Chinese Pride? Searching Between Gendered Diasporas and Multicultural States by Yao Xiao B.A., Guangdong University of Foreign Studies, 2009 M.A., University of Calgary, 2011 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in The Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies (Educational Studies) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) August 2017 © Yao Xiao, 2017 ii Abstract This research of pride is necessarily from but not limited to my own personal searching, as a Cantonese/Chinese migrant across (Northern Guangdong) mountains, (Pearl River) delta, and (East Pacific) waterfronts. To explore what (Chinese) pride means in context, who needs it, and how it relates to the learning of empowerment, privilege, and diversity, I deploy a multi-biographical method to explore the mixed productions and expressions of pride. These multi-biographical sources include: audio life history interviews with thirteen community activists in the East Pacific port of Greater Vancouver and specifically in Richmond where significant streams of Chinese diasporas locate, five autobiographical accounts in a national Chinese-Canadian online project, and audio-video clips of two Chinese-Canadian stories in a transnational Chinese television/online program. Searching and researching these life stories, I find (Chinese) pride articulable on two journeys. A journey of diaspora emphasizes the flux of pride, expressible in a trio of gendered stories from women’s heritage to both women and men in migration and further to queer and nonqueer immigrant youth collaboration. A journey of state emphasizes the stability of pride, expressible in a trio of multicultural stories from nation-state citizenship to local citizenship and further to a global state of mind. While this mix of life journey/storytelling speaks in its own way towards more soul-searching and politically-sensitive projects of learning, my conclusion is more modestly about bringing four small elements to cultural studies of education: namely, extramural education as collaborative praxis, aspirational learning in political literacy, critical education with place-based and mobile cultures, and a reflexive take on why (and in what ways) cultural studies of education matters to me. With all these tissues of pride alive, I hope primarily and modestly to create openings in what could be done between/with you and me. iii Lay Summary Writing as a Cantonese/Chinese migrant in Greater Vancouver, I brought together different Chinese-Canadian life stories to show how pride was expressed, produced and used: from folks who organized identity-based and culture-based projects in local grassroots activism, to folks who took leadership positions in the institutional representative space of government and non-governmental organizations, and further to folks featured in transnational media representations. At once valuing and questioning what it meant to become proudly Chinese or otherwise, this research identified old and new ways to stand and represent amidst variously rising, mixed feelings of Chinese power. Beyond traditional conceptions of pride rooted in psychological measurement and Eurocentric political philosophy, this research pushed the fight of pride into the contemporary politics of Chinese migrations and settlements. By bringing educators, artists, activists, and myself into conversations, this narrative research broadens the understanding of education in terms of community activism, cross-generation communication, and cross-cultural learning. iv Preface This dissertation is an original, intellectual product of the author, Yao Xiao. A shorter version of section 2.3 in Chapter Two has been published. Xiao, Y. (2015). Radical feelings in the ‘liberation zone’: Active Chinese Canadian citizenship in Richmond, B.C. Citizenship Education Research Journal, 4 (1), 13-28. The field research of conducting interviews was approved by the Behavioural Research Ethics Board at The University of British Columbia on August 5, 2014. Approval number: H14-01576. v Table of Contents Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... ii Lay Summary ............................................................................................................................... iii Preface ...........................................................................................................................................iv Table of Contents .......................................................................................................................... v List of Tables .............................................................................................................................. viii Acknowledgements ...................................................................................................................... ix 1 Where Am I? ........................................................................................................................... 1 2 Searching for Pride: A Literature Review (with A Theoretical Guide) .......................... 20 2.1 The abnormality of pride: questions of minority self-esteem and social psychology .......... 20 2.2 The normativity of pride: questions of eurocentric governance and political science ......... 23 2.3 Towards a deconstruction of pride: turning to cultural studies ............................................. 28 2.3.1 How do I make a case for doing cultural studies of pride? a theoretical orientation ....... 36 3 Researching Pride: A Multi-Biographical Method ........................................................... 44 3.1 Critical theory and narrative inquiry ..................................................................................... 46 3.1.1 Life history as narrative inquiry ....................................................................................... 47 3.2 Data collection ...................................................................................................................... 50 3.2.1 Life history interview with 13 Chinese Canadian activists ............................................. 52 3.2.2 Written voices in a Canada-based media project on Asian Canadian pride .................... 54 3.2.3 Biographical videos in a China-based media project on overseas Chinese pride ............ 55 3.3 Data analysis ......................................................................................................................... 56 3.3.1 Arranging different texts .................................................................................................. 56 3.3.2 Coding, triangulating, and synthesizing into themes ....................................................... 57 3.3.3 The nature and presentation of findings ........................................................................... 60 3.3.4 A conceptual map prepared for the journey ..................................................................... 61 4 Pride in Gendered Diasporas ............................................................................................... 65 4.1 Grandmother-granddaughter crosscurrent: translating memories of home .......................... 65 4.1.1 Kathryn Gwun-Yeen Lennon: my Cantonese grandma from Cheung Chau island ......... 69 4.1.2 Claudia Kelly Li: my culture of strong Hakka women .................................................... 74 vi 4.2 Migrant man–migrant woman crosscurrent: making home .................................................. 78 4.2.1 Hwa: love struggles .......................................................................................................... 82 4.2.2 Daughters and sons: migrant teenagers in small British Columbia towns ....................... 87 4.3 Queer-nonqueer youth crosscurrent: a different home is possible? ...................................... 90 4.3.1 阿風: building my own house .......................................................................................... 93 4.3.2 Tse: becoming a progressive Chinese Christian .............................................................. 96 4.4 A temporary landing ........................................................................................................... 101 5 Pride in Multicultural States ............................................................................................. 102 5.1 Colony-nation crossroads: British Hong Kong-Chinese becoming proudly Canadian? .... 102 5.1.1 Looking forward to Canadianness? ............................................................................... 107 5.1.2 Looking forward to Chineseness? .................................................................................. 109 5.2 Ethnicity-city crossroads: Richmond in a state of development ......................................... 112 5.2.1 The power of local ethnic markets? ............................................................................... 115 5.2.2 A city councillor speaks ................................................................................................. 121 5.3 Migration-communication crossroads: Sinophone messages in a global state of mind ..... 124 5.3.1 Creating a common space through Chinese drama? ...................................................... 128 5.3.2 Moving Sinophone poetry into global knowledge? ....................................................... 131 5.4 A temporary landing ........................................................................................................... 134 6 This Is Where I Have Come To, and Where Is Your Pride? .......................................... 136 6.1 Research summary and implications .................................................................................. 137 6.1.1 Pride in gendered diasporas, and who needs it? ............................................................ 137 6.1.2 Pride in multicultural states, and who needs it? ............................................................. 141 6.2 What does my research of pride bring to cultural studies of education? ............................ 148 6.2.1 Extramural education as collaborative praxis ................................................................ 149 6.2.2 Aspirational learning in political literacy: language and citizenship ............................. 153 6.2.3 Critical education with place-based and mobile cultures .............................................. 158 6.2.4 A reflexive turn: why (and in what ways) cultural studies of education matters to me?163 6.3 What do I, and can I, bring to you? ..................................................................................... 166 Bibliography .............................................................................................................................. 169 vii Appendices ................................................................................................................................. 195 Appendix A: Basic information of the interviewees ................................................................. 195 Appendix B: Interview questions with community activists .................................................... 199 Appendix C: Invitation letter to community activists ............................................................... 202 Appendix D: Consent form ....................................................................................................... 203 Appendix E: Original Cantonese and Mandarin quotes from some interviewees .................... 206 viii List of Tables Table 3.1 Coding with cultural politics of emotion and space.……………………………..57 Table 3.2 Coding for conjunctures and complex narratives.………………………………..59 ix Acknowledgements I thank the interviewed community activists, for their trust and sharing of voices and experiences. I thank Yvonne Hébert, for encouraging me to embark on a PhD journey six years ago. I thank my dissertation committee members Hongxia Shan and Peter Seixas, for their generous sharing of knowledge that critically shaped my academic edge. I thank my supervisor Handel Wright, for his careful listening and crucial supports, which made my PhD project worthwhile and achievable, and influenced my other intellectual ones. I thank my mountain folks, for bringing me baggage and motivation. I thank my families and friends, for making my journey sustainable and with hope. 1 1 Where Am I? We were in Chinatown. A Chinatown elder said, “唔好客氣, 大家都係中國人(feel at home, we are all Chinese)”. I smiled, and forked another pan-fried dumpling. We all smiled, and ate more. But there were a few seconds of do-not-know-how-to-respond silence. Mrs. Kong meant well: she cared about me, wanted to feel close to me, and wanted me to feel comfortable. She appeared to be afraid that I might burden myself with what many have burdened themselves with in this colonial, racially estranging western world: that I would forever wait as an oriental guest subjected to the temper of the master, that I would never feel at home. Saying we are all 中國人(zhong-guo-ren/Chinese) was an obvious touch, perhaps what she felt would be the most powerful message of solidarity in these and other circumstances. But what her burden was, I might have misunderstood. Mrs. Kong liked Vancouver as a place with warm weather, lived in Chinatown as a place of everyday convenience, and sometimes, visited her daughter in Richmond. Mrs. Kong came to Canada with her husband in the 1990s, from Zhanjiang, a southwestern town in Guangdong in Mainland China. In Vancouver’s Chinatown, she was not quite close to the heavily represented diasporic clans (based on villages and/or paternal family names) and neither was I. So in some ways she was acknowledging me as a fellow minoritized Chinese and asserting that I (and indeed she herself) really did belong in this small bastion of Chineseness in Vancouver. Translation was inadequate, transgression innate. I understood this language of 中國人(zhong-guo-ren/Chinese), this idea that “we are all Chinese”, yet I cannot say I really knew my place in that historical and symbolic world, at that specific site and moment. 中國人(Chinese) is not just Chinese, and sometimes it might not even be comprehensible in Chinese, to Chinese. I remembered my two great-grandmothers. My paternal great-grandmother was from a farming village in the mountains of northern Guangdong1, where Han people lived with other ethnicities 1 Specifically, these were the Yuebei mountains of連陽各族自治縣(Lian-Yang Multi-Ethnic Autonomous County) (1958-1960), restructured in 1961 into separate counties under the political administration of Shaoguan, and later Qingyuan, all of which had been under the earlier political administration of 粵北行政區(Yuebei administrative region)(1952–1956). 