What year is it anyway? Hint: not 2009.

On my journey thus far, I have been to two countries for which the year is not, in fact, 2009.

In Ethiopia, I just missed the Y2k party, and am actually still chilling out in 2001.

Over in Taiwan, I'm actually getting ready to celebrate the year 100, since it's year 98.

I never figured out why it's still 2001 in Ethiopia, figuring the Ethiopian calendar had something to do with the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian church. Besides, the fact that I was still in 2001 in Ethiopia was just one of many eccentricities in Ethiopia; the clock begins at 6 am (sunrise) which is 0:00. Noon is thus 6 o'clock, 6 pm (sunset) is 12 o'clock. Things run differently in Ethiopia. Accept it.

A side note, since we are talking about numbers in Ethiopia. I learned the ever-useful phrase, "How much is this?" in Amharic, but neglected to study my numbers carefully. I learned 1-7 (and this is the only thing I can repeat on command). Intriguingly, the number of 7 is sabbat, i.e., the sabbath. Cool.

Well, Taiwan is currently in year 98. More specifically, it's the Republican year of 98, denoting the fact that the Republic of China was founded in 1911, the year the Qing dynasty fell. There's kind of an interesting story here about Taiwan, which is officially the "Republic of China" after Chiang Kai-shek fled the mainland in 1949.

For a country to even consider using a different calendar, other than the standard Gregorian calendar, is, I think, a sign of nationalism. I kind of enjoy it, getting little receipts that are dated with the year 98, or the giant electronic clock in Taiwan's post office that says "Republican Year 98." Or the giant millenium celebration billboard in Addis Ababa that was put up just last year. It's kind of endearing.

Australia

Apologies to my loyal readers for going AWOL on my blog. I am in fact still in Sydney, Australia. Sydney is a good city, but it's so much like an American city, that I feel it's almost under-stimulating.

Australia is considered the fourth most developed nation on the UN's Human Development Index. The index, like most aggregrate measures of something quite subjective and complex, has its obvious flaws, but its a pretty good yardstick that actually takes into account a host of other development factors besides GDP per capita -- such as infant mortality, education, literacy, income inequality, and gender equality.

It may come as a surprise to some U.S. Americans that we are only number 15 on the list (our Canadian neighbors beat Australia to #3; Iceland is #1 and Norway #2). The main thing worth pointing out there is that even though the U.S. has a massive economy and is a very wealthy nation, we've got quite a few problems ourselves (and that's excluding the financial crisis).

Anyways, I am very impressed with Australia. The quality of life here is very good. Even the "rough" suburbs of Sydney are nothing in comparison with some parts of the U.S. or the UK. Maybe I should start telling Chinese immigrants to go there instead of America ... yes, even in Australia, Chinese immigrants still say, "America is better, isn't it?"

So even though looking into Sydney's Chinese community isn't as interesting as, say, Ethiopia's, I've become interested with Sydney's multicultural mix that (almost) rivals New York's.
Those that know me well know I have a fascination with films dealing with social integration into "first world" societies -- films like "La Haine" (French), "Made in Britain" (UK), the similarly titled "This is England" (UK). I don't know what it is that I like about these films, perhaps it's that they depict a dark side of society in the popular media (On the other hand, I had little interest in studying these things in college, and would still not bother studying them).

I just saw this new indie Australian film called "The Combination" about Lebanese immigrants in Sydney's suburb of Parramatta, just one town over from where I am staying, West Ryde. The film was a bit too dramatic for my taste, and I'd prefer it without a completely predictable romance, but I liked it nonetheless. It paints a pretty bleak picture of race relations in suburban Sydney, making clear that Australia isn't all a bed of roses for immigrants. It made it seem like Australia is going in the direction of the U.S., a more xenophobic, less tolerant nationalistic place that has somehow forgotten that it is a country of immigrants. The film is set against the Cronulla riots, a series of xenophobic riots (and counter-riots) back in 2005. Incidentally, I had just visited Cronulla a day before watching "The Combination," oblivious to this dark shadow that loomed over the pretty beaches of this lovely wealthy suburb. And I didn't even know about the movie until it was featured in the news; apparently, there were riots at some of theaters and they had to close them down. It's kind of sad to realize that it isn't just the stuff of movies.

Finally, while hiking two days ago, I saw a python on the trail. It was big.

"91% are proud to be Peruvians..."

"...and would not change their nationality." This was the headline today in El Comercio, the major daily newspaper in Lima. Signs of nationalism seem to be on the rise here in Peru, probably because of the upcoming independence day, July 28. I'm honestly a little scared for when the day finally arrives, as I'm sure it'll all be crazy and insane given last week's "Gran Curso Wong." The Gran Curso Wong is a parade commercially sponsored by the giant supermarket chain "Wong," which was started by early Chinese immigrants maybe a hundred years ago, and has since grown into a kind of Target or Walmart. Considering the madness that was that the Wong parade (I'm still getting over the fact that a giant parade was held by a giant corporation with huge crowds and security and fireworks and shutdown streets), I can hardly imagine what kind of independence day party the Peruvians are about to throw.

