An Invaluable Teaching Experience in Taiwan

Echoes of laughter, yelling, and heavy footsteps grow louder and louder as I approach the classroom. Taking a deep breath, I glance quickly at my lesson plans one last time and push open the door. As I step slowly into the room, I can feel the sudden stares of thirteen pairs of young eyes. Though many students are still out of their seats, with their arms playfully wrapped around each other and toys in their hands, the once raucous classroom immediately begins to quiet down. In the midst of all this, I ponder what to do next.

As another July passes by, I look back to the summer after my first year of college when I taught English to underprivileged elementary school children in rural southern Taiwan. Every day for two weeks, my teaching partner and I created a new lesson plan in which we incorporated activities we found most effective for teaching children. The experience was challenging at first because of the all-new environment and our language barrier. Our students’ knowledge of English was very limited, and my Mandarin speaking skills weren’t at a confident level.

Before arriving in Taiwan, I thought teaching English would be very simple because it is my native language. After a few hours into the first day of class, however, I discovered that was not the case at all. Since I taught fourth to sixth grade students, their levels of English were all scattered. Some of them were not yet familiar with the alphabet while a lot of the older students already knew quite a few vocabulary words. Even so, my teaching partner and I tried our best to create a rewarding learning atmosphere. Whenever we saw our students getting bored with a certain activity, we would quickly try to come up with a new learning strategy. Whenever we noticed someone struggling to learn, we would take the initiative to get to know the student and find out the best way for him or her to grasp knowledge. We would experiment with different teaching methods, including games, songs, and dances, to help each individual learn while having fun. Prizes were a very effective way of getting students to participate in discussions and behave during class, as they were always excited to see what we had brought from America.

Something interesting I noticed at the school was how students there have such close relationships with their teachers. When I was teaching at the elementary school, I would stay after school every day and spend time with my students and a local teacher. This teacher would play basketball with the students for hours after English classes, listen to everything they had to say and take care of them as if they were his children. To his students, he was a friend, father, and teacher all in one.

That experience in Taiwan was definitely one of my best summer memories, and it sparked an interest in teaching. If there’s something I definitely would like to do in the future, it would be to visit my students again.

The Controversial Confucius Institute

In 2004, the Confucius Institute (CI) program was established with a mission to spread knowledge of Chinese language and culture around the world. Along with rising numbers of people interested in studying the language, these academic centers have hired and trained teachers, designed curriculum for teaching Chinese and educated people worldwide about fast-growing China. The institutes have also sought to promote friendly international relations and trade.

Chow Yun-fat as Confucius, still a figure of interest almost 2600 years after the Chinese sage’s birth

Sponsored by the Chinese government as part of the Ministry of Education, these nonprofit public institutes are run in universities, colleges, and secondary schools. The first campus opened in Seoul, South Korea, and today there are over 350 Confucius Institutes in dozens of nations. Most of these educational centers are located in the United States, Japan, and South Korea. The University of Chicago, Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey, Stanford University, and Purdue University are just a few of the schools in partnership with Confucius Institute.

However, this growing number of institutes has also met with backlash.

China’s Confucius Institutes have been known to spread Communist propaganda through cultural exchanges at host schools. The United States and other nations in the West have criticized these government-run institutes for limiting academic freedom, keeping tabs on Chinese students studying abroad, and seeking to spread the country’s own viewpoints on controversial topics. Issues that avoid discussion include the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre and China’s relations with Tibet and Taiwan. There have also been questions regarding Confucius Institute’s quality of teachers and academics.

Just last month, the American Association of University Professors requested that universities partnered with Confucius Institutes either terminate or reexamine their relations with these branches of the Chinese government. They argue that by allowing the Chinese government to control their methods of teaching, these universities in the United States have risked losing their integrity. Instead of being limited by these institutes’ narrow curriculum, restricted from meaningful debates, and controlled by tight staff hiring procedures, American institutions should fight for their belief in academic freedom in all teachings and research. If the Confucius Institute continues to clash with this notion of academic freedom, then schools should sever ties with the program.

China issues a special stamp for the Confucius Institute, trotting out its #1 ambassador

There have been happenings regarding those accusations. In 2012, former Confucius Institute instructor Sonia Zhao reported discrimination against her because of her faith in Falun Gong. Zhao asserted how her employment contract explicitly prevented her from associating with the spiritual discipline, which is regarded as a threat by the Chinese Communist Party. The school where she worked, McMaster University in Canada, sided with Zhao and declined to renew its contract with Confucius Institute the following year. When the Dalai Lama planned to speak at North Carolina State University in 2009, the occasion drew opposition from Confucius Institute, and the university ended up cancelling the event.

In the United States and other nations where academic freedom is crucial, Confucius Institute’s restrictions may not be accepted for much longer. With the support of many American universities at risk, perhaps it is time for something to be changed.

More Than a Pretty Face?: Teaching Without Thinking in China

I have a Swiss friend who is infamous for his unwavering pragmatism in the face of invitation. If someone asked him if he wanted to do something – grab a bite to eat or go swim in the creek – he’d almost always agree to join in, if he didn’t have other plans: “Why not?”

