The Good Immigrant Page 9

  14 The Bristol bus boycott, led by youth worker Paul Stephenson, saw a city-wide boycott of the bus service in response to an informal colour bar that stopped black people being employed on the buses.

  Beyond ‘Good’ Immigrants

  Wei Ming Kam

  Years ago, my mum would sometimes call me and my siblings to the kitchen excitedly.

  ‘Why, what’s going on?’ I’d ask.

  ‘Look!’ She would point at the TV, and someone Chinese would be on it.

  ‘Oh my god,’ my baby sister would groan. ‘Why are you always so excited? So they’re Chinese – so what?’

  We rolled our eyes at each other, and trooped back to our books and Gameboys, perennially embarrassed and uncomprehending, leaving her to watch whoever the fellow East Asian was, like they were a celebrity.

  A decade later, my mother’s excitement seems more like surprise. I’ve noticed our long, gaping absence from the cultural landscape and come to recognise the mix of shock and curiosity at seeing a face like mine onscreen, a rare acknowledgement of our existence in the UK. Look, my mum was saying. We’re here.

  It often doesn’t feel like it.

  The Chinese in the UK have been called the ‘hidden’ or ‘invisible’ community,15 given that we are perceived as ostensibly successful, assimilated into British society and self-reliant. In America, we’re called ‘the model minority’. We do education, food, medicine, finance, and all sorts of other things well, according to popular belief in the West.

  As a journalist, Katy Lee’s career choice doesn’t follow the conventional well-worn stereotypes.

  ‘My dad did want me to work really hard at school,’ she says, grinning at me over Skype from her flat in Paris. ‘He did want me to make lots of money when I grow up …’ We both start to giggle at the inevitability of parental anxiety. ‘He’s disappointed that I’m a journalist making not very much money, instead of a banker or whatever.’

  Katy has worked for the international news agency Agence France-Presse for five years, moving from London to Hong Kong and then back to Europe. Her educational CV reads like this: high-achieving grammar school; Cambridge; City University for Broadcast Journalism. Half-Vietnamese, half-English, she caveats our conversation by saying that her experience has been tempered by being half-Asian. Despite that warning, her observations all feel very familiar.

  ‘Even as a kid, before the Tiger Mom book was a thing,’ she says. ‘I was vaguely aware that as an Asian kid, I was expected to work hard at school, and that came as much from general society as it did from my dad.’

  Ah, Amy Chua’s Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. The hard-working, naturally-clever, silent East Asian is a pervasive stereotype, but the horrified furore around Chua’s parenting memoir shows that beneath the Western awe at Chinese educational attainment is a profoundly uncomfortable fear of a seemingly alien culture. Headlines such as the BBC’s ‘are strict Chinese mothers the best?’16 jostled with claims that such parenting leads to a lack of creativity, and people predicted that Chua’s children would become friendless robots.

  Katy is unimpressed by this.

  ‘It fitted very nicely into a narrative that already exists, that they already had a vague idea about,’ she sighs. ‘You know, [the idea that these] parents will do anything for their kids to get good grades, they’re really cruel, this is exotic, so strange, it’s so different from how we behave.’

  We both observe that pushy parenting isn’t limited to East Asian people, and she says, ‘I think a lot of white parents do this, and this is what pisses me off about it.’

  Integrate well. Move upwards in society. Be praised – until people worry that you’re doing too well, and then they remember that you’re foreign. This is perhaps best illustrated by an educational study published by Routledge in 2005, where various teachers attributed success to inherently ‘Chinese’ qualities while simultaneously hinting that these qualities were ‘enclosed’, ‘denying children individuality’ and in opposition to Western cultural ideas.17

  Political relations play a part in this too. When I bring up China’s economic rise, Katy nods.

  ‘I think Britain is going through an identity crisis at the moment. Reactions to things like Tiger Mother are like “Who are these people, are they going to take over?”’

  It’s a shrewd assessment of the contradictory views that the UK has of Chinese people, and one that Jiaqi Hou agrees with.