2 such as Yao people and Miao people. She never said the word Chinese in reference to herself: in fact, did not know what that meant. She only identified herself with that small mountainous village, and spoke a native language called 四會聲(si-hui-sheng), one of the Yuebei native languages remaining linguistically uncategorized (e.g., Kwok, 2005). She kept a land ownership document passed down from her parents, with the imperial seal of Qing, yet neither the later Chinese Nationalist nor Communist states acknowledged it. By contrast, the maternal side of my family told a different story. Born into in a Guangzhou-Cantonese family, my maternal great-grandmother knew this term of 中國人(Chinese), in the port city of Guangzhou2 which was partially occupied by British, French, and other imperial forces with invested trade interests. She became consciously a 中國人(Chinese), and associated this mainly with her memories and later a positionality of resisting imperial violence. She spoke Chinese, strongly related to Chineseness, partly through her elite education of learning much of Republican nation-building discourses, through her husband’s work in the municipal government, and later through her wartime experiences of migrating with her children across mountains and rivers into northern Guangdong, after the Japanese imperial air forces bombed her ancestral house into debris, during what she called the anti-Japanese war (1937–1945). I feel 中國人(Chinese), sometimes, is a violence-laden word. I traced my own family genealogy, charted my family migration map, and saw deep oppressions. I listened, I learned, and I reflected on things about imperial gunboats and bayonets, colonial trade contracts, a new nation, a Han ethnicity, a Bruce Lee’s theatrical kick of the “中國人不是東亞病夫 (Chinese is not sick men of East Asia), and many more selective making, remembering, performing about the past. But there is not only 中國人(Chinese). There are 唐人(Tang-Chinese), 漢人(Han-Chinese), and 華人(Hua-Chinese). There are 土生(local born), 竹笙(a Cantonese colloquial term for Chinese-American youth), and 半唐番(mixed blood). There are 華工 2 At that time, many Cantonese folks called Guangzhou as “saang seng”, literally “the provincial capital” of Guangdong. Guangzhou has another name Canton (hence the major folk language there as Cantonese), first called by the Portuguese in sixteenth century and later often used by Europeans. The name Guangzhou is a Mandarin pinyin-standardized pronunciation in post-1949 Mainland China. 3 (hua-gong/Chinese laborers), 華僑(hua-qiao/overseas Chinese), and 僑胞(qiao-bao/diasporic Chinese). There are a thousand other nuances, and each tells a different history. I feel the English word “Chinese” serves to obscure multiple, complex identities, and make them unitary, vague, and one-dimensional. I speak the English language, yet do not feel comfortable or that I am fluent enough. I am quite new to this world of making, unmaking, and remaking Chineseness in North America. Sometimes I feel I can scarcely comprehend even the symbolic meaning of it, let alone its lived histories and realities (e.g. Li, 1998; Yu, 2002; Li, 2007). Can I not be Chinese? Chineseness is war trauma, poverty, and exiling. Chineseness is victim, is resistance, is margin. Chineseness is expansionist, is state, is Han domination of other ethnicities. Chineseness is civilization, is nation, is dynasty (in fact several dynasties). Chineseness comes with (anti)racism, with patriarchy, with laborers. Chineseness is Cantonese rivers, Hakka mountains, the Mainland and islands. Chineseness is imperial trade, is rural farming, is global migration. Chineseness is a passport, an ideology, an international student. Chineseness is part of Chinatown, of United Nations, of the Earth, and of the outer space explorations. Chineseness is returning, is justifying, is mixing. Chineseness is a choice and not a choice. Chineseness is never complete. Many experiences that made these words I do not embody, for I do not live through an immense history. But I already have, and necessarily have, stepped into it. We finished the lunch in Chinatown. “唔好客氣, 大家都係中國人(feel at home, we are all Chinese)”, Mrs. Kong said again. My friends around the table smiled. But I wondered whether we were as united in our sense of Chineseness as we were in our polite response to Mrs. Kong’s statement. What would Chinese mean to Sandy3? She spoke some Cantonese, listened and understood much, and her parents came from colonial British Hong Kong in the mid-1980s. Yet she was born in Vancouver, went to schools in Burnaby and North Vancouver, and in terms of identity perhaps related more to the 3 For reasons of confidentiality, these are all fictitious names. 4 idea of “Asian-ness” than Chineseness. Chinese was negative, had not been affirmed. Some white people called it ‘chink’, sometimes did not even bother with its specificity and just called it ‘Asian’. What did it mean to Chen, speaking Taiwanese-Hokkien and Mandarin? And what does Chineseness mean to Anne, whose parents came from Hainan Island in southern China? They were young, and perhaps did not feel much about the Chinese Cultural Revolution or Cantonese operas or nostalgic songs as Mrs. Kong or my grandparents did. Yet they were of this new generation, speaking English, learning about democratic movements and social justice, and seeing on the Internet many things about Chineseness that Mrs. Kong had not seen. Once there were also awkward moments of intergenerational translation, when Mrs. Kong habitually showed her care by asking questions about partnership/marriage in heterosexual, gender-stereotypical, and age-stereotypical terms, while she might not know (or perhaps she did later) that queer identified youth were also among us from different places, who listened to her stories, shared food, spoke with her, sang with her, danced with her, and became friends of her. Looking back and looking forward, we support each other. We connect through friendships, volunteering, and participating community events. With other friends we walk in Chinatown, in Downtown Eastside, at SFU, at UBC, in streets, in city hall, in meeting places with youth and elders. We speak different languages. We speak unevenly against violence, against racism, against patriarchy, against colonial settlement on Indigenous land, against imperial expansion, against capitalist exploitation, against able-ism, against policing borders and states, against many other forces of injustice, far and near. We also speak, with compassion, about ancestry, about heritage, about intergenerational communication, about intercultural sharing, about living solidarities, about lived experiences, and about the future. We speak to different audiences. We speak to each other. We relate and we translate. We inherit different family traditions, come from different places, and stand in different stages of our lives. And together we are doing things. What “authentic Chineseness” is, I do not know and do not need to know. But to listen, to tell differences, and to open a whole history and space, is an important thing. I am Chinese, 5 because I have some Chineseness, because Mrs. Kong thinks so, my friends think so, strangers think so, and I myself feel proudly so. That my family history of struggle and migration has been deeply embedded in the oppression by both western and Chinese states is part of it. Now my family is proud, I am proud, that we are in some way elevated, like my grandmother said, “moving away from the bitter days”. I feel I can stand strong in the face of racism. I feel I can stand up to face the imperialist present and past. I feel I can speak. But that my privilege is also obvious has to be acknowledged. I am male. I was born in a relatively ‘developed’ part of China, in a mountain town, into a rural family with parents who have both been teachers, who emphasized (higher) education as a vital way of searching for life alternatives in and out of the Yuebei mountains, where the karst topography made life resources production particularly hard. Substantially, it was the women’s resilience, strength, and initial relationship with the mountains that made my heritage. For across two generations the men almost always tended for a return – as they did – to the plain-delta homeland, to the urbanized, upper-middle class life of Guangzhou-Cantoneseness: my maternal grandmother’s two brothers went back to Guangzhou for college and work, and my mother’s brother also did that in the early 1980s. Both my maternal grandmother and mother had their higher education, but they decided to live in the mountains and later married my grandfather and father. When I was born, my family had moved to a more ‘surface’ part of the mountains, that is, much closer to the major transportation lines connecting to the outside world, became literate and educated folks who ‘had culture [有文化]’, and lived in a slightly urbanized town. One way to speak about what such ‘slightly urbanized’ meant was this: we lived in a brick basement as government-subsidized housing, while we kept a small portion of land to grow vegetables and my mother taught me swimming in that wild and free river. In my early teenage years, I migrated to Pearl River Delta4, to seek hopes, to receive higher 4 The Pearl River Delta comprises Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and 13 other cities and counties/districts in Guangdong province. This delta region is the habitat of a population over 40 million (The World Bank 2011). It is one of the earliest regions to implement economic reform in post-Mao Mainland China. 6 education, and to live, ambivalently as a Cantonese person, in Guangzhou city where African people, Middle Eastern people, and many other ‘non-Cantonese’ folks were quite discriminated against. I was able to learn English, to move further across the Pacific Ocean to Canada, and to live with safe shelter and adequate food. That I have used the land and resources in China and Canada, where I have occupied relatively privileged positions in a global trade and exploitation system, was also an inseparable part of my personal and academic journeys. These are deep relationships. Our Chinese friendships at Mrs. Kong place are part of what some might find a surprisingly long history of Chinese and Chinese relationships lived out on these Coast Salish lands. Across the saltwater of Pacific Ocean, early 廣東四邑(Guangdong Say Yup)5 migrants came, worked, scattered, mostly in survival terms, and later called Vancouver’s municipal establishment 鹹水埠(saltwater city). Many had been exploited to an extreme, many settled unwillingly but with resiliency, a few became quite rich, and many for a long time lived variously in Chinatown especially along what they came to call 唐人街(Tong People Street). Some made different moves, across the freshwater of Fraser river, to what they called 路罅埃侖, translated from the colonially named Lulu Island, further incorporated into the municipal establishment of Richmond (列治文). There they worked in fish canneries around South Arm Fraser water. There they farmed. There they built some of the earliest dikes, ditches and roads. There they lived in small quarters in the then fishing and canning village of Steveston. There they became part of presence of Steveston with, in the English language of that time, of 1894, “a population of perhaps four or five thousand – Indians, whites, Chinese, Japanese, and negroes” (Stacey & Stacey, 1994, p.45)6. There is more, but there is no full story. That I learned all these historical relations, in lived and literate ways, in narratives of witnesses, whiteness, and academics, is almost always a 5 Say Yup refers to four rural counties located in the Pearl River Delta region. 6 For a record of Black entrepreneurship on Deas Island, please see Ralston (1976). John Sullivan Deas: A Black Entrepreneur in British Columbia Salmon Canning. For a record of Chinese presence on Lulu Island, please see The Chinese Times (October 1916), The Chinese Times (March 1920), and the City of Richmond Archive (2011). 7 conscious effort of translating. I learn to read my identity, across time, space, and linguistic-cultural affinities and differences, in relation to a majorly 粵/越 (Cantonese) side of a particular victim historical narrative: survival from European imperial encroachments, revolutionary conflicts, poverty in Guangdong, long trans-Pacific voyages, the search for Gold Mountains, the making of Canadian Pacific Railway, the head tax, the Chinese Exclusion Act, and the many more or less obvious practices of white domination. Yet I also have to read my family histories and my own movements, from the remote mountain areas in northern Guangdong as well as the Pearl River Delta region, across faded villages, industrial towns, rising cities, states and borders, as making a southern mainland Chinese – more generally as an East Asian but more specifically as a northern Guangdong mountain Cantonese – in a Canadian city interacting, intensively, with the global currents of people, things, and feelings. In a Canadian context of racial marginalization that perennially pigeonholes Chinese populations as recent arrivals, my presence is very awkward: I am readily interpellated into a homogenized Chinese-Canadianess and reluctantly demarcated within it. As the former I could be indexed to the stereotypes of yellow faces as recent arrivals and, seen within Chinese-Canadianess as the latter, my recent arrival undermines the struggle for representation mainly through the strategies of illustrating long-term presence (significantly through Pearl River Delta Say Yup Cantonese). I am also awkward, in relation to the various discourses about the rising geopolitical power of China in a global capitalist world order. Ang (2013) articulated her own ambivalent feelings as “residual Chineseness after the rise of China” which exerted new appeals among many people of Chinese descents to reclaim Chineseness, yet complexly situated in a particular “mainland-centred Chinese modernity that exploits the diaspora for its capitalist knowledge and mutual interest in pursuit of global superpower status” (p.29). But this rise to me was very partial if not minimal, and there were complex political and cultural differences to tell, in 華南(South China), where many related to a different map, a different genealogy (e.g. Siu, 1993). Growing up under the Chinese state, I did not consider my own (mountain) Cantonese 8 identifications particularly important, until I came to Canada where it became possible to partially operationalize them. And again I had to operationalize ambivalently, between the place-based affiliation with Guangdong Pearl River Delta-Cantonese regional ties of the early Chinese in Canada, and the popular culture-based affiliation with particular dominant narratives of Hong Kong-Cantonese in the past three or four decades. Partially because of my passport, my name spelt/institutionalized in pinyin instead of being Anglicized/otherwise, and the stereotyping of what these things meant, I have to locate myself – sometimes in hard ways – in relation to the oftentimes generic, prejudiced representations of ‘Mainland Chinese’ (大陸人) in the places where I am and have been. I am in Richmond. That day, after my lunch with Mrs. Kong and my friends in Chinatown, I took the skytrain to Richmond, another area with a significant population of Chinese extraction. As I traveled I considered Chineseness in Richmond. In fact, this work is in part about the intensity of Han-Chinese-heritage hegemony in the context of white supremacist Canadian society as played out in the Greater Vancouver suburb of Richmond. Some people call Richmond “a big Chinatown”. Some call it “little Hong Kong”. Some simply call it “too Chinese”. I listen, and I call these statements racially charged prejudice. What does it mean, that 48.5% of the city population is now ethnic Chinese (City of Richmond, 2013)? I often see, in local English-language media and sometimes transnational Chinese-language real estate advertising, that immigrants from Hong Kong, from Taiwan, from Mainland China, and from many other places, are simply called “waves” of Chinese immigrants adding on previous waves, even on local born and their families settled here for generations. To lump complex human experiences into one “ethnic Chinese” group is easy labelling, and that seems quite unproblematic if we insist on seeing people only based on skin colors and phenotypical characteristics. However, there are multiple language differences, significant varieties of places of origins, and the different and sometimes contrasted histories involved in what many choose to refer to as “ethnic