I was thinking of him when I agreed to a money-making opportunity on Thursday. It was my second day in Qufu, a city in China’s southwestern Shandong province. It’s known throughout China as the birthplace Confucius, and nothing else. It’s a poor and gritty city, where air pollution has stained the sky perpetually grey and residents drive shabby motorbikes and half-constructed tuk-tuks through dusty streets. It’s called a third-tier city, and without its connection to ancient Chinese history, it would be nothing more than a gray blot among gray blots.

The Confucius Temple in Qufu

From Beijing, it took me exactly two hours by high-speed train to get to Qufu. Until the outskirts of the city, where the landscape becomes dynamic and mountainous, the view from a train window is painfully predictable. Miles of flat farmland are interrupted briefly by drab, hastily constructed cities and condominium parks, although to call these “parks” is misleading when there is nothing green in sight.

The unnaturalness of the cities – I passed Tianjin and Dezhou – is unrelieved by farmland, which too has a feeling of artificiality, with its square plots of land and pencil-straight irrigation canals. Every plot of earth is utilized, hardly anything left to nature’s command. Wilderness is an unfulfilled promise here.

The peasants working the field, surprisingly few and far between, looked small against such a never-ending backdrop, like tiny figurines moved by an invisible puppeteer. They worked with the same tools used by their ancestors thousands of years ago, and the only difference between their landscape now and then were the motorbikes, radio towers, power lines and water-heaters. Everything else was the same.

I had come to Qufu to meet up with my friend Matty, an old friend from high school who spent the last nine months teaching English at Qufu Normal University. We were sipping coffee at the campus cafe when he got a WeChat message from a friend, who worked for a “training school” and wanted a laowai to help advertise the school that afternoon.

Canadian expat and famous “laowai” Dashan (Mark Rowswell), for many a polarizing entertainment figure in China

“Do you want to do it?” Matty asked me. “They’ll pay you 100 RMB.”

I thought about it for a second. “Why not?” I said.

Three hours later, I was in the back of a three-wheeled motor cart being driven by a boy named Smiley. Sitting with me were Kate and Abby, two college students at Qufu Xingtan University and employees at the Excellent A Training School.

We drove through the dusty boulevards of Qufu, past the ancient walled town in the center of the city and out into the surrounding countryside, where rows of corn, which the locals call “sticks”, dominated the earth. Kate and Abby chattered happily as our cart buzzed past piles of freshly pulled crop surrounded by dirt-stained farmers. They teased Smiley whenever he went too fast through a speed bump.

We arrived outside an elementary school. There was a couple old tables and stools stacked along a wall, and Smiley threw them silently in the back of his cart and drove a few yards to where adults were standing patiently by their battered motorbikes, waiting for the school to get out. A red banner along the school gate read: Delve deeply into developing “educational safety”.

Most of those waiting were grandparents, as the parents were farmers and would be working in the fields until mid-evening. We set out the tables and stools, and Kate and Abby pulled out a pile of flyers, a sign-up sheet, and pen. What occurred next happened in seconds: we were surrounded by chirping old peasants, eager to hear my new colleagues’ sales-pitch.

Kate and Abby handled them with ease, handing out flyers and explaining the benefits of the training school. Some of them listened intently, while others hung around, entertained by the commotion. Within minutes, Kate and Abby had six names and phone numbers on the sign-up sheet.

Ready for business!

The Excellent A Training School promised to improve students’ English grades; hence, the suspicious “A” in the school’s name. For a few hours a day, at 380 RMB (or US$60) for 30 days, the students would receive English lessons and lunch. The training school targets the farmers because many of them hadn’t received a good enough education to help their children with homework.

Training schools are highly popular in China, and the competition between them is high. Kate estimated that in Qufu alone, there are over two hundred. Training schools don’t all focus on English, either; there’s a training school for nearly every subject, from science and math to music and writing.

A Qufu resident whom I spoke to, a college student whose English name was Peter Philadelphia, works at another English training school during the summer. He was critical of them, believing they focused too much on boosting grades and not enough on improving students’ learning abilities. “I wanted to improve their learning, but they only wanted me to do their homework for them,” Peter lamented.

In the birthplace of Confucius, who taught unquestioning loyalty to ones’ superiors and stressed the importance of test taking, this seemed like a completely normal problem to have.

Kate’s school, of which she is the manager, was started three years ago by a 24-year-old graduate of Qufu Xingtan College. They currently employ three teachers. All of them are college students, as it is illegal to employ officially registered teachers at a training school. (They’re cheaper, anyway, Kate added.) For one month of teaching, they receive 2000 RMB, around US$300. One of the photos on the flyer was of a white man teaching a classroom of Chinese students and was captioned, “Our foreign teacher.” The other was of a crowd of children and read, “Watermelon competition.”

The gates opened, and a crowd of boys sprinted out like racehorses. Some of them ran over to our table to see what was going on, but most just hopped on the back of their grandparents’ motorbikes and sped off. The school was next to a busy road where motorbikes zipped alongside giant trucks carrying sand, gravel, wood, and other construction materials. When the kids rushed out of the school, the street erupted in the sound of car horns.