  ‘Labels can be easily removed. It’s not controlled by the minority community itself, and it’s related to the international political environment,’ he says, when I ask him about the model minority stereotype. ‘Anything can change, labels just show how vulnerable the communities are, because today they can be a model minority, but tomorrow they might not be.’

  Jiaqi is the project manager of The British Chinese Project, a non-profit organisation that aims to engage the Chinese community in the political process and strengthen its social standing. When I meet him, the BC Project’s advisor Cohan Chew and their media director, Jun Kit Man, they take me into a meeting room and sit across the table. It’s very businesslike, and I get the feeling that Jiaqi has been asked many of the questions I put to him before.

  For such an allegedly successful minority, the level of Chinese political engagement is among the lowest in Britain. The Electoral Commission found in 2006 that 30 per cent of British Chinese people weren’t on the electoral register.

  ‘The reasons are very, very complicated, it’s not simply [as people] say, that Chinese people are shy, reserved, that they haven’t got used to speaking out and being vocal,’ Jiaqi says, with a hint of weariness. ‘We have a lot of Chinese candidates, but unfortunately, most of them won’t be selected to safe seats. So that dramatically reduces the chance of them winning. If we are looking at those Chinese who have never registered [to vote], or have never voted, language barrier is always the first reason.’

  He goes on to talk about the large number of people working long hours in catering, who don’t have the time for politics, and the ugly history of Chinese exclusion from other forms of employment.

  A pause, then very firmly: ‘These are all related reasons, it should not be thought of as simply culture. I strongly disagree with anyone who has that opinion.’

  The lack of interest in wider civic participation that the low voter registration suggests, is compounded by a pervading distrust of police. In 2013 the BC Project published a report on the Chinese community’s relations with the police, and 43.8 per cent of those who did not report a crime selected ‘do not think the perpetrator will be caught’ or ‘do not see any point in reporting’, as reasons for their inaction and apathy.18 Statements from the respondents included feeling that the police reacted too slowly after reporting the crime, and, worryingly, ‘many felt that the police failed in their responsibility to make them feel safe and were instead “intimidating”.’19 None of this sounds like a completely happy community.

  When I ask Jiaqi if he feels their concerns are being taken seriously, he tells me, frustrated, ‘A friend of mine got robbed in her apartment and all of our friends, we called the police, but they said, “We don’t have police patrolling that area, we can’t do anything”.’ He continues, ‘So basically after an hour the police finally went there, but only because we had more than 50 people calling for the same issue.’

  Not much seems to have changed since Min Quan’s eye-opening report on racism against the Chinese in 2009. A part of The Monitoring Group, Min Quan’s study was prompted by the 2005 murder of Mi Gao Huang Chen outside his takeaway in Wigan in an attack by more than 20 white youths. The reaction of the investigating officer in the case was a classic example of systemic racism. ‘[He] denied the murder was racially motivated and dismissed [Mi Gao’s partner] Ms Jia’s accusations of police incompetence as “sheer nonsense”.’20

  Despite repeated warnings about racial harassment, the officer also described the murder as ‘unforeseeable’.21 Min Quan’s study notes that, �
��Eileen [Jia] remained isolated. In fact, her ethnic origin seemed to work against her. As a Chinese person she was stereotyped as being self-reliant; and not in need of the kind of support offered to other families of murder victims.’22 She left the UK shortly after the trial.

  The case is an extreme example of police indifference towards racial abuse suffered by Chinese people, but the report makes it clear that it is far from isolated, saying that ‘there are perhaps even higher levels of racial violence or harassment than those experienced by any other minority group.’23

  Unsurprisingly, it’s not just outright abuse that is an issue for the British Chinese. A paper on inequality for the Joseph Rowntree Foundation in 2011 found that ‘inequality levels are also extremely high. Despite the high median levels of resources, poverty rates are above average for both adults and children.’24 But the illusion that the community as a whole is prospering is, for some East Asians, something to be embraced. This attitude was epitomised by a piece by Clarissa Tan in 2014 in the Spectator 25in which she proclaimed confidently that, ‘Britain has many challenges … racism isn’t one of them.’