Chinese”. In 9 predominant portion of local, provincial, and national Anglophone media, the white gaze is there. In significant portion of English academic literature, the white gaze is there, although there are turning perspectives within gaze looking at more elevated status of entrepreneurship and more political ingredients in that ethnicity (e.g. Chiang, 2001; Rose, 2007). This ethnic Chineseness is indeed a plain yet poignant ‘fact’ in a white settler country like Canada: a deeply racialised history, and a narrow space to make a voice heard. We could also ride on the Canada Line to Richmond, and see some areas with prosperous Chinese business along No.3 Road, and it is easy, if we do not care to look more closely and carefully, to conclude the rest of Richmond might be just like this, very much Chinese. That these perspectives are too narrow, and important differences have been missed, has sometimes made an ambivalent point about how Chineseness in Canadian multiculturalism is represented. And yet, a reader, a listener, or an observer of Chinese media would know something different than this ethnicity as minority confinement, see something bigger and more diasporic, and feel more complex pluses. For a simple fact that in a long Chinese history of Canadian establishment, for example from The Chinese Times to the post-1992 Ming Pao, diasporic, transitional news occupied the front pages until very recently and still have significant spaces in other newspapers and media sources such as social media of Wechat used by many international students. And of course in the conglomeration there is not just ignorance. There have been practical interests in tapping into the representations of changing demographics. We do not need to look back very far. In British Columbia from 1987 to 1996, there were a total of 88,823 Chinese-origin immigrants from Hong Kong, along with 36,449 from Taiwan and 22,488 from Mainland China (B.C. Statistics, 1997). In the first half of 1990s, the top five source countries of immigrants to Richmond were Hong Kong, the PRC, Taiwan, the Philippines, and India (Edgington et al., 2003). By the mid 1990s, Richmond was selectively called by Anna Yip – the then president of the Richmond Asian Pacific Business Association – “the gateway to the Orient” and “to many immigrants, the gateway to North America” (Lee-Son & Sturmanis, 1994, p.249). 10 By this ‘Orient’ Yip mostly meant the ethnocultural-Chinese immigrants and the then economic region popularly called “Greater China” including Hong Kong, Taiwan, Mainland China, and Singapore. In 1993, Yip was also part of the Asia Trade Mission – organized by the City of Richmond – to Hong Kong and Taiwan, and subsequently extended to Shanghai and Zhuhai in Mainland China. Richmond is not Chinatown, not Hong Kong, and not too Chinese. But people want to make simplistic analogies. And indeed there are particular histories, and particular telling of histories, that deeply relate to these different Chinese presences. The inner city Chinatown has long been a source of supports for Chinese in Vancouver, but it has also long been an oppressive instrument of white supremacy and an over-simplified categorizing of Chineseness. Chinatown gives and receives a particular Chinese presence – a ghetto, a resistance, and a whole way of life structured by racial exclusion, Chinese clan and kinship associations, hard labour, limited class mobility, Chinese languages, and a bachelor society. As late as 1950s, it was still not unusual to observe unhappy neighbors who asked City Council to restrict Orientals to certain parts of Vancouver, mostly in and around Chinatown (Roy, 1980, p.137). However, with a significant growing generation of local-born Chinese Canadians who spoke fluent English and received more education, with the impacts of immigration, and with the federal policy of multiculturalism, the concentric power of Chinatown has drastically declined (Li, 1998). Some Chinese-Canadians in Chinatown went to new places, mixed with other local people and recent immigrants, and some became suburban in both spatial and class senses. “New Chinatown” was a provisional name for some aspects of this phenomenon, according to Lai (1988, pp.163-165) – a geographer specializing in Canada’s Chinatowns – who wrote that a variety of Chinese business has formed “the embryo of a Chinatown in Richmond, attracting upper middle-class Chinese customers from South Vancouver”, and the year of 1987 marked the inception of “Richmond’s New Chinatown”, with the construction of a shopping plaza called Johnson Centre, now the plaza by Westminster Highway facing Richmond Public Market. 11 And there were indeed significant Hong Kong influences in Richmond since the late 1980s into the 2000s, with the expansion of banking system and in particular The Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation (HSBC) (Edgington, et al, 2003). A large number of Hong Kong immigrants brought food cultures, commercial practices, business skills, and further a significant market to expedite the landmark (re)construction of Aberdeen Centre – known in Hong Kong-Cantonese as Heung Gong Tsai (Little Hong Kong) – as well as the construction of strata malls such as Parker Place and plazas such as Continental Plaza. In resonance to the “Little Hong Kong” tag on Hong Kong migration settlement in Vancouver west side in particular around Shaunessey neighbourhood (The Chinese Times, February 1988), the then Richmond also gained a title as “Little Hong Kong”, with a quite established residential and consumption environment in some areas amiable to Chinese (in particular Cantonese) language and culture. On the one hand, this reputation, with the ongoing shuttles of (real estate) capital, media, and migration, was then gradually publicized in local communities and further to Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Mainland China. On the other hand, such representation of Hong Kong immigration and place-making was necessarily entangled with subtler images of Japanese (e.g. Yaohan Centre), South Asian, and other various, concurrent migrations and local establishments. The predominance of Hong Kong in constructing Richmond’s Chinese communities did not preclude the active involvement of those with backgrounds in Taiwan and Mainland China. Immigration from Taiwan reached its peak in the early 1990s, with a majority under the business immigrant program (i.e., self-employed, investor, and entrepreneur class) (Wu, 2000). Up to 2001, of the 70790 Taiwanese immigrants in Canada, 64.1% were living in Greater Vancouver (Wu, 2012). Many of them chose Richmond for its prevalence of Chinese culture and proximity to the international airport (Hsu, 2008, p.131). Like the immigrants from Hong Kong, they were also actively involved in the Richmond spatial construction of their collective memories of home cultures, in forms of Taiwanese-style cafes, restaurants, and supermarkets. Also running through these spatial forms marked by Chinese languages and consumption needs were the organization 12 and celebration of Taiwanese festivals that centred on traditional Chinese culture. Because of their advantages in socio-economic capitals, many of these immigrants during the 1990s were able to establish as (upper) middle class residents with quite flexible residential choices far beyond the inner city Chinatown, in consideration of quality living conditions and school districts (Ip, 2006). The demographic rise of Mainland Chinese immigrants especially since the 1990s – referred by some as 新華僑 (new overseas Chinese) – has brought a significant change (and sometimes a challenge) to the previous ‘Chinese’ community structures: in relation to the old overseas Chinese, to the Chinese from Hong Kong, to the Chinese from Taiwan, to the Chinese from other places, and to various local born generations who might or might not (readily) self-identity as Chinese (Mitchell, 2001; Statistics Canada, 2009; Teo, 2007). To imply a sense of freedom from western cultural assimilation, some Mainland Chinese folks called Richmond “Jie-fang Qu (Liberation Zone)” (Ming Pao, May 2014), a term originally used by Chinese Communist Party to designate its territories in China during the Sino-Japanese War (1937-1945) and the Chinese Civil War (1946-1949). Richmond is not too Chinese. Let me tell another story. In the mid 1800s, when European settlers came, Indigenous people had already lived in two villages around the southwest coast of what later was named Lulu Island: one village was called Kwayo7xw (KWAY-ah-wh), meaning “bubbling water”, and another called Kwlhayam (Kwi-THAY-um), meaning “place having driftwood logs on the beach”7(Yesaki, Steves, and Steves, 1998, p.9). The major Lulu Island and Sea Island, together with other smaller islands, were surveyed, named, and in 1879 incorporated by Europeans as the Municipality of Richmond. Since the 1880s the Chinese were here to hand dig some of the very first dykes to prevent flooding and once contracted by the Richmond municipality to build ditches along the then in 1883 Number Two Road, the first road built right across Lulu island.8 And yes, there were fish 7 Yesaki, Steves, and Steves (1998) did not specify which Indigenous tribe it was. 8 You would not see this in what was considered the official writing of Richmond’s history, Richmond: Child of Fraser, by 13 canneries, along South Arm of Fraser River, mostly run by Europeans, and the Chinese worked on production lines with indigenous people and Japanese. Two Chinese men even once owned a fish cannery in 1901. And so did a black man from South Carolina and Victoria, who in 1873 built a cannery and owned it until 1878 on a small island later named after him as Deas Island, which was not officially part of but connected to Richmond, while some adjacent islands were incorporated into the municipality. Yes, the Chinese established a few stores, so did the Japanese, many of who were also fishermen. And the Chinese farmed in some other areas of southern Richmond, and organized affordable potato sales and alternative grocery food lines in Vancouver area. In and around Steveston there were also two small quarters of accommodating “Oriental” business and residence, then called “China town” by Europeans. But in 1907 and 1908, these two “China towns”, one along Number One Road and another along Dyke Road, were burned down by two major fires that destroyed a dozen of stores, bunkhouses, and houses, leaving hundreds of people homeless, mostly Chinese and Japanese, and three Caucasians. But today, except for the museum-preserved canning machine “Iron Chink” with a few lines to indicate that it was once used to replace the many Chinese hands working in fish canneries along the south arm of Fraser River, you can hardly observe any other physical and spatial traces of historical Chinese presences, unless you care to read through archives and historical documents about Richmond (Keen, 2005, p.4, p.37; Stacey & Stacey, 1994, p.31; Yesaki, 2002, p.27; Yesaki, Steves, & Steves, 1998, p.9, p.51). Changing times, places of loss and remembrance. And I have my intellectual ambivalence. I learn intimately, from my family, relatives, and their life stories, to realize how lived experience of Chineseness could be vulnerable yet changing, and how it has been deeply tied to Leslie J. Ross and under the direction of the Historical Committee of the Richmond ’79 Centennial Society. In that telling of history, the early Chinese work and efforts of building dykes ditches and roads were mentioned adjacent to a timeline around 1910 (p.44), and the other earlier actual work by Chinese people in 1880s unacknowledged and switched to a brief mentioning of regulation, written as “In 1885 the municipal council moved that white labour would be employed at all times except where they would not work for less than twenty five per cent more than the lowest Chinese tender. The council further moved that a contractor could not employ Chinese labour nor re-let his contract to Chinese workers. Therefore, road, ditch and dyking work was not always undertaken at the lowest possible cost, but rather, at the price the municipality preferred to pay” (p.46). 14 an ambivalent sense of inferiority and fragility. That I realize this partly from my own lived experience is of little doubt: the presence of white people occupying privileged living quarters and working positions in Chinese metropolitan cities, the exotic gaze and patronizing ease that characterize travellers from Europe and North America, and the sharp contrast between ordinary living standards in Canada and that in China, are all parts of inequalities I have many times witnessed. And behind this lived perception, behind what it enabled me to learn, there is a whole family history of farming, conflicts, displacement, education, and relocation with which my Chineseness has to settle. Both the maternal and paternal sides of my family, across three generations, have witnessed and lived with/under the condescending presence variously represented by the European white power, the Japanese imperial army, the Chinese nationalist nation-state, the Chinese communist nation-state, and then in the most immediate generation, some scattered extended relatives moving to Hong Kong, Macau, Canada, USA, and Australia, because of, in their words, “life better than in China”. And I learn in additional ways, through reading and writing, to realize the predominance of European epistemology and academic production, and how difficult it is to articulate otherwise. I was interested in Chinese literature, and then became invested in English language and culture when I started my college education in Guangzhou – although the program was only about British-Englishness and American-Englishness, and although I was learning those with a quite career-oriented goal of becoming a professional translator. Not until my graduate school education in Canada did I start, for the first time, engaging more significantly with European traditions, reading the selective work of some writers, and finding some partial resonance to my own experiences: for example, in Karl Marx’s (1977) writing – in English and Chinese translations – about capital, exchange value, exploitation, and accumulation; in Raymond Williams’ (1961, 1973, 1980) writing about culture, rurality, and industrial towns. As I read other work across disciplines, mostly grounded in almost predominantly European epistemologies, I became wary and began to reflect. Then I found something profound in some 15 Afro-Caribbean (Fanon, 2008), Latin American (Freire, 1970, 1997), and Middle Eastern voices (Said, 1994). Then I found importance resonance in a black African voice that sought to de-centre the Eurocentric positioning of cultural studies (Wright, 1998). I felt inspired by alternative epistemologies (e.g. Bhabha, 1994; hooks, 1990; Spivak, 1988), yet I found more resonances in Wright’s (2003a) “black ambivalent elaboration”, about “an ambivalent, wary use of theory in general and ‘the posties’ in particular. (…) both a suspicion of and yet a wary willingness to elaborate these theoretical frameworks to apply to black subjectivity and issues of concern to blacks”(p.815). I am not black, but share a feeling about unreflexive theoretical elaboration applied to, in this case, Chineseness. My intellectual ambivalence is inseparable from a historical, cultural context, since the late 19th century, where the Chinese intellectual articulation of social and political changes has been under significant European and North American intellectual patronage, tutorage, and in particular theoretical inventions. The influence is so deep and wide, that I feel my own