I pointed at the trucks: “Why are they honking?”

“So the kids know not to run into the street,” Kate answered, matter of fact.

By the end of the session, the Excellent A Training School had collected twelve names and phone numbers. Three of the new sign-ups made 100 RMB deposits to reserve a spot in the upcoming class period.

I hadn’t said more than five words. “Why did you bring me here?” I asked.

“So the parents will believe that the education is more official,” Kate said.

My white face had added legitimacy to their English teaching business: I was paid $15 to sit and smile.

For Many Students, When Summer Starts – So Does School

“What are you doing this summer?”

When a lot of Asian students are asked this question, “summer school” – followed by a glum look – is a typical response. For many children, “summer” means attending fun camps, traveling with family, or relaxing at home without the stress of schoolwork. But for many other students, “summer” means getting ready for more school.

Elite high school entrance exams, the SAT, ACT, or simply keeping busy are all reasons why so many Asian parents send their children to “cram schools” during the two-month vacation.

Homework and summer studies are now the norm for more students, starting at younger age

I grew up in Bergen County, New Jersey, in a small suburban town with a large Asian population. Since early elementary school, classmates attended afterschool programs to brush up on their math and reading skills. Hagwon and buxiban (“cram schools” in Korea and Taiwan/Mainland China, respectively, who have made their way across the Atlantic to the U.S.) were commonly heard words.

In the midst of fractions and phonics in third grade, students would be busy solving for variables and reviewing vocabulary flashcards. When other students played sports and attended Girl Scout meetings as extracurriculars, many Asian students headed to Kumon, C2 Education, and Honors Review.

Of course, the SAT was a huge focus when high school started. At my high school, many Asian students were sent off to SAT prep schools for at least one summer. Though attending school eight hours a day for seven weeks may not seem like a very appealing summer activity to most teenagers, I felt pressure to enroll in SAT courses because everyone around me was doing so, and if I didn’t spend that extra time preparing for the exam, I would definitely fall behind.

New meaning to a “working” holiday – is this what we’ve come to?

I have lived in my hometown all my life, and over the years, I’ve noticed more and more Asian-owned learning centers opening up. A growing number of parents are investing money into their children’s education by sending them to these for-profit academies. Children are being tutored for longer periods of time, and they are also starting younger.

This phenomenon stems from East Asian countries and the high value they place on quality education. Students in East Asia continue to outperform their Western counterparts in academic performance and international exams. When their children are very young, many Asian parents begin to emphasize the value of education.

The summer after my first year of college, I taught English to underprivileged elementary school students in rural southern Taiwan. Though many of these children’s parents worked long hours for little pay, a lot of my students attended buxiban after six hours of English class every day.

When I was a teacher’s assistant at an English-Mandarin bilingual school with a large percentage of Chinese-American students, I noticed that many children rushed off to tutoring programs when the school day ended. But what really opened my eyes while interning at the school was though most students there were born into low-income immigrant families, the teachers were excellent, children were enthusiastic about learning, and attendance was near-perfect.

Whether it is doing vocabulary drills or solving equations, when summer finally rolls around, it is certain that many students will be busier than ever.

Where Do You Stand on Affirmative Action?

Recent talks surrounding affirmative action in college admissions have stirred up debates among racial and ethnic groups. Earlier this year, the proposed California Constitutional Amendment SCA 5 aimed to repeal Proposition 209, which was passed in 1996 and amended the state constitution by banning consideration of race, sex, and ethnicity in school admissions, public employment, and other areas in the public sector.

If passed, SCA 5 would have once again allow race-based affirmative action at public universities in California. However, the vote on SCA 5 was postponed.

In Michigan, the ban on affirmative action remains in effect after a Supreme Court ruling this past April. Though decisions regarding affirmative action have been made, its policies are still widely disputed and draw criticism from many members of the Asian-American community.

Affirmative action was proposed to promote equality and prevent discrimination namely among racial minorities, but a lot of people argue that race-conscious admissions hurt Asian-American students. For decades, Asian Americans have dealt with the “model minority” stereotype: the belief that they are the most successful group of students, excelling in academics and extracurricular activities while at school and then succeeding economically later on in life.

Where do you stand on affirmative action?

Race-conscious admissions draw swift opposition from the Asian-American community and students because their chances of being admitted to selective universities may be slashed. They agree that if students work hard in school and do well, they should have a chance of being admitted to selective institutions, no matter what.

However, the argument for affirmative action in college admissions persists.

For example, in California’s state universities, black, Latino, and Southeast Asian students are greatly underrepresented – but the East Asian student population is highly represented. Others argue that the “model minority stigma” is simply a myth: affirmative action caters to the educational needs of many Asian students, as a significant number of Asian-Americans do not excel at academics, and Southeast Asian subgroups are still underrepresented at many U.S. universities.

