Oi! ching chong china man! Go back to your bloody country!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
I’m fortunate to have only experienced racism firsthand once in my life. I was in grade 8 and living on my step-grandfather’s farm in Melbourne, Australia. I still remember the 30 min walk from the farm house to the main road where I’d catch the school bus. I would talk with my friend, John, on the 40 min bus ride to school. There was an older kid in grade 10 who would come on the bus and tease me, taunting, “Hey, ching chong china man! Go back to your bloody country!” Hands raised to his cheeks, he would mock an Asian slanty-eyed expression. A fairly quiet and passive kid, I chose to ignore him. Actually, at first I was slightly amused and confused because I didn’t even consider myself to look Asian. To be honest, I never looked particularly Asian or white. I am half Chinese, half Scottish, but people often mistook me for Italian, Spanish, South American or Hawaiian, but never Asian. I was shocked that he could even tell I was Chinese – well, half. While I had chosen to ignore his taunts, two weeks passed, and one day on the bus ride back home, the emotions inside took me over. Getting on the bus at school, he did his usual ching chong china man routine. Inside I became incredibly angry. Although I must have done a very good job at hiding my anger because the whole bus ride to my bus stop I was chatting away normally with my friend, John. As John and I started to walk down the bus aisle to the exit, I stopped right in front of the bully, and without a word, unloaded a few punches to his face. I then walked quietly off the bus. John was ahead of me so he never knew what happened. Actually, it all happened in a matter of seconds, so I don’t think anybody on the bus caught the flurry. I remember as we were walking away from the bus stop, I looked back at the bus as it drove away and saw it stop suddenly in the middle of the road, but I didn’t take much notice of this at the time. By the time I walked from the main road to the farm house, my step-mum, Ricki, was waiting for me. She told me she had been on the phone with the police and that apparently I had broken the kid’s nose and blood had stained the entire bus seat. I was a very sensitive kid so I immediately broke down in tears. The only thing I kept thinking was that I would be sent away to this island prison surrounded by the killer sharks (I had visited this prison on a tour the previous summer), where I’d eventually die and be buried with all the other old dead inmates. I had a wild imagination. My step-mum was furious with me. Luckily, the police said the family wasn’t going to press charges but my school did suspend me for two weeks. On my last day of class before my suspension, I had to ask all my teachers to sign the suspension form. I still remember my english teacher looking at me with a surprised look on his face when I passed him the suspension form. In a puzzled voice, he said, “Jack, what on earth are you being suspended for? This must be a mistake, mate. You’re such a great student.” I told him what had happened. Nodding his head, he told me in the straightest voice, “Good on ya, mate” and then signed the suspension form. My Dad and everybody on Ricki’s side of the family, except Ricki, all said I did the right thing for standing up for myself. I don’t regret it. That bully never spoke a word or even glanced in my direction ever again.

That is my only encounter with the ugly truth that is racism. While I did live on the outskirts of the city, far remote from metropolitan Melbourne, I was still shocked by this experience. This was 1997, not Rosa Parks circa 1955. I can’t even imagine the outcome if I was of a much more visible minority. Would I have been strung up and lynched? Would the school board thought better to expel me? The issue of race certainly seemed to be swept swiftly under the rug in the meeting room when they decided my troubling, violent actions warranted a two week suspension. They dismissed my protests that I had been racially harassed, and instead focused on my “uncivilized” response. I’m sorry. Was I being uncivil when I retaliated against the boy who cussed me with racial slurs? Perhaps quipping back with some racial slurs of my own would have been more civil of me. True, raising my fists was perhaps not the best form of conflict resolution but it certainly did the job. A harassment complaint would have probably given me further ridicule from the bully – and perhaps even more from those who learned I had tattled. I should be thankful that my racial pedigree went largely unnoticed in that school. As unsettling as it was, this encounter with racism remains one of the oddest experiences – I am tempted to call it an anomaly – of my childhood. I just never considered myself to look Asian nor be teased for it. While I still love Australia and still believe Australians have a great outlook towards life, I’m still disappointed that a significant proportion of Australians remain quite prejudiced.