positionality of intellectualizing and theorizing today, especially as someone strongly aware of the differences of indigenous Chinese languages and cultures, becomes almost a wary, half-hearted engagement with western theoretical developments, and often, a position of following, mostly borrowing from, and at best responding to the West. There are many ways to talk about this. There is a contrast, between the social-political chaos and meagerness of academic institutions on the land of late Qing, Republic of China, and People’s Republic of China up to the 1970s, and the relative stability and wealth enjoyed by the European and North American academic worlds, based on the larger geopolitical, national power privileged in the international system of exploitation. But yes, there is some theoretical generation among some influential intellectuals in Chinese studies, in particular a Republican tradition that has far-fletching implications on the possibilities of Chinese-Western cultural communication. For example, some quarters of Chinese studies in North America prioritized Neo-Confucianism as a key articulation of indigenous Chinese philosophical and theoretical 16 paradigm, which connected to a tradition of cultural conservatism most notably articulated by Liang Shu-ming, who used to defend Chinese cultural traditions vis-à-vis heavy western influences. While such school gained increasing influences, it could be misleading to centre Confucianism (even though there were various contested revisions and appropriations) – as the most proper or the only legitimate indigenous Chinese representation, only because it was a favorably recognized discourse among (western) academics. Let me give another example. Writing in 2003, Fei Xiao-tong, an internationally renowned Chinese intellectual (himself trained as anthropologist and sociologist, with a PhD from London School of Economics under the supervision of the famed anthropologist Bronisław Malinowski), commented on the severe lack of new generations of intellectuals to do Chinese cultural studies –first with “本土化(indigenous reflection)”, and second with “全球化(global communication)” (Fei, 2003, p.9). In this, he used the notion “文化自觉 (cultural reflexivity)” for more reflexive, dialogic, and multicultural doing of projects (Fei 2003).9 Reflecting closely on his own intellectual journey, Fei (2005) spoke with an acute awareness of imperialism in the disciplinary establishment/knowledge accumulation of British anthropology (e.g., with material and passport privileges, many anthropologists from imperial centres did intense research in colonies and/or former colonies); in more scholarly tones, he emphasized on a pragmatic anthropology towards everyday inquires – instead of excessive theoretical work and exoticized studies (Fei, 1997, 2003, 2005). But today the scene remains quite unsatisfactory. For example, in a book about indigenous Zhuang people in Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region in southern China (Chen, et al., 2011), the author begins to but finds it difficult to unlearn (and translate to the readers) the westernized concept of democracy even when she is aware of researching into indigenous communities, and finds it difficult to make claims and speak to the reader, intellectually, without Weberian theories. 9 Throughout this dissertation, I use both simplified and traditional Chinese not to suggest a dichotomy, but to be more sensitive to different contexts and mixed voices. The selection will be based on the original texts and the contexts of production: simplified Chinese primarily for academic and media discourses in Mainland China since the 1950s, and traditional Chinese primarily for the interviewees’ stories and elsewhere. 17 It is possible to intellectualize all these as part of the condition of modernity, but this is not particularly important. I grew up hearing some heavily ideological practices of modernity in China, that the people needed to be modern, the land needed to be modernized, and the country needed to connect to the modern world and became a modern nation. There were, indeed, painful experiences of poverty, hardship, and violence my grandparents’ and parents’ generations lived, that modernity reflected an escape, a hope, and some betterment. There were also privileges and poignant consequences I have lived through the ‘progress’ of modernization: the information brought by a television machine, the opportunities to study, to study English, and to study abroad, the urbanization with displacement and environmental issues, the international trade with Western exploitation system that brought investment and employment opportunities, and many other gains and losses. However it might be, the learned and lived mixed idea of modernity reflects, to me, such intellectual and epistemological opening grounded on and initiated by primarily Western conditions and experiences. And behind it, some deeply imbricated struggles, however paradoxical, to overcome a progressive gap, that the Chinese also has a modernity (e.g. Fung, 2010; Huang, 2008), that there are multiple and even alternative Chinese modernities (e.g. Ip, et al., 2003; Ong, 1997). For communication this is perhaps important to open conversations, have dialogues, and learn from each other. But as an opening of different visions of life, of different intellectual endeavors, I poignantly struggle with the positioning of following, of subjecting, of lacking initiates, that is part of the entrenched global unevenness, that the ‘Chinese’ needs primarily Western frames to ground, express, and be recognized of its various worlds and efforts. Pride is part of my experiences, personal and political. What pride is, is hard to define and perhaps should not be defined. For it is not a question of definition, but a question of articulation, of performance, of ambivalence, with constant contestations. I invite you to join me in the next chapter, where I will share my searching for pride in the existing literature, and start to unpack its complexities. But here, for now, I speak to my own experience, not in an attempt to claim the 18 authority of authenticity – precisely the opposite and in an attempt to make my position explicit (Hall, 1992; Wright, 2003a), and speaking with Ang (2013)’s personal take on the problematic signs of “Chinese diaspora”, to move further towards “a global intercultural dialogue that can be freed from the absolutist sign of ‘Chineseness’” (p.17), among other things. Inserting the idea of pride into an intercultural, intellectual discourse is necessarily tied to my lived experiences, my witness of what happened, and my remembering of family history structured much by the making of policed, conflict-laden, and exploitation-oriented borderlines that are responsible for the First-world privileges over Third-world, the developed world over the developing world, the urban world over the rural world, and in a major way, my witnessing and living of variously condescending Western presences in both China and Canada. But in this work I will also, strategically, appropriate some Western intellectual discourses developed in European and North American contexts, and learn about the perspectives of different scholars. Because in there I found important insights that I could strategically use, hoping to translate those to my own articulation and positioning. Because knowledge is non-binary, is mixed, and the dichotomy of Western/non-Western is pretentious and precarious. It is complex. I need to ask questions. In 2015 I wrote a poem to a youth collective, sharing Mrs. Kong’s stories. In late 2015, Mrs. Kong’s husband passed away. We burned incense to comfort and respect the spirits. In early 2016, Mrs. Kong’s youngest daughter got married. Several of us youth joined the wedding dinner in a small restaurant and we had fun. There are many other ongoing stories. There are many other ongoing relationships. It is enabled by my particular body, grounded on a particular genealogy, oriented with a particular map, that I begin my ambivalent quest. I do not expect my quest to be objective, or to arrive at where a horizon is total. 19 Because we live oppression, contradiction, appropriation, and accommodation. Because we are not merely beings but also to become, to move, and to change. My pride is about resilience, about solidarity, and with self-critiques, about shifting privileges. And I do, necessarily, expect my quest to arrive somewhere that translates some of our different stories, into our deeply uneven groundings, and into our possibly shared grounds. Because every “where” is a conflicted genealogy. Every “where” is a human displaced. Every “where” is a road to reach some solidarity. I hope, always, that I have shown you where my place is to speak. Getting traditional: an introduction to the rest of this work My research question is threefold. What does (Chinese) pride mean in different contexts? Who needs it? What difference does pride make in learning about empowerment, privilege, and diversity? To explore these questions I have shared my pride and my context of learning. But I am hoping to move further, to learn beyond what has been told, and to learn from others’ different stories of life. The next chapter – Chapter Two – is a literature review, where I share my searching for pride in the existing literature. Chapter Three is my methodology of researching pride. Chapter Four is my research finding: pride in gendered diasporas. Chapter Five is another research finding: pride in multicultural states. Chapter Six is a conclusion, where I discuss some implications, and make a particular case about what this small research project has brought to cultural studies of education. 20 2 Searching for Pride: A Literature Review (with A Theoretical Guide) I invite you to join me in this chapter, for a provisional exploration of the complexity of pride. In three steps, I share my review and understanding of pride as a politically viable idea. First, I discuss the abnormality of pride, regarding questions of minority self-esteem and social psychology. Second, I move to the normativity of pride, regarding questions of Eurocentric governance and political science. Third, I turn to a deconstruction of pride, with a provisional cultural studies theorization that will guide me to study the complexity of pride in this research. 2.1 The abnormality of pride: questions of minority self-esteem and social psychology I started to search the North American contexts. I saw, in many cases, that pride became a question when many folks lived the negation of it: dignity was lost, spirit broken, and the tide of social problems absorbed into personal health problems due to perceived incompetence or poor self-esteem. I was disturbed to find recent psychological studies on cultural identity and self-esteem among First Nations children in Canada (e.g. Corenblum, 2014a, 2014b). I was disturbed because these reflected just how deeply the social tensions became ‘psychologically’ internalized. I was also disturbed because a psychological, individualized approach distracted too much attention from historical battlefields and collective movements. I cannot pretend to be the voice for the situations which I have not lived. But at least I could feel the intensities because I found a tentative sense of translation, between these struggles over power differences and what I have seen in my own life paths: human displacement was real, exploitation hurt lives, and the logics of development – statist, corporatist, capitalist, or a mix – diminished people on ‘less developed’ or ‘less modern’ soils. Back to piles of studies in North America, I saw how pride became a question when societal changes – characterized as diversities, in particular as changing majority-minority dynamics – became a question. I saw how often this pride, indeed a political battle in European settler societies, has been psychologized into a minority burden of self-esteem. In the early 1990s, studies were more than enough for scholars to review research on self-esteem among some 21 non-European ‘others’, that is, Hispanic Americans and Asian Americans, and to compare these findings to the existing literature on African Americans (Porter & Washington, 1993). The historical and social tensions were weighty to an extent that they almost became essentialized into psychological states to be stably measured. Ethnicized differences were still entangled with sizable power differentials: would I be surprised to find, there, a Multigroup Ethnic Identity Measure (MEIM) was developed to measure relations between self-esteem and ethnic identity in the United States, later applied to different countries up to this date (Phinney, 1992; Phinney and Ong, 2007; Pasupathi et al., 2012)? Collectivity became a belonging and protective mechanism especially for minority groups: would I be surprised to find, there, a Collective Self-esteem Scale was developed to measure relations between self-esteem and group identification (Luhtanen and Crocker, 1992), even applied very recently to study the predictors of Canadian pride, based on a telephone survey of people categorized as Aboriginal, English, French, European, and non-European (Cameron & Berry, 2008)? I cannot but wonder: was this social psychology mostly on non-European minority ‘self-esteem’ not, in fact and at least in part, a societal problem of Eurocentric governance and integration? In the early 1990s, Phinney considered the importance of Multigroup Ethnic Identity Measure (MEIM) in a changing context where “growing proportion of minority group members in the United States and other Western countries has resulted in an increasing concern with issues of pluralism, discrimination, and racism” (Phinney, 1990, p.499). In particular for younger generations, the issue of ethnic identity was likely “to become more salient for both members of ethnic minority groups and members of the White majority” (Phinney, 1992, p.157). Further, collective identification resurfaced as a pronounced question of social integration, when the established Rosenberg (1965) Self-Esteem Scale (measuring global, personal self-esteem), was juxtaposed with a more nuanced and group-oriented Collective Self-Esteem Scale (Luhtanen and Crocker, 1992). With ideas borrowed from “European social psychologists like Tajfel and Turner” who developed social identity theory, the Luhtanen & Crocker (1992) Collective Self-Esteem 22 Scale assessed the participants’ collective self-esteem with a prior instruction that “[w]e are all members of different social groups or social categories. Some of such social groups or categories pertain to gender, race, religion, nationality, ethnicity, and socioeconomic class” (pp.302-305). Looking at this 1990s resurgence of different collectivities posing questions on Eurocentric governance, and looking back, I was not too surprised to find how African American studies was pioneering as well as burdened with the psychologized question of pride and self-esteem, while also engendering possible ways of identification heuristic to other groups (e.g., Porter and Washington, 1979, 1989, 1993), and further the gendered power gradations of dark skins (e.g. Thompson & Keith, 2001). The Civil Rights Movement and its reverberations inspired the development of The Negro-to-Black Conversion Experience (Cross, 1971, 1978, 1991), a model widely used in Black studies in the United States to describe the process of becoming Black with five stages: Pre-encounter, Encounter, Immersion-Emersion, Internalization, and Internalization-Commitment. Like almost all models of developmental psychology, it faced a problem: the lineal process allowed very little room, if