Proponents also assert that affirmative action creates a diverse environment for students to learn from each other. Additionally, the student body in many schools is not an accurate representation of the racial/ethnic population in surrounding areas. Affirmative action in college admissions gives hardworking individuals a chance to receive a high-quality education.

Indeed, deliberations over affirmative action have been hotly contested in the past few decades. Today, many people worry that race-conscious admissions would hurt people of color, whose acceptance into college may be seen as helped by these policies favoring them. Others propose that economic-based affirmative action may be a better way to create more diversity in schools. Though cases regarding affirmative action have been decided, there is no doubt that the education ruling will remain a controversial issue for years to come.

Boston University’s College of Communications Develops Program for International Students from China

Last month, Professor Stephen Quigley and his colleagues sat in a classroom at the College of Communication (COM) at Boston University with a few Chinese students and took notes on what they were talking about.

This July, the professors are planning to launch an online-to-offline program called the Digital Learning Initiative to help incoming international students from China prepare for the new environment of studying at COM and in the U.S.

The College of Communications at Boston University

“It seems like over the last five years or so, COM has seen a fairly dramatic uptake of international students, and Chinese language-speaking students in particular,” said Quigley, during an interview. Quigley is an Associate Professor in the Public Relations program at COM.

In an overview of BU, in the fall of 2008, 42 of 4,131 freshman came from China. Five years later, the number of Chinese freshman grew to 410 of 3,807 freshmen, and is one-third of the whole international student pool.

Quigley started to develop a concern that there was an imbalance emerging. “COM has been benefiting from all these students. But are we investing sufficiently in those students?”

“A Chinese-language speaking student who is extremely bright and gets great grades comes to COM, does really well, and graduates; he or she may get to work in the U.S. for couple of years. And perhaps they struggle to get that job, not because they aren’t smart, not because they’re not motivated enough, but because of fundamental language challenges,” he said. “And that makes me really sad.”

Then, he found a breakthrough to launch a program to help those students.

The project combines online and face-to-face discussion. The content will be heavily focused on writing and will touch upon the culture of the classrooms at COM, at BU, and in the U.S. Through the Internet, current Chinese students will participate in the project by helping new, incoming students with information or questions they may have. With the help of professors, training on writing skills will be provided.

Once the students arrive at BU, the online meetings will switch to face-to-face. “I love that idea,” said Quigley.

This program is not the first effort made by COM professors to help international students accustom themselves to American culture and English-centric studies. Christopher Daly, an Associate Professor in the Journalism department, has been running a program for about 15 years for newly arrived international graduate students from other countries. The program is a one-semester class for journalism students to learn about the American culture and to resolve any question about their studies. Daly also participates in COM’s new seed program.

The program for Chinese students will last for one year. More details have yet to be settled.

Main image: China Photos/Getty Images

Lessons from East Asian Education Systems

Imagine being told by your teacher that you should take birth control.

My friend from Beijing told me this happened at her school. Her teacher recommended that female students who really worried about impending exams should skip their period by taking birth control. Nothing would stop students from doing their best.

Stories like these hide behind the well-known success of East Asian education systems. Nations around the world often look to the region to find ways for improving their own systems.

The latest Program in International Student Assessment, which assesses reading, mathematics, science and problem solving in 15-year-olds, suggests that this may be a good idea. The assessment, carried out by OECD, found that the top seven scores were from Shanghai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Taiwan, South Korea, Macau, and Japan.

Students attend class at the Jing’an Education College Affiliated School in Shanghai

The recipe of East Asia’s success is setting high standards for all schools and giving them the means to achieve them, the OECD’s head of education Andreas Schleicher told Reuters.

Others are concerned that the impressive performances by students in the region are actually due to intense pressure and extreme measures.

Andrew Kipnis, an anthropologist who wrote a book on the intense desire for education in China, told the BBC that parents borrow from relatives, put off building a new house or even forgo buying healthcare in order to spend money on private education.

In their article, “True Lessons of East Asian Education”, Drs. Young-oak Kim and Jung-kyu Kim argue that East Asia has a lot to learn from the American education system. They criticize the East Asian focus on rote memorization, its top-down instructional style, competitive college entrance exams and the deindividualization of students.

The OECD, though, found that East Asian students were increasingly more creative in extrapolating from previous knowledge – skills that are usually associated with Western school systems.

Nevertheless, East Asian systems still have a lot of room for improvement when it comes to expanding student potential past test taking.

I remember a friend from Wenzhou telling me that her teacher did not understand why she spent so much time playing ultimate Frisbee. She was on a team with many foreigners and loved that she could practice her English, exercise, and have fun, all at the same time. But, no matter how much she tried to explain this, she was told to stop wasting time and to get back to her books so she could pass her exams.

“Asian Dad” gets it

Keeping kids from having fun or choosing to spend on tutors instead of healthcare are probably not the East Asian practices that the West should be emulating.

Instead, it should take a look at East Asia’s belief that all can achieve. In the region it is hard work, rather than inherited talent, that is seen as the key to success. Resources are allocated equitably so that the most talented teachers are put in the most challenging classrooms. This way all students, regardless of background, are given the opportunity to work hard and succeed.

