An American in Tianjin

[Labels are not static, at least not when it comes to people. They define as much as they are defined by those whom they attempt to define. The relationship is reciprocal. They were invented, given, placed for the sake of identifying something with a common characteristic. They are used to cluster, group, simplify, for easy identification, simple mental processing. (Categorization. It’s how our brains seek to simplify the amount of processing it has to do to come up with an appropriate response to a certain stimuli. It’s also how the brain, in many cases, keeps us alive during instantaneous threats that we would otherwise not have enough time to process.)

However, it is these same labels that define those in the group. Once we are labeled as something, should we choose to internally appropriate that label, we will seek to act in ways that are defined by the label, even if we have not previously had those characteristics. A simple example, if I claim to be a follower of Chr-st, then I am given the label of “Chr-stian.” Should I choose to accept that label, I not realize that I am not everything that the label should entail, therefore I change my actions to better live up to that label. (A simple reductionistic socio-psycho explanation, minus nuances and theology, or even what the label should/can/actually means.) So, apart from the implications of our tendency to label, our actions and beliefs determine what labels we acquire, just as much as the labels dictate our actions and beliefs. A dynamic symbiotic relationship, if you will.]

I spent part of today catching up on American politics and international news. I read presidential candidate bios [Obama!] and skimmed a Newsweek article about the state of Muslim-Americans.

Hyphenated-American. The article noted that first generation Muslims often felt an attachment to America, perhaps because of the opportunities it had given them and the lives they knew they had left behind. Many were proud to be Americans. However, the children of these first generation Americans did not feel the same way. Oftentimes, this second or third generation, which had grown up in the prosperity provided for them by their parents, were the ones considered to be in the greatest danger of becoming ideologically extreme. They don’t feel the same attachment to America as their parents did. Having grown up as “Americans” by name, but living in a culture that always viewed them differently, having never grown up in their “motherlands,” they sought to understand what it meant to be a Muslim in the midst of a certain amount of discrimination and fear. Some chose to be defined by the label they already acquired, emphasizing and exerting their differences to define themselves.

In America, I am a hyphenated-American, with the emphasis placed on my former half. My differences have been stressed. I am American, sure, but I am *Chinese*. And perhaps somewhat akin to the Muslim-Americans, I have been trying to understand what it means to be the Chinese part.

But in China, I cannot say that I’m a “Zhong Guo Ren.” The natives here will not accept it. It seems that “Zhong Guo Ren” (what we would translate as “Chinese”) refers more to the nationality, within the borders of the People’s Republic. My teacher will not let me say that I am a “Zhong Guo Ren.” I have been told that I look like a proper Chinese person, but I have been labeled “Han yi” or “Mei ji hua ren” but strictly an American, meaning that I am of the Han “race” or people group. The reference to me being a Han person doesn’t necessarily have any cultural connotations, merely a genetic descriptor. And so in China, I am an American who happens to be Han.

I don’t disagree with that descriptor, as I’ve found that I am indeed very very American. I think, dress, and act like an American. I feel it every day from riding my bike down the street to having conversations with others. My boss at work, who has lived in China for 7 years but is a Caucasian from Michigan, in a lot of ways is more “Chinese” than me.

One quote by a first generation Muslim said something to the effect that when he went back to his home country, he realized he was American. He didn’t understand the jokes anymore. He felt like an outsider. I think I know what he means. And perhaps I also know what the second-generation youth feel like when they say, in perfect English, that they are looking for that first half of the hyphenation to define them. Sometimes they mistakenly view it in an idealized form, having never actually fully participated in it.

And so here I am, an American in a motherland that doesn’t seem to recognize me (except for appearance), but a Chinese in America.

No, I haven’t figured it out yet. Things just aren’t black and white like fundamentalists want them to be. (Alright. Sorry. Totally uncalled for and unrelated jab. But hey, it’s a reality of life.)