any, for either the multiplicity or co-existence of different stages. And with the dualistic Black and White relations, it probed minimally into the co-existence of Black pride and prejudice in relation to other ethnicized or racialized groups (c.f. Sniderman & Piazza, 2002). But as it emphasized pride in de-racialization, consciousness raising, and activism involvement, was I wrong to say that I learned something from this very rich, descriptive process of becoming? As I read that Black pride was considered a liberated feeling and a more critical attitude towards the meanings of both Black and White communities while still “using Blacks as a primary reference group, the person moves toward a pluralistic nonracist perspective” (Cross, 1978, p.18), was I mistaken to feel some partial translatability from Blackness to my Chineseness? When I reflected on some power dynamics of affirmation and negation, after reading the possibility of becoming “from concern about how your friends see you to confidence in one’s personal standards of Blackness; from uncontrolled rage toward White people to controlled anger toward oppressive and racist institutions; […]; 23 from anxious, insecure, rigid, inferiority feelings to Black pride, self-love and a deep sense of Black communalism” (Cross, 1971, p. 24), was I misappropriating this pride? Psychology might heal, but was after all too individualized. It might ‘heal’ the individual, but it minimally attended to an extended network of stakeholders and the social institutions of violence: not to mention there remained studies insensitive to social differences and political contexts, while constructing a global, evolutionary concept of pride. Although I have decided not to use a psychological framework, I should acknowledge that psychologists in North America have long included pride as an inherent part of self-esteem (e.g. Rosenberg et al., 1995; Luhtanen and Crocker, 1992), and recently explored two facets of pride as authentic and hubristic (e.g. Tracy and Robins, 2007a, 2007b). For example, there were ongoing applications of the Rosenberg self-esteem scale, for needs of adolescent health and identity development, which are not immune to questions. When I read that “the strongest predictors of poor self-esteem, depression and suicidality were family physical, sexual and emotional abuse, family disruption, and parental alcoholism” (Bagley et al., 1997, p.90), was I not compelled to point out how limited it was to confine problems in family space and seek solutions in the rooms of school counsellors? When I read in a study of Canadian pride that “a crucial question is whether patriotism—feelings of pride associated with national identity—is compatible with diversity, or whether the strength and meaning of national and ethnic identities are at odds with one another” (Cameron & Berry, 2008, p.17), was I too sensitive to feel that such pride was a coercion of ‘diversity’ into Eurocentric governance? With all these, have I not already realized the need to push beyond the psychologized terms of minority self-esteem and developmental pride, to probe into the social contexts and institutionalized boundaries, and to bring these into the political battlefields? 2.2 The normativity of pride: questions of Eurocentric governance and political science Into public spheres, into political fields, I was not surprised to find that pride was related to particular norms of governance in western nation-states. The question of ‘diversity’ around 24 non-Eurocentric differences kept pushing pride, in particular its sibling notion of prejudice, into a collective concern on nationhood: for example, in a survey study comparing Australia, Germany, Britain, and Sweden, Hjerm (1998) examined pride as a mechanism of national attachment and its relationship to xenophobia. On this and other studies, my initial rumination was that the political science approach of normativity shared a deep affinity with the psychology approach of abnormality, and sometimes they were methodologically compatible (e.g., surveys). One affinity concerned duality: a dualistic structure of pride and prejudice remained a predictor to behavioural norms, within a developmental framework. A normal state of pride as self-affirmation could develop into an abnormal state of prejudice (superiority, arrogance, hostility, dominating behaviours, etc.): this political modeling of pride and prejudice, either in relation to affirmation/domination (Metzner, 1998) or in relation to patriotism/xenophobia (de Figueiredo & Elkins, 2003), was comparable to a recent psychological modeling of authentic pride and hubristic pride (Tracy & Robins, 2007a, 2007b), except that the latter recognized a state of coexistence. Another affinity concerned elicitation: pride was considered an intrinsic quality to be elicited or activated to fit into particular normal procedures of living in a society. But other than the psychological focus on individual wellbeing, political science explored how pride worked as a mechanism to channel individuals into collective values and public participations: from values such as the ethics of national responsibility (Abdel-Nour, 2003), to procedures such as voting behavior (Panagopoulos, 2010). But probing deeper into pride, in relation to the changing management of society with particular norms and forms of government, was I not justified to call it quite Eurocentric as it remained within the philosophical traditions of European thinkers? Hume proposed the social convention of good manners, politeness, and the love of fame, as the public expressions of pride converted from personal virtue, honor, and good character: this social convention of pride was to “act as a buffer”, against the dominant “mean” tendencies of commercial society growing out of a largely aristocratic, non-commercial past (Manzer, 1996, p.353). Also, Tocqueville posited 25 pride in relation to his vision of local democracy as decentralized, particularistic community politics. For him, pride was a normative mechanism, not only to counter a procedural, indifferent individualism as “a prideless, apathetic, and asocial existence”, but also to translate the human pride of individual uniqueness and distinction into a local, intimate “activist democracy” which readily aroused “pride and love and so difference, inequality and injustice” (Lawler, 1995, pp.218-223). Further, Honneth (1995) articulated a normative framework of recognition related to the self-affirmation of one’s identity in three aspects: “self-confidence” related to needs and emotions, “self-respect” related to moral responsibility, and “self-esteem” related to traits and abilities (p.129). It was through social relations of cooperation and conflicts that recognition assumed its three basic forms – primary relationships (love, friendship), legal relations (rights), and community of value (solidarity) (Honneth, 1995). With a teleological approach to self-realization and social governance, a further tripolar model of justice proposed by Honneth (2004) “has emerged with the differentiation of three spheres of recognition as a normative reality” (p.361). Looking there, and then looking into the predominantly European settler society of Canadian state, was I not wondering about what differences the governance framework of recognition – in particular multiculturalism – had actually made? Writing in a context where the politics of multiculturalism raised significant tensions in the proper recognition of minority groups, Canadian philosopher Taylor (1994) explained how the idea of recognition has developed in and for the Western liberal politics, based on writings of European thinkers such as Rousseau, Kant, and Hegel. A rather philosophical argument, reasoning from a discourse of pride articulated by Rousseau based on “authenticity” (truthful and individualized identity) and “recognition” (honor, dignity, esteem), to a model of multiculturalism. More specifically, an argument of nation-state government, from an example of Quebeckers in Canada to make a case for liberal multiculturalism as a ranking mechanism of differences, particularly in matters of “cultural survival” (p.61), to a statement that the various multicultural demands for recognition 26 would be misfiring and misleading if they did not work within the liberal framework of cultural judgment, or what he called a “fusion of horizons” (p.67). But whose cultures and whose survivals were concerned, when Taylor’s hospitality to differences was constructed in terms of European epistemology, and contextualized in “societies pre-textured with colonial and imperialist relations and ideologies” (Bannerji, 2000, p.147)? On whose lands, and what kinds of horizons had he seen and imagined, when the narrative of Canadian nation-building remained in a hegemony of English-French duality, and that even a new discourse of interculturalism (Taylor, 2012) did not create much space beyond the historical narrative of Canada as two solitudes of English and French? At the very least, was it just Bannerji (2000) who wondered at how issues of capital, class, ideology and imperialism had been dismissed, that the argument slipped “from a particular social situation into a metaphysics of the human condition, thus cutting off forms of consciousness from their social ground and obscuring history”(p.128)? After all, was it just me who struggled to follow a statement such as “[t]he politics of equal dignity has emerged in Western civilization in two ways, which we could associate with the names of two standard-bearers, Rousseau and Kant” (Taylor, 1992, p.44)? Another Canadian philosopher Kymlicka (2002) took up multiculturalism in a normative framework of “multicultural citizenship”, allocating more spaces to “cultural pluralism” and “group-differentiated rights” (p.327) to address the “dialectic tensions between minority rights claim-making and majority nation-building” (pp.363-364). Existing norms of nation-state citizenship had to address changes signified by minority group claims based on ethnicity, ability, gender, sexual orientation, and many others: a new power distribution framework was needed. Especially in Canadian context and regarding ethnocultural groups, his version of liberal multiculturalism worked as an umbrella term that evaluated and folded differences into “minority rights” claims from “national minorities, immigrant groups, isolationist ethnoreligious groups, and metics” (pp.335-357). He particularly asked the question around immigrant integration in the context of majority nation-building campaigns, that of how to “ensure the state policies aimed at 27 pressuring immigrants to integrate are fair”(p.355). And he criticized the assimilationist approach as neither necessary nor justifiable, “since there is no evidence that those immigrants who remain proud of their heritage are less likely to be loyal and productive citizens of their new country” (p.354). In these majority-minority negotiations of citizenship, pride was relevant as a normative index of nationhood. In particular it worked as a coherent construct and identification of Canadianness – “a multicultural conception of Canadian nationhood”(Banting & Kymlicka, 2010, p.60). Under the rubric of nation-state Kymlicka (2002, 2003, 2007, 2010, 2012) engaged with government issues: social unity, political stability, integration, and minority rights. The effective sides of multiculturalism at work were presented. A Canadian pride in multiculturalism still had its ground: Kymlicka (2010) criticized the anti-multicultural public rhetoric of ‘residential segregation’ or ‘ethnic ghettoization’ which used simplistic comparisons between Canadian multicultural practices to those in European nation-sates such as France and the Netherlands. More specifically, Canadian multicultural practices encouraged various aspects of integration: for which Kymlicka (2010) used two exemplary studies – one social psychological study of immigrant youth acculturation and one sociological study of Asian immigrant integration (Cameron & Barry, 2008; Bloemraad, 2008). In more evaluative terms, his model of “multicultural integration” was based on national identity, and measured by trust, social cohesion, and levels of political participation, prejudice and far-right xenophobia (Kymlicka, 2007). More ideologically, his normative framework of liberal multiculturalism would work through a process from intercultural citizenship that focused on individuals’ cultural learning and competence with their own available resources (Kymlicka, 2003), to a grand project that envisioned a global diffusion of liberal democratic citizenship and universal human rights (Kymlicka, 2007, 2012). But I had more questions than what such Canadian multicultural pride has answered. While minority rights were recognized in relation to nation building and citizenship, was such hidden anchorage on Eurocentric colonial histories not maintaining a narrative frame “in assimilating to 28 the projects of the modern state all other possibilities of human solidarity” (Chakrabarty, 1992, p.23)? While immigrant reception and integration were welcomed (Kymlicka, 2012), was such welcoming not hiding the struggles around who were there to be the ‘host’, not presumed on the valid narratives of ‘good’ immigrants who were loyal and contributing to particular facets of Canadian nationhood, and not entangled with the blaming of ‘bad’ immigrants who disrupted particular localized norms? While Kymlicka (2007) contextualized liberal multiculturalism in the post World War II developments of universal human rights, was it not part of the story that the discourse of universal human rights – in which the Canadian nation-state played a role – was power-ridden with struggles and hegemonic relations among states, institutions, and social movements (e.g. Schabas, 1998; Stammers, 1999; Waltz, 2002)? While the individual agency of intercultural learning remained important (Kymlicka, 2003), was it not even more important to emphasize the wider politics of social institutions, networks of stakeholders occupying hierarchical positions, and different strategic alliances? After all, how much could you make sense of the norms of nation-state citizenship governing “minorities”, if you were not already part of the “majorities”? 