Mixed, Raced and Confused

My mother is Chinese. My father is Scottish. Which makes me half Chinese, half Scottish. I didn’t always see it this way. As a child, I saw myself as either one or the other. How do I explain my confusion with being identified with being Chinese or being white? Would it make sense if I were to say that at certain periods and in certain places, I would try hard to fit in by being whatever others were. For example, when I lived in Hong Kong, I would call myself Chinese; when I lived in Australia, I would call myself white. Yet, in certain periods of my childhood and in particular countries, I would try hard to be different from what others were. For example, the situations would be the same, but my sentiment reversed: In Hong Kong, I would call myself white; in Australia, I would call myself Chinese. You probably have a puzzled look on your face. Like I said, I’m not sure if I’m able to articulate clearly the reasons for these clashes in sentiment.

I remember as a kid in Hong Kong, I longed to look Asian. I envied the other school kids with their jet-black hair, soft white skin, and super neat handwriting. It’s true, their handwriting looked like perfectly stencilled work next to my sloppy chicken-scratch. There was also a brief period when I thought all Asians looked the same – and I imagine some Asians think all white people look the same. When I moved to foreign countries I would start to distance myself from my Asian pedigree when I found myself surrounded by white people. I never felt ashamed of either race. I just always had this urge to fit in. At birth, I was given the name, Jack. In Hong Kong, I was called Jackie, as this was quite common there. I didn’t mind being called Jackie when I was little because Jackie Chan was in fact, my hero. But to my horror, I found out by a classmate in Scotland that Jackie was a girl name in the UK. So I immediately distanced myself from the name, Jackie, and insisted I be called Jack from that moment on. So, I was no longer Jackie, I was Jack. I was no longer Chinese. I was Scottish. I had no concept of being half Chinese, half Scottish; it was either one or the other.

But within a short span of time, I’d do a complete 180 and long for my Asian roots and cling on to anything that reminded me of Hong Kong. I would re-watch all of my mum’s old video recordings of Chinese movies and canto-pop performances (which my Dad had packed for me when we moved away). If people asked where I was from, I would say “Hong Kong” and say that I was Chinese. I would be proud of this too. I would switch back and forth between being Asian and being white multiple times. I know I’m still not explaining why this was the case, I’m just saying what I would do. The truth is, I don’t know why. At some point in my late teens, I came to accept I was of mixed race. This rigid dichotomy between being Chinese and being white seemed to dissolve. The wall was torn down. There were no life-changing moments of enlightenment or changes in character. Life resumed course at the same speed and in the same manner as it always had. I simply felt fine with being half Chinese, half Scottish. In fact, I embraced being Eurasian and felt proud for what I saw as having the best of both worlds. Granted, while moving countries continuously throughout childhood certainly gave me a worldly view, I still consider my Asian and Western genes and upbringing to give me an even greater appreciation for different cultures.

Being brought up with two different sets of value systems did mould my character. Chinese families traditionally embrace the idea of a closely-knit family. Parents reinforce the importance of close family ties by very closely looking after their children well beyond the point of adulthood, and are still very much involved in all aspects of their children’s family affairs. Western families tend to let more slack on the leash over their children, which fosters greater independence on the part of the children. Some may remark the Western family unit is less close, thus, colder. However, I find it better prepares the child for the realities of adulthood. At least, these are my views from my own experience. I was raised by my Dad from birth right through to my late teens. Since I left Hong Kong at the age of 8, I had no contact with my mother until I turned 18, so I did not truly become acquainted with Chinese family values firsthand until well past my formative years. Being raised by my father definitely made me into a much more independent person. He told me he had dropped out of high school and left the house at the age of 15. So, I always expected that once I turned 18, I would be off on my own. I started earning my own keep at the age of 14 and was out of the house at the age of 17, but that’s a different story altogether.

While I did struggle with the concept of being of mixed race growing up, I found I was able to eventually accept myself for who I was without categorizing myself by race. I think that the more of a melting point our society becomes, the less ethnicity and race are used as a category of analysis to identify with one another. My name is Jack. I am half Chinese, half Scottish. Some mornings I wake up and feel Asian and other mornings I feel white.