  She goes on to say, ‘The danger with crying racism at every turn is that it conceals real problems … an Ofsted inspector recently raised the issue of working-class white schoolchildren being overlooked and without representation versus ethnic groups …’

  Nothing, of course, about the fact that despite being among the highest achievers in our schools, Chinese male graduates in 2004/5 could expect to earn 25 per cent less than white male graduates.26

  That particular ceiling is only one of many she ignores. ‘I have been welcomed and accepted in this country, and – uncool as this may sound – I feel grateful for this,’ she says, towards the end of the article. It seems like a very low bar for gratitude.

  ‘Thinking about the model minority thing,’ I say, ‘there will probably be some people I talk to who think, “Oh it’s a good thing!”’

  Viki abandons her sushi completely.

  ‘No it’s not! People who think that think, “It’s positive racism”, which is the most ridiculous phrase I’ve ever heard in my life.’

  Viki Cheung works in publishing. We’re sitting in a Japanese restaurant in Chinatown on a Sunday, attempting to chat in between the endless plates being brought to our table.

  ‘You’re treating all East Asians as a homogenous mass,’ she continues. ‘We’re all individual people, why is this such a struggle to see that?’

  I mention the absurd dichotomy that the phrase ‘model minority’ indirectly suggests. She nods. ‘Yes. In the same mouthful as saying, “East Asians are the model minority because they’re quiet and hardworking”, [you imply] black people are apparently loud and lazy.’

  I ask Viki if she feels she has to push back against stereotypes. She considers this for a second, and replies, ‘I am far more outspoken at work than I ever thought I would be, on work issues. I’m aware that if I’m not it’s contributing to the “quiet, sensible [stereotype]”.’ I nod, understanding. There are very few East Asian people in publishing. ‘And I’m going to have to be even more me to combat that, especially because I’m a woman. I would rather be thought of as opinionated.’

  Even as I think about how much hard work that sounds, she says, ‘It was an active choice I made. It’s a choice I made a long time ago, but I amped it up since coming to work in publishing, which is a very white industry.’ She shrugs. ‘I’m a very outspoken person anyway, it’s not a facade in any way, it’s just a more me version of me, out of necessity because I don’t want …’

  Viki stops for a few seconds. ‘It’s a really heavy lot of things that I have to think about to not be stereotyped. And I have no idea if my efforts are even working.’

  Sensible, quiet, shy … some things just follow us around. The idea of not complaining being an admirable trait, is something that struck Katy Lee during our Skype chat.

  ‘I do think it’s interesting that this idea of being a model minority is tied up with essentially being quiet,’ she says. ‘Just sitting back, not complaining about stuff, and getting on with making money. Being quiet is considered a really good quality.’

  Especially when it comes to the rights of others to make racist jokes at someone else’s expense.

  The week before we chatted, it was announced that Janette Tough, a white actor, had been cast as a Japanese designer in Ab Fab: The Movie. Amidst the fury that the decision unleashed, newspapers published opinion pieces (by writers who weren’t East Asian) on the row. Helen Lewis in the Guardian wondered why drag wasn’t considered as bad as yellowface. the Telegraph managed to comprehend that blackface is ‘fundamentally racist’, and yet decided that Ab Fab’s yellowface was merely mocking a nation. ‘No country is immune to satire – and nor should it be,’ they concluded.

  Be quiet. Stop complaining. Let us have our fun. Don’t be so sensitive. You’re normally quiet, aren’t you?

  Katy sighs with disappointment.

  ‘The yellowface thing is a really good example. I think I was listening to some comedians the other day [they were talking about] what accent it’s acceptable to do and saying, “Well, like obviously you can’t do a Jamaican one, but like I think Chinese is pretty OK,” and well no, it isn’t!’