2.3 Towards a deconstruction of pride: turning to cultural studies Beyond a psychologized state of abnormality, beyond a governing state of normativity, I found how the discourse of pride was initially deconstructed in relation to nation-building. Ahmed (2004) only touched briefly on pride as a mirroring aspect of the powerful discourse of shame in mobilizing a future ideal of Australian nation. But her inquiry into the “cultural politics of emotion” became quite influential, with her model of “affective economies”: it showed that even human emotions – often assumed natural or innate or unquestionably embodied – were imperatively cultural and political, not only discursive but oftentimes ideological. In Anglophone, European context, the production of British pride sanitised multicultural Britishness, in what Fortier (2005) called “visual-oral economy of multiculturalist citizenship” based on an analysis of English national newspapers: such “pride politics” brought different national ethnicized and 29 racialized “others” (i.e. those who were not quite ‘White-British’) to be seen and to speak out as proud subjects of multicultural Britain, rather than revealing histories of oppressions and resistance (p.559). In Sinophone, East Asian context, the discourse “proud to be Chinese” – and later “proud to be Taiwanese” – worked towards modernization and nation building projects of Republic of China (ROC) defined by different groups of political elites: it worked particularly through the media communication around 1970s Little League Baseball that performed connections between the historical winning of ROC team, the visualization of baseball players and ROC elite governmental officials, and the memories and symbols among diasporic Chinese communities (Yu & Bairner, 2008, pp.216 – 235). With these I saw how pride was a cultural artifact with differently manufactured meanings and materialized practices. With these I saw what differences a cultural studies approach made: not only a political break with the governance perspective, but also a break with the psychological assumptions of pride as an essentialized emotion/thing always already embodied in the person. There were further distances to be maintained from the psychological tradition of emotion, which was mainly a controlled, laboratory knowledge system from and for experimental models of cognitive appraisal and behavioral prediction. Was my methodological suspicion not justified, that a large corpus of knowledge in cognitive affect, based on neuroscience tests that required highly manipulative and detailed anatomy of the body and especially brain (Forgas, 2001, p.12-p.21), had very dubious applicability in historical and cultural analysis? In both social psychology and political philosophy, the conception of pride largely assumed a developmental logic: oftentimes a pathological one that views the lack of (manifestation of) proper pride as an underachieved state of individual/social progress. The meta-narrative of such progress remained unquestioned or unchallenged: was I not justified to call these assumptions “incommensurable” (Scott, 2012), with the cultural studies take on ambivalent, contingent, and multivalent human experience? What could be done, to unsettle not only the psychologized essentialized normality/abnormality of pride, but also the pride co-opted 30 to normative government frameworks that often grounded the building of nation-states? With these I started to reflect on Chinese pride, entangled with different languages, historical contexts, nation building interests, and transnational mobilizations. I reviewed several key discursive constructions of Chinese communities since the late 19th century Qing dynasty, when the politically contested Chineseness was foregrounded in the intersecting discourses of pride in Chinese race and Chinese nation (zhong-hua and zhong-guo), and more recently transnational capitalism that valorized various spaces and networks of exploitation, production, and consumption around Chineseness. This revisit was important not only because such discourses remain today among people with Chinese heritage and culture through family, education, media, and markets, but also because it was a time when unprecedented powerful connections were worked out between ideas of pride and the Chinese presence – to make senses of, delineate, and justify the very existence and future of Chineseness, in relation to differentiable ‘non-Chinese’ presences. What were the stories behind 驕傲(jiao-ao), 自豪(zi-hao), and Chinese pride? On 1 January 1874, “驕傲 (jiao-ao)” appeared in a front-page article of 申報 Shen Bao (January 1, 1874), a then widely circulated Chinese newspaper founded by the British merchant Ernest Major in Shanghai . In this article titled “Translation of Britain’s London Newspaper The Times editorial on China issue”, jiao-ao was used to project an arrogant, self-enclosed China – proud of its long history and cultural achievements but facing a diminished presence after encounters with Western power. This was not the first recorded use of jiao-ao in Chinese, but this new take on jiao-ao as self-indulging arrogance has since then been tied to China-West conflicts, where jiao-ao has been presented as the undue pride of the weak and the loser (June 15, 1887; April 10, 1892). Chinese jiao-ao meant a weak and lost Chinese identity – albeit with a strong past – in the dominating presence of West that was no longer a distant stranger. This undue positioning urged resistance, and at that time, a new historical consciousness of China: the disillusioned present and the need to “wake up” – quite vividly captured by “sleeping 31 China now needs to wake up”, title of a Shen Bao (June 15, 1887) front-page article in which jiao-ao was again used to refer to the weak and almost invisible Chinese under imperial world order. This improper pride as 傲慢 (ao-man), well into the 1930s, was constantly used to caution against the over-optimistic Chinese mood among the presence of foreign powers (June 22, 1911; May 1, 1937). But since the founding of the Republic of China in 1911, jiao-ao also acquired a positive sense of proper pride as 自豪 (zi-hao), to shore up an elevated Chinese position, articulated in a Chinese nation, and justify a Chinese presence among imperial non-Chinese powers. This zi-hao– quite often designated to foreign powers that were strong enough to claim rights and a sense of confidence – became what the Chinese wanted to claim. Closely related was self-esteem 自尊 (zi-zun) that was later used for basic human dignity and social recognition, and the backbone of pride 傲骨 (ao-gu) calling for proper self-respect and respect from others (February 11, 1943; March 7, 1946; March 21, 1948). The list of related words could continue, but suffice it to say that a collective Chinese pride became hinged upon, and a reaction to, the modern trauma of colonial and imperial violence inflicted on the “Chinese” territory of late Qing and its people. Such pride partly originated from internal ethnic and political struggles to represent an original and authentic (Han) Chineseness, but pronouncedly from the loss of indigenous land, that of the great China to the imperial non-Chinese powers including the West 西洋 (xi-yang) and Japan 東洋 (dong-yang). Embedded in a past of resisting imperial powers and foreign violence, Chinese pride represented a hope for the return of indigenous Chinese “self” (e.g., the proper ancestral Chinese homeland regained), of recovering the Chinese face (mian-zi), The Chinese conception of “face”, meticulously discussed by the American anthropologist Hu (1944), worked across discursive spaces and everyday situations to give individuals a recognized sense of self in any given community. The loss of face was not a simple loss of respect or self-esteem, but emphatically the loss of a proper role, the very colonial erasure of self-consciousness and thus the denial of presence. Face politics was still quite commonly held by today’s political elites and 32 decision-makers in the People’s Republic of China (PRC), for whom the century of humiliation was still readily palpable, and a discourse of pride was needed for appealing to overseas Chinese communities; the rhetoric of a great Chinese renaissance for instance has been mobilized in order to recreate a strong Chinese nation and Chinese people united by ancestral roots (Bloomberg Business Week, January 2010; Christensen, 1999; The United Front Work Department of CPC Central Committees, March 2014). What were the stories behind 光榮 (guang-rong) and Chinese Glory? In a 1928 Shen Bao film review, a film called 鸚哥[ying-ge] was highlighted for its depiction of a strong Chinese detective catching criminals – as a rare case showing “華人之光榮” (Chinese glory) compared to the largely derogatory Chinese images/roles in European and American films (January 30, 1928). This pride as glory (guang-rong) was also grounded in a dominating/dominated relation through the integrated performance of skills, strengths, and intelligence. But read further, what this Chinese guang-rong emphatically performed was the Western eyes that saw the ‘Chinese’ wonder. The Chinese character did not speak Chinese and was actually played by a Japanese actor, but this Chinese guang-rong remained because its meaning lay in the act of appealing and revealing to Westerners – it was this act of impressing the West that mattered most. In quite a few other Shen Bao articles during 1920s and 1930s, guang-rong was used to narrate various real or imagined impressions – a satisfied Chinese presence as and only as the West beheld. The objects of impressions included the Chinese botanist in the United States (November 10, 1929), the Chinese martial art master winning the boxing competition in the United States (November 8, 1930), and Chinese business teams winning among foreign teams (July 25, 1934). Suffice to say that what this guang-rong presumed and performed was Chinese visibility in the eyes of the West. This Chinese guang-rong was variously criticized by a leading Chinese cultural critic Lu Xun. In “未來的光榮 (future guang-rong)”, Lu (2006) critiqued the guang-rong that relied solely on how Chinese was seen and depicted from the cultural horizon of the West, while 33 holding an illusion that Chineseness thus performed would gain more glorious recognitions in the future (pp. 785-786). Lu (2006)’s deep worry –in another article about the depiction of Chinese characters in movies by American directors – was not the positive/glorious or negative/derogatory depictions of Chinese per se. Rather, it was the Chinese consciousness of self-image always subjected to the Western whim of judgment – a pathological mentality that any proof of a valuable Chinese identity always needed to beg recognition from the West (pp. 1072-1075). More recently, in an essay To be or not to be Chinese, anthropologist Ang (1993) captured this performance of western eyes during a short visit to south China. It became “almost painful,” said Ang (1993), to see how the presentation of Chineseness “could only be accomplished by surrendering to the rhetorical perspective of the Western other” (p. 2). To perform Chinese presence, be it hardships or glorious achievements, was almost to take up “a defensive position” (original emphasis) – “a position in need of constant self-explanation, in relation to a West that can luxuriate in its own taken-for-granted superiority” (p. 2). But Chinese guang-rong also performed the Chinese spirit (jing-shen), which suggested something more than grand cultural heritage. Often, it was narrated as a spirit of struggling and resisting, coupled with endurance and sacrifice. Through the 1930s and 1940s, this appeared most strongly and readily at the collective level of Chinese nation and people. In Shen Bao articles, guang-rong performed the events of supporting Chinese-made goods at a difficult time for local manufacturing industry (July 17, 1939), of commemorating the Chinese army fighting against the Japanese imperial army (November 8, 1939; September 3, 1947), and of safeguarding and building the nascent Chinese nation – with a speech delivered by the then Chinese president Chiang Kai-shek (April 25, 1938; May 6, 1946). Variously, it was a pride of persisting efforts – as persistence it accumulated and thus created histories, and as effort it achieved and thus deserved acknowledgments. This guang-rong delineated a global, coherent line of resistance – by the indigenous Chinese, against the foreign West. This historical line of Chinese/West sustained the articulation of Chinese diaspora that situates Chinese presence in various shapes of spatiality 34 and sociality, while working with certain concentric linguistic and cultural forces to unify Chinese communities as a luminous and unique cultural presence in the world (Tu, 1991). This, in turn, related to the more contemporary discourse of Greater China and Chinese fraternity. What were the stories behind 大中華 (da zhong-hua) and Chinese fraternity? In problematizing transnational Chinese capitalism, anthropologist Aiwah Ong (1997) highlights the discourse of Greater China – in Chinese as 大中華 (da zhong-hua). Characterized by an overseas Chinese capitalist zone, narratives of da zhong-hua celebrate “subjects in diaspora and the ways their hybridity and flexibility suggest transnational solidarities” connecting different Chinese overseas, solidarities that propel an imaginary of “flexible citizenship” in tension with the modernist imaginary of the nation-state emphasizing essentialism, territoriality, and fixity (Ong, 1997, p. 173). This tension between transnational Chinese capitalism and nationalism was not entirely new, as Greater China was once considered a major emerging Asian phenomenon of post-Cold War international relations, yet a deeply problematic perspective in explaining complex economic and political tensions (Shambaugh, 1993). In particular, Ong’s take was partly anticipated by historian Gungwu Wang’s (1993) discussion of the implications of Greater China for Chinese overseas. While the economic Greater China emphasized effective movement of capital and integration, when used culturally Greater China suggested a Chinese “grandiosity which is at best misleading and at worst boastful” (p. 926). There was the discourse of cultural China and ethnic Chinese diaspora as minority population, that “the ubiquitous presence of the Chinese state – its awe-inspiring physical size, its long history, and the numerical weight of its population – continues to loom large in the psychocultural constructs of diaspora Chinese” (Tu, 1991, p.16). Whether speaking with the political overtones of a strong and unified China or speaking about pride in the ethnic Chinese exceptionalism of capital productivity, the discourse of Greater China fed into the construction of Chinese business empires. On the one hand, Greater China evoked the unification of Chinese blood – once deeply disrupted by the colonial West – for a 35 distinctive Chinese capitalism, with a “flexible citizenship exercised by Hong Kong and other Asian business elites relocated from Asia to the west coast of North America” (Ong & Nonini, 1997, p. 329). Envisioning such a far-flung Chinese world, the then Singaporean premier Lee Kuan Yew claimed a “Zhongguorengongtongti (common body of Chinese)”, linked together by concrete trade interests that allowed profits and trust to grow into capitalist success, which “further fuels the region’s pride and confidence in itself” (as quoted in Ong, 1997, p. 188). On the other hand, this ‘Chinese’ capitalist success had been narrated with the kind of “moral economy based on Confucian ideals”, in contrast to the Western liberalism said to prevail in less successful Asian countries (Ong, 1997, p. 182). The Confucian values – such as “belief in hard work, thrift, filial piety, and national pride” – were interpreted as key factors in economic advancement for the rise of industrialized Asia (Ong, 1997, p. 186; also see Tu, 1989). Such Confucian ethics was differently constructed and instrumentalised to elicit different kinds of Chinese fraternity for building a transnational capitalist empire, in East-West trade competition. This discourse heavily loaded with Chinese identity was highly misleading and has often led to mutual reinforcement between a new transnational Chinese chauvinism of empire building and a new local racist discourse of anti-Chinese, anti-global sentiments (Ong & Nonini, 1997). The powerful narrative of linguistic and cultural bonds among Chinese communities overseas – sometimes heavily centred on ancestral bonds – strategically performs the presence of Chinese blood. This presence has widened the circles of capital flows and the markets for investments and consumption. Concomitantly, it has produced much racialized tensions around ‘Chinese communities’ with repercussions on both sides of the Asian Pacific. The discourse of Chinese fraternity, performed through Greater China, became heavily imbricated with the enterprises of Chinese ‘empire’ building. Nevertheless, this production of transnational Chineseness resembled in part the making of hyphenated identification and ethnic network in the process of transnational, intergenerational migration (e.g. Portes & Rumbaut, 2001; Portes, et al., 2009). For immigrants and their children, strong ethnic bonds and mobilizations sometimes worked as economic 36 rationality to access particular niches and/or wider spaces in and beyond the domestic labor markets, while sometimes as a form of protection against possible discrimination and racism. 