So, while it’s unlikely that the West will start handing out birth control to female students any time soon in order for them to maximize their studying time, maybe it should examine whether it is handing out other important education resources in a way that will maximize student potential.

Repealing Affirmative Action in California: Discrimination or Diversity?

If there’s any particular issue of contention among the Asian-American community lately, it’s the issue of the return of affirmative action.

California’s Senate Constitutional Amendment No.5 (SCA-5) seeks to remove the provisions of California Proposition 209 and allow state universities to consider race, gender, color, ethnicity, and national origin as factors in the admission process. When the amendment passed in the California Senate on January 30, it reignited this highly controversial topic, particularly among the Asian-American community. This is a highly simplified breakdown of the chief arguments:

• Supporters of the bill, led by its author, State Senator Edward Hernandez, believe that SCA-5 would allow the percentages of Latino, African American, and Native American students in California public universities to grow. He stated that these numbers had significantly declined following implementation of Proposition 209 and that the removal of the relevant provisions would promote diversity within the California public university system.

• Critics of the bill argue that it is a form of discrimination and advocates preferential treatment for certain racial groups. It logically follows that this preference comes at the expense of other groups, perhaps contributing to racial tensions in California. They also argue that Senator Hernandez’s data supporting a post-Proposition 209 decline in diversity was skewed and contradicts public records, which conversely demonstrate an increase in minority populations among the University of California (UC) system.

A colorblind system?

Historically speaking, the Asian-American community has typically been relatively politically passive. On February 28, however, opposition to the bill incensed more than 500 Chinese-Americans to gather in protest before the office building of State Assemblymember Ed Chau in Sacramento, urging him to vote against SCA-5 in the State Assembly. Opponents called the bill “Skin Color Act 5”, citing significantly higher admissions criteria for Asian-Americans than their counterparts.

Asian-Americans protest affirmative action

(Photo: AALDEF)

Asian-Americans constitute less than 5% of the U.S. population, significantly less than the percentages of African Americans and Latinos. Despite their minority status, race-based admissions programs would actually work against the Asian community because of disproportionately high test scores and general scholarship. In California, the population is larger, with 14.9% of the population being of Asian origins. In admissions, however, Asians constitute 36%. The implementation of a “quota”, so to speak, would decrease the current Asian presence in the UCs and other public schools. It’s because of this process that many Asian-Americans feel that they are being unfairly penalized for their high rates of success.

It is a dialogue driven by fear. Many of the protestors are afraid of the impact SCA-5 would have on them and their children’s prospects at entering the highly competitive UCs. Fear easily converts to anger, which resulted in political activism. Currently, the Change.org petition against SCA-5 has gathered more than 100,000 supporters within 3 weeks.

The broader issue here is the issue of “positive discrimination”, or “reverse racism”, as some call it, which, for many, have become synonymous with affirmative action. The current discourse on affirmative actions ranges from dismissive to apoplectic. This is the debate that I plan to address in the near future, though delving into such a controversial topic requires careful diligence.

A View on Chinese Politics, from a Chinese National

There are more than a dozen Chinese women in my college studying Chinese history and Politics, which have become a more and more popular subjects among Chinese overseas students. Once, I thought it absurd to study one’s national politics or literature in a foreign country, but my views has long been challenged since I came to the United States.

The prestigious Chinese scholar Qian Zhongshu once satirized the situation of Chinese people studying Chinese in American universities in his well-known novel Fortress Besieged (Wei Cheng/围城). Yet, the era of Dr. Qian’s bias on “American-wrought” Asian Studies majors is over: prominent studies have been done in the U.S. on Chinese literature, history, and politics. The college education offered in these subjects are very attractive to many Chinese students, who may be said to have advantage in their background, but who long for a new perspective of looking at their own cultures.

On the outside, looking in

(Vi Jia Designs)

In my Chinese Politics course, there were twenty people in the class, with four from China. The professor had asked each person to introduce him/herself and speak about why they were interested in studying Chinese politics. The American women, many of whom were taking Chinese language classes concurrently, talked about their passion in Eastern culture and their researching interests in the Chinese political environment. The Chinese women were the last to speak, partly due to shyness and partly due to “saving the best for last”.

Their opening sentences often were, “I was born and grew up in China, so I know a lot about…”, or “As a Chinese student, I’m very familiar with…” Their introductions were mini-lessons in themselves, overshadowing what was said a few minutes ago. They continued to speak about their interests – all very complicated, all very professional.

Please don’t misunderstand me: I’m not knocking or judging these Chinese students. They’re all smart and well-accomplished, and they’ve added many great topics to the discussion that we could never think of, otherwise. But, I didn’t end up talking at the end; suddenly, I felt like I didn’t have the confidence to talk about my interest in Chinese politics as a Chinese national. I don’t know as much as I’d thought.

Last week, I interviewed a professor studying African social history. She learned I was from China; she became excited and said, “I’ve just come back from a trip to Beijing!”

I grinned. “How was the air pollution there?”

