Social support and the Chinese

"Thanks to the social security system in America which provides a worry-free life to my mother, [it] in turn relieves my burden to support my mom's living... In China, there is no social security or welfare for the elders. It is one of the big reasons that the Chinese children have a stronger sense
of responsibility for their parents." -- Mom

I've been meaning to write about social support and the Chinese for a while. I became interested in this subject while doing research for my senior thesis, as I tried to understand the effects of China's diminishing social support systems following economic reforms in 1978. The economist Amartya Sen argues that the Chinese preference for sons is primarily a socioeconomic one. Basically, many Chinese turn towards their families to provide adequate social support, particularly in old age. Because of traditions of patrilineal marriage, daughters are "given" in marriage and live with their in-laws. Sons stay "in" the family and are expected to provide care for their parents.

It's easy to see why sons are favored when there is little state support for the elderly. Most Chinese, both in and out of Chinese, seem to be largely apolitical, and rarely use politics to try and solve social problems (in marked contrast to most Latin American countries, for instance). And because most Chinese do not receive -- nor expect -- support from the state, they often turn toward their extended families for support.

Although the research has been out for a couple years at this point, the New York Times just published an article about gender bias even among overseas Chinese in the U.S.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/15/nyregion/15babies.html

I'd rather be working

You know those t-shirts that say "I"d rather be [doing favorite hobby]?" Like I'd rather be sailing, be golfing, be hiking, etc.? Last night on the street I saw a Chinese-Malaysian woman wearing a shirt saying "I'd rather be working."

I think this pretty much sums up the famous work ethic of Chinese immigrants. Throughout my journey across the Chinese diaspora, I have consistently seen Chinese immigrants pull 12, 14 hour days, six to seven days a week with little complaint. Often their only complaint is that they miss China. I think many Chinese people view hard work as an act of filial piety, of loyalty towards one's family and ancestors. Even the poorest of immigrants send what little money they have to their families in China, or to construct temples and homes to pay homage to their ancestors. Sure, Chinese parents may spoil their kids -- especially their sons -- but I think this is closely related to the expectation and the responsibility of their children to pay them back, and to take care of their parents in old age (a topic worthy of a dissertation).

It's funny, going to Chinese communities, where on Sundays or other holidays all the shops are closed except the Chinese ones. For many Jewish-Americans, for instance, going to a Chinese restaurant on Christmas has become a tradition in of itself. Shops in Georgetown seem to close early, but I was noticing that the employees of one Chinese restaurant that closed after lunch simply began to work on the street stalls at night.

Vietnam (snapshot)

Cholon, Ho Chi Minh City. A Vietnam-born Chinese entrepreneur. Despite speaking Vietnamese fluently and fitting in visibly, most Vietnam-born Chinese still maintain strong Chinese traditions and can write and speak Chinese fluently. They have their own temples, worship their ancestors, and their homes can easily be identified by the red paper calligraphy outside their homes.

Cholon, Ho Chi Minh City

Cholon is the historical "Chinatown district" in Saigon, now officially known as Ho Chi Minh City.

In case you hadn't realized already, most Chinese immigrants are good entrepreneurs. Hence, when the Communists came smashing through and closed all the free markets, many Chinese people fled Vietnam. With markets opening up once again, the Chinese people are once more beginning to show off their entrepreneurial talent.


Funny thing. After arriving in Vietnam from China, I've been making many comparisons between the two. I've been surprised how tolerant most Vietnamese people are with having their photo taken, at least in comparison to their Chinese counterparts. Most don't seem to mind, and there are rarely angry security guards that make up arbitrary rules prohibiting photography in public places.

Nevertheless, when I got to Cholon, I noticed immediately how much more camera-shy the Chinese there were. Originally, I would have liked to take a portrait of this trio, apparently grandparents and their grandchild. But the man and woman casually covered their faces while allowing me to photograph their child, with little protest. The result seems somewhat funny to me.


Since I'm travelling alone I don't get many photos taken of me. My college photography professor required us to take at least three self-portraits on each roll of film (remember those?), and I've gotten in the habit of taking them. Here I am wearing my new blazer and shirt I got tailor-made in Vietnam, because apparently that's what you do when you go to Vietnam. It's quite incredible, really, little shops can spit out an entire suit in less than 12 hours of you walking into the store.