  ‘People expect me to be a good worker. Professional etc., I think this is because of the stereotype that we are smart and nerdy and thus seen to be a hard worker.’

  I stare at the email and grin. I found Rebecca Yip’s blog through her YouTube channel a few weeks ago. Both are called Asianchemnerd. Her family is from Hong Kong, and she moved back there from the UK to do her chemistry PhD a year ago. After reading about her reasons for doing so (‘I had some awful times with racist people [in] secondary school’), I emailed her asking for a chat.

  ‘Born in UK but ethnically Chinese, everyone looked at me to be an outsider,’ she wrote back. She doesn’t, unsurprisingly, escape systemic prejudice in academia either. ‘Generally, professors tend to be white men. I feel that we do have to prove ourselves more than a white man.’

  She mentions a racist incident in the UK involving her boyfriend, who is Indian. ‘I want to bring up my family in a place that is safe, and they feel welcome and they can feel like they can reach their full potential, without holding back because of their race.’

  In the UK, she says, there will always be something holding them back.

  As I watch her Chinese New Year video, I wonder: how many other people like her leave this country to find better things?

  ‘I do feel that there’re better work opportunities elsewhere. What I want to do personally, I want to work in Britain. I’m British and I want to work here.’ Paul Courtenay Hyu, otherwise known as ‘Chinese Elvis’, is giving me the lowdown on life as a jobbing Chinese actor in the Curzon Soho café.

  I mention the steady stream of British black actors honing their potential in America, and he nods.

  ‘Well it’s happening to a very small extent with the East Asians. Elaine Tan is over there and she’s working her arse off.’ He adds in a satisfied tone, ‘And she is the main person in our episode of Doctor Who. So there are two Chinese in it, and she’s got a Geordie accent, and pretty good too, I have to say. And I do my Yorkshire accent.’

  He mentions Singapore and Hong Kong as other places that British Chinese seek work in.

  ‘They’re more like the kung fu guys, the ones who can do stunts. A lot of Singaporeans go back to Singapore because it’s just better [than the UK]. Anybody who has a right to work there seems to go back quite often …’ He reels off a list of other actors who work in Singapore. ‘Adrian Pang hasn’t been back for about fifteen years and I don’t blame him, because he’s just staying busy, whereas here we’re scrabbling for shit.’

  He mentions very casually that he went to drama school with an actor from The Hobbit. I gape at him for a second, and he grimaces at the memory of seeing his old classmate in the trailer.

  ‘The majority of us Bri
tish actors – apart from Ben Wong, literally apart from him – we haven’t had the opportunities that all our white peers have had,’ he says. ‘So whilst we might in the 80s have had the equivalent talent and potential, they’ve had a chance to develop it, and we’re just sat there stagnating going …’ He grabs a Curzon café menu and puts on what white people call a Chinese accent, then mimes being a waiter. ‘Ohhhh we talk like ’dis, a Chinese menu for one?’ I wince, and he slaps the menu down on the coffee table. ‘That’s what we’ve done, so we aren’t as technically on top of it as we should be. That’s an unforeseen consequence of not getting the same opportunities.’ Paul picks up the menu again, exasperated. ‘You have to be better than you should be in order just to keep up. Women say that, don’t they, you have to be better just to stay par. I think that’s what we suffer from as well.

  ‘We pay our taxes, we deserve something, it’s only fair. We pay our fucking BBC licence, we deserve to see somebody on EastEnders! Surely after 30 years of East-fucking-Enders we must have had a Chinese family on it … at least once … for six months?’

  * * *

  He’s not the only person thinking this. Everyone I spoke to for this essay voiced annoyance or puzzlement at the lack of East Asians in British media who weren’t stereotypes. From illegal immigrants in Casualty to Triad members in Sherlock, hardly anyone writing for the British screen (or book) seems capable of imagining British East Asians as British. If we’re not villains à la Fu Manchu, we’re delicate women who need saving, usually by white men (Gemma Chan in Sherlock), or comedy material.