“Actually, not as terrible as they’ve reported in the newspapers.”

(Yes; New York Times always selects the most striking pictures for the front page, so to attract views. It’s an old trick, but why don’t I question it so much when these photographs are about China?)

“Also,” the professor continued, “the subway wasn’t as bad as what I’ve read. And I don’t understand why they never mention that people in Beijing are so nice? American newspapers will criticize a foreign culture as long as it’s different from theirs, but they forget there are so many differences in the world.”

“What do you see in these differences?” I asked.

“I see similarities. I see that longing for a just society is a human trait.”

I was quiet for a while: I’ve been so judgmental to my own culture, paying so much attention to the negatives of China. Wasn’t I judging it by an “American standard”? What my professors, classmates, and friends have impressed me on was not just their knowledge about China, but their inclusive views. Compared to me, they hold such an optimistic opinion on Chinese democracy and enthusiasm for the culture. Their views may be a little idealized, but are more critical – daring to demand more, press for better – and less cynical then mine.

That day, I learned a new way to study Chinese politics and culture.

Who Needs a “Tiger Mom” When You’ve Got “Tiger Teachers”: Student Life in China

As the only child of an accountant working in a factory on the branch of the local railway bureau, I entered the Eleventh Railway Elementary School at the age of seven. Due to the fact that my school and my mother’s unit were subscribed under the same “system,” the fees was partially waived and the registration of my enrollment was relatively easy. (It’s no longer the case; a few years ago, the railway schools in my hometown were separated from the railway system by the enactment of a new policy.)

Neither exceptionally smart nor particularly docile as a kid, I was considered “annoying and unteachable” by my teachers in elementary school. On a daily basis, I was punished to stand up through the whole class for being “stupid”, “not paying attention”, or “talking to the neighbor.” Under my teachers’ intense glares and the mockery of my peers, I couldn’t focus on the lectures. My performance at school got worse; it increased the bad impressions my teachers had for me.

Who needs “tiger moms” when they’re waiting for you at schools?

Once, I forgot to bring my textbook to class; the angry teacher called my home immediately, reaching my grandmother and telling her (then a senior in her 60s) to come to my school right away. I remembered my grandmother hurrying into class within less than half an hour, tottering on her bad legs. She looked worried. I felt guilty, thinking of my parents’ warning to “not make trouble” for my aged grandmother, who helped to take care of me. In front of the class, my teacher told her that I was a “fool”, while I stood, looking down at my sneakers.

Another music teacher spent most of her time criticizing us – about our dirty hands, mindless attitudes, and so on. She seemed so frustrated at life that she needed to release her overwhelming anger… in the classroom. Each child was so terribly afraid of her. One girl even peed in her pants because she didn’t dare to ask for the restroom, crying in fear and shame when her wet clothing was discovered.

As I grew up, I learned to behave more attentively while interacting with my teachers so they wouldn’t find fault with me. There was only one exception when I was in third grade. The assigned homework was to review chapters in the textbook; I forgot to have my mother sign the book, which would prove that I’d completed the work; the absence would led to punishment. Realizing the situation, I tried to explain to the teacher.

Interrupting me, she shouted: “Don’t try to argue if you haven’t done the work!”

Unlike what I’d usually do, this time, I didn’t give up. The teacher grew impatient, and she picked a term from the book, ordering me to define it. I was nervous; of course, I failed to give the answer.

Roald Dahl’s Miss Trunchbull, unfortunately, existed outside of fiction

She was triumphant. “Ha! Is that how you reviewed at home? You were just looking over the terms before class, right? You think I don’t know? I’ve always kept a keen eye on you. You’re such a terrible liar.”

Hurt by this new charge, I reiterated my case. The teacher, vexed, frowned and made me leave the class and stand in the hallway until I admitted my dishonesty.

The vexed teacher frowned and ordered me to go out of the classroom and stand in the hallway before I choose to admit my dishonesty. The other students watched indignantly; they were used to, and probably tired, of the scenario – as well, the teacher was bound to win. For her, she wouldn’t make the situation easy for me: she had to make me confess, proving that she was always right, essential to sustain her authority.

Calling me back in ten minutes, she began her interrogation: “Admit it! You’re a liar!” Regardless of how much I protested, I surrendered in the end and burst into tears, believing that everyone in the class would look down on me. Now, I laugh at myself for being so naive: the teacher had dozens of these interactions with kids, and students barely recalled the episode before the week passed.

When I was young, I often looked forward to a cold or an illness so that I could avoid school. I think this may be a common feeling for children, but probably not so many would hope for these uncomfortable symptoms as desperately as me. Unfortunately, I was always a healthy child; under the keen eyes and care of my grandmother, I remained robust.

Years later, I learned from my mother’s colleagues that a few teachers who taught in my elementary school were workers in factories under the railway system. They definitely hadn’t attended colleges, and I’m not sure what level of education they had. In the factories, their employers could no longer bear their terrible performance at work, so they placed these workers on a special short-term training and sent them to schools to teach. Back then, these types of transfers weren’t difficult; the schools were short of staff, and most importantly, the schools and the factories were in the same “system” and under the same administration.