Taishan, the roots of the diaspora

The above photo is of my maternal grandfather's village in Haiyan, literally "Sea Banquet." We had seafood everyday. One meal I counted a total of eight different kinds of fish.

Side note: Blogger has a somewhat annoying format in that it seems to post photos backwards in the order in which I upload them.

Anyways, I've spent the past few days in the countryside, in the Guangdong county of Taishan, a major exporter of fine Chinese products. I mean immigrants. In many of the countries I've been to so far, a large number of the immigrants have come from this single county, Taishan. I think I read somewhere that over half of the population that is "Taishanese" is actually living abroad.

Apparently I am 75% Taishanese, which I had no idea about until recently, when I found out that my paternal grandmother's family was originally from a village in Taishan. Going back to my "old home" in China is an incredible experience; an auntie who helped guide me around the villages pointed out villages in the distance, commenting, "that village went to England. That village went to Brazil."

Brazil.

Everyone was talking about Brazil. Brazil is the new America, by the way. Seriously, everybody was talking about Brazil, and everybody is going to Brazil. I guess people have started realizing that America isn't America anymore.

Old ladies in my maternal grandfather's village in Haiyan. They have just been given 100 RMB (about $14 USD) by a successful entrepreneur who made it out of the village.
The ancestral temple in Haiyan. The first character on the temple reads my mother's last name, "Rong," or "Yung" in Cantonese.

The house that my maternal grandfather built. He was a "Lao Hua Qiao" (overseas Chinese) who went to America, and apparently South America as well. He died when my mom was five and she has no recollection of him. Apparently he suffered prejudice in America. Surprise.
The ancestral shrine in the house my grandfather built.


Now we can move on to my paternal grandmother's village, or at least what I believe is my paternal grandmother's village. She was born in California, but her parents were from Taishan. She even has the same last name as my maternal grandmother, Wu, or "Ng" in Cantonese. Yes, nnnnnngggggggggg. It's not missing at consonants. Try it.



Actually, the village wasn't that remote.


That's me in front of my paternal grandmother's village.


The final village is my maternal grandmother's. I had an "American returning to his roots" moment in which I jumped on the back of a motorcycle to get to this village, because it was inaccessible by car. It was deeply romantic, and I wish I had a film crew on hand.


The driver checks to see if it's the right village. I take photos. This is the ancestral temple.


The Communist ancestral temple. No, just kidding, but I think it used to be the party headquarters, see the faded star?

Roots and Happy Early Mother's Day

I grew up in the largely homogeneous town of Concord, Massachusetts. It's probably instructive to look at some demographic stats I've knicked from Wikipedia:

"The racial makeup of the town was 91.64% White, 2.24% African American, 0.09% Native American, 2.90% Asian, 0.02% Pacific Islander, 2.12% from other races, and 0.99% from two or more races. Hispanic or Latino of any race were 2.80% of the population.

....The median income for a household in the town was $115,897, and the median income for a family was $135,839. Males had a median income of $92,374 versus $67,739 for females. The per capita income for the town was $51,477. About 2.1% of families and 3.9% of the population were below the poverty line, including 3.7% of those under age 18 and 3.3% of those age 65 or over."

If numbers scare you, the point is this: Concord is a very rich, predominately White town. In fact, it is probably even more wealthy and White than the census suggests, as there is a maximum security prison in Concord that probably makes it seem more diverse in the census. Yep.

So what was growing up in Concord like? Quite nice, obviously! People still can't seem to get over the fact that my parents spoke English to me at home, which has led to my inability to speak Cantonese and my learning Mandarin in college. Perhaps more importantly, however, I really had no interest in figuring out those sort of existential questions about where I come from, who I am. Part of the reason is that all the hardships endured by my ancestors are so far removed from the comforts of Concord. Cliche, but true.

But like any American, I wanted to piece together my inevitably interesting family history. My mom's aunt (my grandmother's brother's wife) in Hong Kong whipped out a stack of photo albums today, from when my mother arrived in Hong Kong in the early 1970s. I had already figured out a large bit of my mom's history (also known as the epic story of how she got to America from China. Seriously, it's epic.), and knew that she had arrived in Hong Kong having witnessed some of the worst excesses of the Cultural Revolution. The photos my mom's aunt showed transported me back to 1970s Hong Kong, where I'm sure my mom and her brother (who both escaped) were so happy and felt so free to be out of China.


