, and they are primarily based on experience and expertise.
At the lowest level is the little brothers and sisters. A little brother or little sister begins their career in the industry with hair washes and massages, and gradually moves on to learn how to 做发 (zuo4 fa4) which includes dyes, curling, and perms. The little brothers and little sisters are also responsible for menial shop tasks such as sweeping hair, folding towels, bringing cups of hot water to customers, and cleaning the shop every night.
The second level are the barbers whom we call the 师傅 (shi1 fu4) or “masters.” The masters sole responsibility is cutting hair. Occasionally they help with a dye or a perm, but never once have I seen any of them do a hair wash. They are also exempt from clean up duties.
Finally, on top there is Mr. Zheng, the boss. Mr. Zheng’s daily routine is similar to the masters except he is able to show up to work a little bit later every day, and his haircuts cost 50 RMB instead of 30. He also serves as the teacher for instructing the masters in their hair cutting technique.
There is one other level which is a little difficult to place in the hierarchy, since their job is mainly clerical, and that is the two managers, Ling Ling and Xiao Huang. I call them “managers” but a better description would probably be cashiers. Their jobs are to stand behind the counter, handle monetary transactions, and make sure the little brothers and little sisters are keeping on task (when there is a task to do). They are also exempt from cleanup duty. Their position is above that of the little brothers and little sisters, but their hierarchical relationship between the masters is still a bit foggy to me. If I had to guess, I would say they are just below them.
The reason I bring up this hierarchy is because it often determines what work gets done, or more accurately, what work does not get done. Two of the advantages of becoming a master is that you can read the newspaper during cleanup time and you are completely exempt from hair washing, which is viewed as the least desirable task in the shop.
This is markedly different from service industry jobs I have worked in the US where workers at the top of the hierarchy will frequently scoop back down to the bottom in times of need. For example when I was 15, I worked as a sacker in a grocery store. During times when there was a high volume of customers, the managers would often take time away from their tasks to work as cashiers or even sackers, until the flow of customers died back down. If there was something more important which needed to be done, they would tend to it, but as long as labor was in need and they were available, they would help out.
After work yesterday, I told Mr. Zheng what I had seen, and asked him his thoughts.
“This is a very, very bad situation,” he commented, “and it is like this in all barber shops in Fuzhou. The masters don’t want to do any of the hair washes. But this does not make much business sense. It must change and I think it will change.”
My own personal view is that this example represents the deeply engrained sense of hierarchy and status in the Chinese psyche. By putting in years as a little brother, the masters, in addition to a higher salary, have also earned the privilege of not washing hair. Relegating them to the occasional hair wash would be undermining their status in the store which they have earned through years of hard work. In a sense, it would be akin to eliminating one of their benefits. This is a situation that Mr. Zheng has to deal with or else risk angering his employees and possibly risk them quitting. As angry as Mr. Zheng was that the two middle aged women left his store without getting hair washes, this certainly will bode better than losing two of his top barbers.
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05.17.07
Posted in Barbershop, Culture Clash at 11:42 am by Benjamin Ross
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Yesterday two of my Western friends came into the barbershop. In a business which involves a lot of sitting around and waiting, having friends of employees drop by is not an unusual occurrence. Naturally, the first response my friends had to seeing me with spiky hair and a shop apron was to laugh. This is to be expected, as there is a definite degree of humor in what I am doing.
I invited them into the shop to sit down for a chat. As we sat down at one of the tables, Mr. Zheng came to sit down at the table, as he usually does when a guest arrives. Although he cannot speak English, Mr. Zheng’s astute posture and hand motions indicated welcoming respect for his foreign guests. I turned to my friends and gave the introduction.
“This is my boss Mr. Zheng.”
“Ni hao.” Mr. Zheng responded to them, giving them the hands clenched together gesture which implies respect and welcoming.
“Oh hey,” one of my friends responded barely even turning a head to Mr. Zheng. The other gave a quick “ni hao” and continued to joke about my apron.
“Yeah, if you keep working here, you should get some cool black shoes like him,” the she said pointing to Mr. Zheng’s shoes. They both cracked up.
I have no problem with my friends mocking my own appearance, but to have my boss mocked in his own store right in front of my face, by people I had invited in put me in an awkward state.
I respect Mr. Zheng as much as any authority figure I have ever dealt with in China. He sits in his leadership position not because he was born into money or used his guanxi (connections), but because he put in years of 11 hour days and worked his way up from the very bottom. The employees see this, our customers see this, and I see this, but when my Western friends come into the store, they are oblivious. It puts me in the odd situation of inviting my friends into the shop, having my superior give them face, and then having my friends throw it right back at him.
This was not an isolated incident. Over the course of my tenure in the barbershop I have been visited by several friends, both Westerners and Chinese, and their behaviors (there are some exceptions) are strikingly different. When my Western friends visit me in the store, they talk loudly, they walk all around the store or stand in the middle of the doorway, and they treat my colleagues as if they are non-existent. Granted, there is the obvious language barrier, but there is much more to communication that verbal expression. When my Chinese friends visit the store, they wait for Mr. Zheng to invite them to have a seat, they speak at reasonable volumes, and they give my colleagues the respect (both physically and verbally) expected for fellow members of the human race.
Last night I was chatting with Mr. Zheng in front of the store and brought up this topic. I told him what I had noticed about my foreign guests, and here is how he responded.
“Foreigners come to China and they feel like they come from a wealthy country, but live in a developing country. They wear expensive name-brand clothes, and we wear cheap clothes, and they feel like they can treat us however they want.”
Had I heard this statement two weeks ago I would have dismissed it as simple ignorance or casual racism, but after working in the barbershop, I am beginning to understand why Mr. Zheng, and many other Chinese people have these sentiments. During the course of our conversation, the concept of 架子 (jia4 zi) was brought up. Literally 架子 means shelf, but saying somebody has a big shelf in Chinese means that they have an air of superiority to others. There are Chinese customers as well who come into our shop with a big shelf, but I have not seen any with shelves as big as my Western friends.
I do not believe most Westerners in China consciously feel superior to Chinese people, but after living in China for an extended period of time, it is possible that we do get spoiled by the copious amounts of respect and face presented to us. When we take this respect for granted or don’t give it back, it can leave a bad impression. I know my friends who came into the store do not intentionally look down upon Chinese people, but their actions revealed a different story. While I do not condone racism on any level, it is starting to become more apparent to me why resentful feelings towards Westerners develop in the minds of Chinese people who have casual contact with us. After all, it’s not easy to go unnoticed when you walk all day carrying a big shelf on your back wherever you go.
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