(Photo caption: Onlookers at the Gran Curso Wong)

I've always found nationalism interesting; nationalism seems to inspire all sorts of emotions. One popular idea of nationalism holds that nations are "imagined communities," wherein nations are socially constructed community in order to define a national identity and create a sense of belonging among its citizens. Whereas "real" communities are often based upon kinships or small geographic boundaries, imagined communities must often construct identities in order to delineate a nation. Nationalism in Peru appear to be quite strong: the soft drink "Inca Kola" continues to outpace Coca-Cola (one of the few local beverages in the world to do so), people everywhere wear little lapels with the Peruvian flag, and as I mentioned in an earlier post, street names have all been renamed to more patriotic-sounding names, "Calle Wilson" became "Inca Garcilazo" (anything with "Inca" carries clear nationalistic connotations) "Jose Leuro" became "28 de Julio" (the day of independence), "Geldres" became "Libertad" (Liberty). It almost seems 1984-esque.

So how does this all relate to Chinatowns and the diaspora? Well, it occurred to me that I had largely considered myself first and foremost an American, and as a kid I enjoyed participating in activities celebrating a national pastime. I joined a fife and drum corps in fourth grade and felt proud to be celebrating my nation's heritage, which despite the fact that my parents were immigrants to the U.S., I saw as my own heritage. I memorized all the presidents' names and years, learned about the various wars the U.S. had fought, and was proud to be from Concord, Massachusetts, where the American war for independence had begun. I was bored by Chinese school and took little interest in learning about my family history (which I now know to be objectively, quite fascinating...).

I shouldn't be surprised, then, by the fact that most kids and teenagers of Chinese descent I've interviewed here know little about their Chinese familial history, seem bored by the required Mandarin classes, care little for anything Chinese (except the hongbao, or "red envelopes" stuffed with cash that Chinese kids receive during Chinese New Years), and consider themselves proudly Peruvian. And it shouldn't be surprising that Peruvians, regardless of whether they are white, mestizo, black, Chinese, or anything else can still dress up in "traditional Peruvian" costumes (often of Incan, pre-Incan, or pre-Spanish origin) and celebrate a national heritage. But I still have trouble getting over this embarrassingly obvious fact.

(Photo caption: First-generation students at the Chinese-Peruvian school "Diez de Octubre" prepare for a national Peruvian dance. Most can speak Cantonese in addition to Spanish.)

Roxana has a son, Jose, who was born in Peru the same year I was. Although he grew up in the Barrio Chino and both his parents were Chinese, he can only understand some basic Cantonese and admits to feeling far more Peruvian than Chinese. Even though he attended a Chinese-Peruvian elementary and secondary school, Jose tells me that he found the Chinese kids to often be cold and uninviting, whereas the Peruvians were much were carinoso, or warm-hearted.

(Jose in his room in Barrio Chino.)


In contrast to the tusan Peruvian-Chinese (those born in Peru), though, recent immigrants feel no such love for Peru. Many recent Chinese immigrants see Peru as little more than a place to make money before returning to China. Others see Peru as simply a gateway to the U.S. or wealthier Western countries. A group of teenagers at a Peruvian-Chinese school admitted that they understood little Spanish and would return to China once their family had enough money. All of them have told me they lived in the countryside, and moved to Peru because of poverty. China remains their homeland, and although I haven't detected any particularly strong sense of nationalism, it seems as if there does exist a sense of Chinese cultural superiority.

(Ping-pong tournament at Juan XXIII, the other Chinese-Peruvian school. Juan XXIII was originally founded by an Italian missionary who worked in China during the 1930s and 1940s. After China became ruled by the Communists in 1949, he apparently went back to Rome and asked the pope what he should do, mentioning the fact that he wanted to work with Chinese people. The pope sent him to Peru, with its substantial Chinese population.)

Like their North-American counterparts, however, Peruvian-Chinese do not necessarily have to choose between a Peruvian identity and a Chinese one. The descendants of the first Chinese immigrants here are proud of their hybrid identity. Doctor Luis Yong, the owner of a successful chifa restaurant in El Barrio Chino, director of the Associacion Peruana-China, and a surgeon, was emphatic in explaining to me the success story of Peru's Chinese immigrants. For him, the Chinese-Peruvians succeeded because of a cultural propensity toward hard work, integrity, respect, filial piety, and other guiding principles rooted in Confucianism and Daoism (and to a lesser extent, he says, in Buddhism... he seems to think that because Buddhism was not natively Chinese, it does not hold as large of an influence). The Chinese-Peruvians are distinguished from their Japanese-Peruvian, Italian-Peruvian, or Arab-Peruvian counterparts because they have both successfully managed to integrate into Peruvian society (Luis notes the hybrid chifa food), while also maintaining a strong cultural background. There is no Japantown, Little Italy, Luis says, perhaps idealizing the Chinese community.

Nationalism is often capable of clearing the identity slates of first-generation immigrants such as myself or Jose. First-generation populations, have far more malleable identities than their immigrant parents. Whereas immigrant parents have often seen Peru as simply a foreign land of opportunity, many first-generation children have adopted new national identities, and perhaps only secondarily bothered to consider their family's cultural heritage. Striking a balance between a cultural heritage and an adopted national identity is not impossible, but often induces false or simplistic ideals of nationalism or cultural superiority.