Of course, we have to question the validity of this information, but I don’t doubt the fact that many of my teachers were unqualified and downright unfit to teach children. Recently, some political reforms were launched in China, aiming to simplify the powerful and too-interconnected Chinese “systems,” though the results remain unclear.

The quality of elementary education has improved since my time, partly enhanced by the competitive recruitment of elementary school teachers (from a pool of applicants with university and even Master degrees), as well as the growing awareness of parents in selecting a good elementary education for their children. Some parents buy apartments or homes in the neighborhood of the good public elementary schools because, according to policy, their children will automatically be assigned to these schools; others choose to pay and send their children to private schools. The trade-offs, though, are much higher costs in education, which has put much pressure on today’s parents, as well as increased stress and allegations of corruption.

I don’t have the answers to education policy, but hopefully, the younger generation in China would have a healthier experience in their lower schools than I did.

For another personal narrative of growing up under China’s railways system, check out Lusha Chen’s “The ‘Railway Kids’: Growing Up Under China’s Ministry of Railways.”

Why Do We Blame Asian International Students?

Earlier in January, my university’s newspaper ran an opinion piece titled “Internationalization effort should be scaled back”. It was a simple article, one that most people from the school probably found themselves agreeing with. Yes, my university’s administration is often criticized for its active recruitment of international students; yes, it’s true that 14% of our student body are international students, and around half are from China; yes, most of the students are from Asian countries, and yes, there’s only a handful from Europe or Africa.

These are the facts; it’s the interpretation that I find problematic. Globalization is a good thing: we can learn from different cultures and backgrounds. The concern isn’t that my university should stop trying to recruit students from all over the world – it’s that they’re finding them from all the “wrong” places.

Problem #1: Why are there so many Asian students coming to the U.S.?

The U.S. has some of the world’s best universities for undergraduates, graduates, and professionals. In the past, people came to America in search of gold, or trade, or land; now, they come in search of education.

The selective mindset of wanting to pick and choose which countries can send their students to the U.S. recalls the reaction to the 20th-century immigrant waves chasing the “American Dream”: Americans didn’t want the Eastern Europeans or the Irish, but “proper” Western Europeans.

Let’s stay away from this

The same principle applies here: while much of Europe has settled into developed societies and economies, countries like China and India are still developing and changing. It’s natural that Asian students would want to come to the U.S., learn about subjects like economics and biology, conduct research, and network with employers and companies. It’s natural for them to want to better themselves and their countries through education, similar to how upper class elites in Western societies sent their sons away to Oxford and Cambridge or the Grand Tour and their daughters to “finishing school”.

We live in a globalized society; why not make use of it?

Problem #2: Why aren’t there enough international students from the “right” countries?

I’m going to assume the “right” countries mean Western Europe, Australia, Russia – basically, the countries where American students themselves study abroad.

When countries have more higher education and employment options, students tend to stay home. This is the case for countries like South Korea, Japan, and Turkey, all of which send fewer students over. This question relates to #1: a country’s opportunities for its youth – based on history and economy, as well as other factors – creates or limits the channels for its students to study abroad.

Unlike American students, most international students like those from China stay in the United States for at least four years, either completing a degree or conducting research. In all exchange programs, studying abroad involves leaving behind a familiar culture and adjusting or assimilating quickly; for international students in the U.S., this difficulty is compounded because they also invest a large chunk of their life, not just a semester or a summer.

Problem #3: No, really, why are there so many Asian students at my university?

Sharks vs. Jets

Perhaps what underlies this question is discomfort. The U.S. has been through many dramatic social changes lately – the legalization of gay marriage in some states, marijuana in others, immigration, etc. One of the arguments many people use to argue against gay marriage is that it’s against the norms of expectation: how are they suppose to explain to their children why two men are getting married? It’s just so… different. Icky.

The same kind of mindset surrounds the debate around international students. Americans who grew up with Western traditions – either they themselves are “mutts” of European extraction, or simply for the fact that they live in the U.S. and participate in the culture – go to college and are met by the unfamiliar presence of Asians on campus. They may feel uncomfortable talking to them, having to struggle to understand their words around their accents or encountering different values and perceptions.

When it’s time to socialize, everything breaks down into groups: domestic students eat with each other at meals, and international students have their own tables, speaking in their own languages and not having their expectations challenged. When I’m at lunch, it’s astonishing to me how people naturally divide themselves: it seems as though the groups don’t want to interact at all, and therefore, don’t.

Problem #4: Is there actually a problem?


No. While we’re at university, it’s best to look at what we can learn from the international students instead of trying to pick at nearly nonexistent problems. One of my friends from China regularly shares her tea with me; others make plans to go out for dinner every month. Regardless of how they got here, they are here and are part of our community. As fellow students, we should accept them for what they contribute, not shun them for what we imagine they take away.