2.3.1 How do I make a case for doing cultural studies of pride? a theoretical orientation The discourse of pride was flexible: its subjects and power mechanisms changed as historical contexts changed. The making of such discourse was political: it did not work as a law of nature, but within human relationships to enable changes and make differences. But what were the changes, for whom and in what contexts? Who made the changes? What was the nature of relationships involved in the complexity of changes? I provisionally design a theoretical compass to search for pride. This compass is composed of the framework of historical consciousness, with two critical and substantial dimensions added: first, the cultural politics of emotions is added for a deeper sensitivity to personal, political, and subtle aspects of social changes; second, the cultural politics of space is added for a geographical-sensitivity to how historical consciousness is manifested in migration flux, transnational network, international relations, urban space, and local spaces of activism. I explain these components in detail, in the following paragraphs. Historical consciousness provides a starting point to understand changes (and what counts as change) through past-present-future relationships. Historical consciousness attended to the processes of learning about changes, not only as pedagogical acts in projects of public schooling and collective remembering within particular nation-state contexts (Seixas, 2006, 2009, 2012), but also as political, communicative acts in (critical) relation to the larger problematics of ‘nation’ and ‘culture’ which remained key anchorages of global bordering and collective differentiation (Rüsen, 2002, 2007; Seixas, 2006, 2009). Rüsen’s (2004) categorization offered a starting point to understand historical consciousness. There were four types of historical consciousness, mediated by storytelling, moral values and changing inter-group identifications and relations: a traditional type strictly bounded to particular narratives and particular actions of the past as good deeds, an exemplary type extended to 37 generalization consistent to such good deeds, a critical type that considered time has changed and offered critiques of the moral basis and storylines, and a genetic type that gave the stories new lifelines by creating alternative past-present-future relationships and making new assemblages of inter-group relations. To unpack more complexities and be more conscious of historical contexts, Seixas (2006) suggested five principles in further theorizing historical consciousness: first, to recognize the complex relationship between “academic history” (i.e. professional practice in creating historical knowledge) and “popular history” (i.e. popular practice where the past is mobilized for identity projects, public education, entertainment, among others); second, to integrate theory, empirical research, and practice; third, to compare and learn from radically different approaches “without using a Western lens”; fourth, to have value commitments in scholarly research, because “different forms of historical consciousness are supported by and, in turn, promote different social and political arrangement”; and fifth, to historicize the study of historical consciousness, by locating research “questions, methods, findings, and policy implications” in a particular “historical, political, and cultural conjuncture” (pp.10-11). With these points on historical contingencies, politics, and diversities, I seek to explore different kinds of historical consciousness, almost always value-laden, action-oriented, and with changing collective identifications. Did historical consciousness not need this and many other alternatives, in order to ask “intellectually provocative and emotionally evocative” questions about the problematics of “progress (or decline) embedded in grand narrative of human development” (Seixas, 2012, p.859)? Was I not seeing such need, when I saw in intercultural comparisons that western historical thinking was still constructed as a coherent project to draw the lines against the rest or incorporate others into one grand global mapping (e.g. Burke, 2002)? Was I not feeling ambivalent, when I saw an analysis of canonical texts of different dynasties – variously appropriated as elitist, governing tools – was representatively entitled as “Chinese historical thinking” (Yu, 2002)? To speak with Seixas (2006), I consider a historicized and comparative perspective of “historical consciousness” useful in asking for who, on what fronts, 38 with whose “value commitment”, and in what “social and political arrangements” that personal and collective agencies became mobilized and invested in “the relations of historical understandings to those of present and the future” (pp.10-12). The cultural politics of emotion: If the abovementioned concepts of historical consciousness would potentially locate pride in different narratives/knowledge of changes and different logics of collective relations, then the point of bringing in the cultural politics of emotions is to provide a more intimate touch on collective action, to locate discourses that mobilize strong yet subtle rationalities, and to enrich the understanding of historical agency: with the concepts of “structures of feeling” (Williams, 1961, 1979) and “affective economies” (Ahmed, 2004, 2006) useful to locate pride in the realms of sensitive, subtle, and fluid dimensions of experiences. First, Williams’ idea of structures of feeling helps connect the subtly and deeply personal expressions to the wide and firm embeddedness of social and institutional arrangements. What the feeling does is to unfold an edge of emergent consciousness, an alternative reception, and a political possibility for everyday social action. Changes went deep and were lived, with the “structures of feeling” describing the cultural process of mediating and retrieving “the whole process of actually living [an epoch’s] consequences”, in relation to the “official consciousness of an epoch codified in its doctrines and legislation” (Williams, 1979, p.159). The structures of feeling served to inspire different “cultural struggles” through everyday projects of changing attitudes and practices, through unearthing various kinds of “practical consciousness” derived from “actively lived and felt relationships” not readily observable or categorized (ibid., p.132). Second, Ahmed’s idea of affective economies emphasizes on movements, and it illustrates the re/organizing of different categories of identities into particular attachments. She particularly addressed the cultural politics of emotions, especially on how different formations of political rhetoric work to move people: who produced the texts, in what contexts, and who were the interlocutors. But affective economies could also be understood as creative organizing and creative action, through circulation between different currents of social categories into particular 39 pronounced/valued organization, as new histories and spaces. I took clues from Ahmed’s (2004) demonstration of complex circulations and formations: there were the “contingency” of pain, the “organization” of hate, the nation-building projects of shame and love, the “performativity” of disgust, the normativity around queer feelings, and the “attachments” in feminist movements. Third, my take on the cultural politics of emotions also means a distancing from a literature of affect theorization, in particular of bodily autoaffection (e.g., Clough & Halley, 2007). This was a literature largely represented by how some affect theorists – most notably Brian Massumi, Silvan Tomkins, and their followers (in spite of their seemingly incompatibility) – have argued with a deep affinity that affect existed somewhere that determined responses and behaviours first and independently: purely as a matter of intensity beyond consciousness, and emotion was just one of the temporary conscious closures of such intensities (though differently in the Tomkins tradition there was a rather direct, mechanical and evolutionary conception of basic emotions located subcortically in the brain as affect programmes). Some would make this assumption of affect outside of intentionality, with concepts such as bodily “autoaffection” (Clough, 2007, p.2), to enable deeper critiques into biopolitics and technologies, while speculating on the emancipatory potentials of something in excess of consciousness and meanings, or some spaces outside of social discourses too often subjected to ideological controls (e.g. Clough & Halley, 2007). Some would also appropriate affect to envision new ways of spatial engineering and urban governance (e.g. Thrift, 2008). Here, I temporarily aligned with Ley’s (2011) critiques of this “anti-intentionalism” (p.443) literature in theorizing and using affect – her critique of the false mind/matter dichotomy, and a detailed critical examination of the major experiments based on which many affect theorists made their claims. Instead, affect was neither ontologically distinct from emotions nor existing outside of cognitions/brains as in humanly conceivable sense. Was affect, as some psychologists and neuroscientists propose, something outside of signification and meaning, as a physiological-automatic, pre-personal, and non-cognitive state? Even if a state of ‘body’ (such as heart rate, respiration, skin resistance) proceeded before and in 40 separation from the brainwork, what did we mean by ‘human’ action with such anatomy of body with pure augmentation and diminution? From here I decided to draw a fine line with biology. My turn here was not towards affect theorization of the automated body and/or neuroanatomy, but towards a deeper and wider politics of feelings and emotions in historical time and space. The cultural politics of space: The point of bringing space in is to enrich the historical in historical consciousness – to see beyond the nation as the primary parameter of history, to see locations in multiple and relational geographies, and to emphasize a more dynamic storytelling with migration circuits and networks, life stage/generational cycles, urban space, transnational communication, and politically inflected and uneven narrations of diaspora. First, the entanglements with space along my own lived journey have brought me to a necessary engagement with diaspora (Gilroy, 1993; Clifford, 1994; Ong, 1997), as an existential question of migratory historicity: an anthropological complex tied to the cultures of indigeneity and homeland, to the locations of displacement and emplacement, to the ambivalence of being at home and not at home, and to the ties of relationship across places. But there are many locations, many homes, and many ties. Foremost, I hope to advance a cultural studies edge that “the heart has its reasons” (Hall, 1990). Diasporic logics ask the burning questions of displacement, but also subtler questions of migrant settlement; diaspora shapes ancestral remembering and nostalgia, but also engenders ever-renewing cultural hybridity. Diaspora offers a wide perspective and political possibilities of collective solidarity. But one also needs to be vigilant to the idea of diaspora. Ang (2003) pointed out that while the idea of (ethnic) diaspora can be “a powerful, almost Utopian, emotional pull”, one must also recognize its double-edgedness, and in particular its tendency to draw essentialized and ready boundaries (p.2). While diaspora has utility in mining collective solidarities, it is also necessary to ask – to appropriate Wright’s (2003a, p.1) heuristic question – “whose diaspora is this anyway”? This diasporic move beyond the nation-state boundaries leads me to the second point: how do I engage deeper with the already very complex currents of transnationalism? To me, 41 transnationalism moved within the historical combustions of diasporas, and in particular with more specific entanglements with contemporary, global social and political arrangements. I consider that the “trans” in transnationalism made important sense precisely because of, at one point, a major obsession with modern nation-state and nationalism – one might argue it still is the case as in various positions tied to “methodological nationalism” (Beck, 2003). It is here I seek to bring in a critical perspective in geography, where transnationalism was initially directed to a discourse primarily promoted by corporations and powerful groups who were already occupied relatively privileged positions in the nation-state establishment, who wanted to readjust for more capital and benefits, and who had the actual and frequent, if not everyday, mobility to transcend the nation-state border confinement, either by themselves or through the deployment of various agents. This was evident in the initial formation of global “network society” characterized by flows of information productions and exchanges, and of “global cities” characterized by upgraded and reassembled financial and management apparatus, a transnational space where many corporate elites and imperial expatriates situated (Castells, 1996; Sassen, 1991). Transnationalism was a process of channeling resources flows with spatial unevenness; this process was also inseparable from intergenerational, class reproduction, such as young people from quite privileged families who themselves became increasingly invested into the idea of establishment of a “world class” status (e.g., Findlay et al., 2012). On the other hand, it was part of the aspirations of young people from less privileged contexts who struggled to imagine the possibility of a life otherwise – otherwise in the major senses of higher-return labor in transnational factories, of overseas education for better human capital, and of life in industralised states (e.g. Ong, 1996; Waters, 2008; Ley, 2010). But transnationalism did not necessarily go into conflict with the establishment and reproduction of nation-state, as it almost always – through the channeling of resources and residing of powerful groups somewhere – benefited some nation-states and reified some borders. Third, zooming into the local context I emphasize the dynamics of urban space and the 42 rights to the city. It was meaningful for me to see Lefebvre (1991)’s focus on the production of urban spatiality, and his articulation of lived space – or “representational space” – as an alternative spatiality in becoming theatrical, multiple, mixed, aspiring, and not taking space as given: not only to actively act with the first space of physicality (spatial practices), but also to challenge the second space of conceptualization (representations of space) often represented/dominated by political elites and authoritative experts such as “scientist, planners, urbanists, technocratic subdividers and social engineers” (p.38). I use Lefebvre’s (1991) lived space as a critical reaction to the duality of naturalizing human spatial practice and the authoritative representations of space: it means the need to create lived space as “directly lived through its associ-ated[sic] images and symbols, and hence the space of ‘inhabitants’ and ‘users’, but also of some artists and perhaps of those, such as a few writers and philosophers, who describe and aspire to do no more than describe” (p.39). Therefore, my point of using Lefebvre’s (1991)“representational space” – or “lived space” as a “space which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate” (p.39) – is to create an opening to empower different grassroots voices beyond essentialization and fixity of central governing. Was it not appropriate to say that this was in conjuncture with a critical tradition of geography that politicized spatiality (e.g. Harvey, 1973, 1978; Soja, 1996, 2010)? Especially in Soja (1996)’s work Third Space, the appropriation of Lefebvre’s third space into postmetropolis production makes much sense: it opened up inspiring geographical connections between Lefebvre’s production of space and cultural studies approach to differences and alternatives. The third space was neither simply physically-naturally fixed nor purely authority-prescribing/planning: it was a mix of different stakeholders living, claiming, and using that space. It became a difference-generator, a space in constant production, in contestation, and in the process of unfolding layers of differences. Above, I have provisionally outlined a historical consciousness-oriented theoretical guide, critically assisted with the cultural politics of emotion and space. With this theoretical compass, I 43 will use a multi-biographical method to explore (Chinese) pride: in the media representation of life stories carrying transnational and national messages produced by both China and Canada, and in the life history interviews with different generations of community activists, variously entangled with Chinese migrations and settlements on particular East Pacific waterfronts. 