I've found it hard to imagine these people as my family, because I have never met them, and if I have met them, I've forgotten. But family seems to mean an awful lot in the clannish nature of Chinese society, and my mom often reminds me of the kindness of her family in Hong Kong when she had arrived from China, with literally nothing.




To my delight, these photo albums were not arranged in chronological order. Photos from the 1970s, and even the 1960s, appear alongside digital photos from 2006. Photos capture a moment in time, and I find it magical when two photos of the same person are juxtaposed, taken decades apart. I'm reminded of my own mortality, that one day I'll grow old and wrinkly, and will lose my sharp wit and youthful figure.

Mazu's birthday

Mazu is a Daoist deity that is highly revered among Chinese immigrants, largely because she is considered a protector of fisherfolk and other seafarers. Apparently, she was the daughter of some official in Fujian province in the 10th century A.D. I think she's a big deal in coastal provinces like Fujian and Guangdong, as well as Southeast Asian countries with substantial Chinese populations, such as Taiwan, Vietnam, and Malaysia.

Anyways, Mazu's birthday is something like the 23rd day of the 3rd month (using the lunar calendar), which happened to fall on April 18 this year.

Mazu is a huge deal here in Taiwan, they have all sorts of festivals where villages bring their Mazu image to commune with the mother image, which is usually at some big temple. These photos are from Chaotian temple, one of the oldest and most important temples in Taiwan in the town of Beigang.


They had these huge floats with kids dressed up as Chinese gods throwing candies at adults. It was like Halloween, in reverse.


I've been telling people that the entire festival was very pyrotechnic and bloody. Yes, bloody (I'll get to pyrotechnic later). Some was fake blood, like in the two images below, where this handicapped guy would put these young guys into a (fake) trance.


This guy, pictured below, was actually using a sharp metal spiky thing and pounding it on his head and back. In other words, real blood. And I'm pretty sure he went into a real trance, if there is such a thing.


Tattoos are big here.

Now we get to the pyrotechnic part. Firecrackers, lots of them. If you go to a Chinese street celebration, definitely bring earplugs. This bit almost seemed a bit masochistic: a guy would run around in circles in a costume as about 5 to 10 other guys would literally throw firecrackers at him. When the smoke had cleared, most of the costume was burnt.




The music was pretty cool, very loud trumpet-like horns that actually sounded a bit like bagpipes. I've got a sound recording somewhere.
Annalisa says, "Taiwan never ceases to amaze me." Exhibit 7c: One village decides to bring their Mazu image decked out in disco lights, dancing, and playing disco music.

China in Ethiopia

If you ask Ethiopians what the Chinese are doing in Ethiopia, they will most likely answer that they build roads and buildings. Huge housing projects are being put up around the capital, Addis Ababa, with many contracts given to Chinese state-owned enterprises (SOE's). One major corporation, China Road and Bridge Construction (CRBC), has come under fire from the World Bank after some shady dealings in the Philippines.

One CRBC employee told me that he hated the corruption of Ethiopia -- and Ethiopia is supposed to be better than many other African countries in this regard. Nonetheless, collusion with the local government is often considered necessary to get things done.









"I respect the Chinese because they are willing to do things that other foreigners aren't willing to do." Whereas many Western organizations and corporations in Ethiopia are not willing to get their hands a little dirty, the Chinese seem willing to work alongside the Ethiopians, in poor working conditions, often living in temporary tin shacks put up next to construction sites.

The Chinese have been put in charge of constructing the new African Union building, perhaps a symbolic move of China's growing influence in Africa.

Chinese workers are paid two to three times the amount they would normally make in China. Many Chinese workers have worked in other African countries, such as Angola, Nigeria, the Congo, and Algeria.




Unlike in most other countries, many of the Chinese in Ethiopia were young, educated, single men. In a way, we had a lot in common -- we'd just graduated university, had a thirst for some adventure abroad, and were open-minded to new places.

Perhaps in testament to the excellence of Ethiopian food, many Chinese people remarked that they'd rather eat Ethiopian food, than try to eat Chinese food all the time.