The Evolution of Chinese Characters

An ancient woman with snow-white braided hair sits hunched in front of a crackling fire, skillfully and carefully etching lines with a sharp object into a large ox bone. These strokes slowly form vaguely familiar figures: a square with a mark in the middle for “sun”, a shape with three points shooting upwards for “mountain”, what looks like a running stream for “water”. Later, this diviner will heat up these inscribed bones until they crack so that she can interpret the resulting patterns: an answer from the gods.

Oracle bone, Shang dynasty

Fast-forward 400 years: a craftsman deliberately carves intricate figures composed of individual lines and disconnected strokes into a bronze wine vessel, characters that bear significant resemblance to the ones from centuries ago, but are nevertheless slightly different.

Another 400 years later, the Qin emperor declares the unification of the writing system, whose individual characters are again modified versions of those from 400 years ago. However, like an ever-growing family tree, one can still detect a strong resemblance between these characters and their previous counterparts.

Five hundred years pass. In the Han Dynasty, this likeness is still present. During this time in history, an official script is established that eventually leads directly to the beginnings of a regular written language, which becomes the basis of modern day traditional Chinese characters.

A basic sketch of the evolution of Chinese characters

This is the basic evolutionary path of Chinese characters. Many people believe that Chinese characters derive from pictographic origins; that is, each character is designed based on what it represents. However, this is only true for a very small percentage of characters. In fact, most characters are pictophonetic and arise from a “radical”, which provides the basic meaning and phonetic expression of the character.

For this reason, my mom always claims that Chinese characters are quite easy to learn. If one does not recognize a Chinese character, he only needs to be able to discern the radical in order to have a good chance of guessing not only the gist, but also the general pronunciation of the character!

Today, there are writing styles beyond the basic standard script. For example, cursive writing is commonly used in Chinese calligraphy, and is respected and well-known for its artistic, flowing strokes. Additionally, there is freehand cursive, which is less abstract than cursive writing, and thus more legible to the general public. Furthermore, large seal and small seal scripts are forms of writing often used for personal stamps and stationary. Lastly, there has recently been a surge in popularity of simplified Chinese, especially in mainland China. This type of script was adopted more than 50 years ago as a governmental attempt to increase accessibility of knowledge to the masses and to eradicate illiteracy.

Because Chinese script is the oldest script in East Asia, its influence can be seen in many Asian writing systems, such as Japanese and Korean, both of which consisted entirely of Chinese characters before adapting Chinese script to create their own writing systems. Indeed, the Chinese writing system is deeply entrenched in the history of East Asia, and continues to play a crucial part in the development of Chinese society.

Chinese Scholars and the Dream of a Second Child

In 2011, I met Dr. Yuan in Boston. He was a visiting scholar from Shanghai, China and worked at the Boston General Hospital’s clinic. His wife was in her sixth month of pregnancy; at that time, they already had a 9-year-old son.

Doctor Yuan said he was pretty lucky: during their second month in the U.S., his wife became pregnant. Their baby would be an American, born during their length of stay in the States; they wouldn’t have expected this– a second child– if they were in China.

In comparison, Zhiqi Cai, who was teaching in South China University of Technology, was fired recently for allegedly breaching the one-child policy. Cai and his wife’s first child, now a 6-year-old girl, was born when he was a Post-Doctorate candidate at Ohio State University, in 2007. As the child was an American citizen, Cai assumed it would be legitimate to have a second child in China– their first in the country– since his family hadn’t “met” China’s one-child quota.

Cai’s second child was born in Tianjin, in northern China. Later, a whistle-blower exposed the family, and Cai received a notice from his place of employment (the South China University of Technology) that he was in violation of the one-child policy and would be fired according to Guangdong’s family planning regulations. Mainland Chinese scholars aren’t supposed to have a child during their one-year study period in the United States; or, to Cai’s situation, despite whatever other citizenship his first child held, he wasn’t “allowed” another Chinese-citizenship child.

Cai is starting a lawsuit against the University’s Office of Family Planning. To illustrate the difficulty faced by Chinese academics, Tingbing Cao, the head of the Department of Chemistry at Renmin University, who’d conducted research at Harvard University from 2002 to 2005, jumped to his death from the ninth floor of a campus building in March after being threatened with dismissal for having a second child. His colleague, Jianxin Li, a Beijing University professor, attributed his death to extreme pressures brought on by his colleagues’ accusations on Weibo of having another child.

Under such circumstances, if Dr. Yuan wanted to back to China, he’d be fired for violating the three-decades long family planning policy, even though the easing of the policy is just around the corner.

Dr. Yuan is lucky: he’d already found a job in Boston, and he said he would quit teaching in China.

For many scholars with short study periods in the U.S. or abroad, it’s tempting (and risky) to flout the one-child policy. After overseas studies, these academics tend to enjoy higher reputation and better employment prospects. Adding to that a freer social environment, a more convenient passport, better social welfare systems, and modern education– many of them choose to take the risk. Sometimes, this means possibly losing almost everything back in China and starting from scratch.

Dr. Yuan told me, “I’m not doing anything good for myself here; I’m doing something good for my kids.” His nine-year-old son was standing by his mom. He showed her his first award: ranking number one in the class, in English.