44 3 Researching Pride: A Multi-Biographical Method Given the temporal-spatial fluidity of pride, I find a hybrid methodology most apt for the topic: I position myself as a storyteller and translator, and use a narrative approach combining, juxtaposing, and translating life history interviews and textual analysis, which I will call a multi-biographical method and elaborate later. Politically, I use Chineseness as a focal point to examine an at least threefold majority-minority dynamics. First, the construction of Chinese, as one of the world’s majority people with a strong diasporic history, has complex state interests and capital interests in activating various imageries, desires, memories, and actual processes of marketing that affect people and mobilize capital, especially in times of fast and flexible communication technologies. It is to examine this that I particularly select a Mainland China-based media production中華之光 (official translation as The Brilliance of China), an Internet and televised program primarily targeting overseas Chinese communities and aiming to promote concentric feelings of solidarity, translations of bonds, and diasporic achievements10. Second, what might sometimes relate ambivalently to this contemporary construction of global majority of Chinese diasporic power is the variety of minority tensions of affirmation and changing privileges: there is the ‘Chinese’ as one of ethnic minority groups here in Canada – imbricated with, coalesced around, and in tension with different currents of minority representation politics (e.g., Asian model minority, diasporic relationships with Indigenous people, and critical practices within Asianness). In this regard, I select for analysis a Canada-nationwide CCNC production Asian Canadian Cultural Online Project, which aims to promote pride among Canadians of Asian heritage, with a major representation of Chinese heritage. Third, there is the context of Richmond, an East Pacific waterfront in Greater Vancouver, British Columbia, where the Chinese have been emergently tagged as a ‘majority-minority’ due to the presence of a large ethnic Chinese population. In this regard, I 10 The Brilliance of China program was co-sponsored by China Central Television, The State Council Information Office of the People’s Republic of China, Overseas Chinese Affairs Office of The State Council, The Chinese People's Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries, Confucius Institute Headquarters (Hanban), and China Federation of Literary and Art Circles. 45 conduct life history interviews with community activists of different Chinese heritages who have lived and/or worked in Richmond, and highlight some spatial tensions around such location, in the wider textures of Chineseness in Vancouver area, in British Columbia, and in a transnational context. These activists’ stories are used as dense, contextual articulations of living demographic changes. In the present moment of methodological contestations, and in choosing/making this hybrid method, I am stepping on one inherently political side – to speak with Wright (2006), a resistance to “government-sanctioned, exclusivist assertion of positivism and foundationalism as the ‘gold standard’ of educational research”, and an effort towards “continued innovation and diversification” (p.800). I deploy this multi-biographical method in three senses. First, such multi-biographies involve interlocutors located in multiple soundscapes (with spoken voices in Canadian-English, Cantonese, and Mandarin, and written voices in English, traditional Chinese, and simplified Chinese), as well as the multiple (migratory) terrains of social differences in generational, class, gendered, sexualized, racialized, ethnicized, educational, and other ways. To enter and to explore this complex, moving, and power-laden vista, I consider a critical theory guide with a narrative inquiry more apt. Second, the “multi” means a mixed collection of multiple media sources including lived audio interviews, printed and online newspapers, as well as audio-visual projections on television and Internet programs. Third, I analyze such collection of multi-biographical narratives, for a shared re-visioning of the personal and the political, in offering – to carefully appropriate hooks (1989) – “strategies of politicization that enlarge our conception of who we are, that intensify our sense of intersubjectivity, our relation to a collective reality” (p. 107). In the following pages, I will present the relevance of critical theory and narrative inquiry (3.1.), followed by the procedure of data collection (3.2.), and then the process of data analysis (3.3.). 46 3.1 Critical theory and narrative inquiry Knowing that qualitative research in education is now in a moment of methodological contestation with a rich profusion, and with four established paradigms, namely positivism, postpositivism, critical theory, and constructivism (Wright, 2006), I align myself – for the things I have spoken about – with the paradigm of critical theory. Critical theory challenges status quo and takes the production of value seriously. This means critical research should aim to articulate power relations of oppressions, judgement, and injustice, and to “stimulate oppressed people to scrutinize all aspects of their lives to reorder their collective existence on the basis of the understanding it provides”, ultimately changing social policy and practice for equality and social justice (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011, p.106). Critical research sees a human world infused with struggles for power, which leads to conflicts, privilege, and oppressions that meet at focal points such as gender, socioeconomic class, race, ethnicity, age, among others. Epistemologically, knowledge is not neutral and is always with presuppositions. Knowledge is produced by agents situated in different historical, cultural, and social contexts. This means, on the one hand, critical theory researcher must incorporate reflexive inquiry into methodology. Such reflexivity means researcher as a self-conscious, value-inflected subject in the production of knowledge, and further in praxis (Wright, 2003a). On the other hand, knowledge is gained through a dialogical and dialectical research that values the involvements and perspectives of participants, and the forms of presenting knowledge need to create interactive dynamics between researchers, participants, and readers (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). But the production of critical theories itself is not free from critiques. Taking the field of cultural studies as an example, and speaking with Wright (2003a), the conception of/move towards “cultural studies as social justices praxis” is “perennially under threat because academic work in general and, ironically, critical discourses in particular tend to sway us toward theory and theorizing as privileged and prestigious ends in and of themselves (p.807) – thus engendering cultural studies as praxis needs 47 much more engagement with “policy, performative acts and empirical research” (ibid., pp.816-817). A critical theory paradigmatic stance has important implications for my position in the world of politics and my vision for political changes. My points could be illustrated by the idea of radical democracy (different from aggregated democracy and the deliberative democracy) as agonistic pluralism (Mouffe, 2000). Foremost, this means a take on “politics” as “the ensemble of practices, discourses, and institutions which seek to establish a certain order and organize human coexistence” in conflictual conditions (ibid., p.15). Critical researchers need to examine the epistemological significance of power and hegemony in claiming objectivity and legitimacy. On the one hand, social objectivity is constituted through acts of power and thus ultimately political. Any understanding of social objectivity needs to show its traces of exclusion, which governs its constitution (Laclau & Mouffe, 1985). The “point of convergence – or rather mutual collapse – between objectivity and power is what we meant by ‘hegemony’” (Mouffe, 2000, pp.13-14). Knowledge and politics could be emancipatory only if we accept that “every consensus exists as a temporary result of a provisional hegemony, as a stabilization of power, and that is always entails some form of exclusion” (ibid., p.17). On the other hand, political practice of emancipation cannot be envisaged in simply representing the interests of pre-constituted identities, but rather, in creating new, legitimate openings in an almost always precarious terrain. For example, in this research my positionality as a researcher, my capacity to speak, and my vista of power relations are contingent on the different locations in and out of nation-state borders of Canada and China. 3.1.1 Life history as narrative inquiry I use a narrative approach to answer my research questions, for three major reasons. First, the quite nuanced, context-sensitive, and changing qualities of pride – I assume – cannot be experimentally measured, mechanically mapped, generally surveyed, and would be difficult to 48 observe physically in everyday life situations. Therefore, I do not choose psychological controlled experiment, or large-scale survey study, or ethnography, but instead choose a narrative way with mixed voices from life stories. Narratives could speak truth to power in that, “through rich accounts of the complexities of real life and an emphasis on the particular”, it may “call into question dominant narratives that do not match the experience of life as lived” (Bathmaker, 2010, p. 3). Second, narrative inquiry values listening and the sensitivity to stories, in particular to the experiences of those who have been silenced, unheard, or unseen (Connelly & Clandinin, 1990; Casey, 1995). With a necessary acknowledgment that my research participants and myself as a researcher might not be all coming from historically and epistemological silenced locations, my narrative inquiry is to tell complex, double-edged stories with both privilege and oppression. Third, I intend to experience and learn from the ambivalent making of identities in relation to different historical contexts and social movements. Narrative research is a well-grounded and compelling way to interrogate issue of identities and its power of meaning making (Hendry, 2009). All narratives, whether oral or written, personal or collective, official or subaltern, are “narratives of identities” in that they are “representations of reality in which narrators also communicate how they see themselves and wish others to see them” (Errante, 2000, p.16). Taking the question of identities seriously, this narrative inquiry aims to provide the readers, the research participants, and myself a space for self-reflection, communication of meanings, envision of relationships, and potential collaborative actions. Such mixed narrating makes a point for comparison and translation: the different voices of participants speak to me, they speak through me to each other, I speak to them and myself in framing perspectives of understanding, and I speak to a wider audience with what I might have learned from this whole process of communication. This process of translation also means a commitment on the critical, social importance of the personal and the emotional (Mykhalovskiy, 1996; Wilkins, 1993), in framing the perspective itself, the observable complexity, and the articulable nuances. 49 I choose life history to see the complex becoming while taking social and political contexts into consideration. First, life history is a powerful way to reflect not only changing social conditions and lived experiences that are key to the research questions, but also it reflects the unique and different positions of narrators – including myself as the researcher – and enables the reader to look into the becoming of such differences (Denzin, 1989; Creswell, 1998). As Errante (2000) argues, the stories that researcher “could and could not collect” illustrate the point that “the ways in which we narrate our voice are inextricably linked to our perceptions of how our stories narrate important aspects of our identity” (p.26). Second, and accordingly, life history interview enables a particular way of speaking, listening, and witnessing – a particular representation of authenticity on the one hand, and an ambivalent representation of authority on the other. Such complex issues of representation are meaningful to the extent that the act of oral history through remembering and storytelling is itself an identity work that subscribes to certain notions of community with certain limits, for both the narrator and the researcher. These life stories will serve as “a type of architecture, a vast array of impulses, instincts, memories and dreams – visualized, theorized and told as a story” (Dhunpath, 2000). Third, dwelling on life history and relating to one’s own experiences is not to seize the authority of authenticity, but quite the opposite (Hall 1992). It is an effort to avoid overgeneralization and assumptive reading of the interpretation such as ‘the authentic’ representation of pride and ‘Chinese-Canadian’ life. Thus my use of life history is neither to assert particular authoritative experiences or authentic voices, nor to narrate chronological events or construct linear cause-effect narratives. I use life history to listen to different voices and tell possible/unexpected stories (Cary, 1999; Errante, 2000), by unpacking the human complexity, contradictions, and changes across generations and places, and in this, the political, affective experiences imbricated with different textures of living and institutional ruling orders. Life experiences with memories, agency, and aspirations are emphasized – not to repeat “life histories that lack historical content, voices that are disembodied, subjects that are transformed into objects, and life histories that are lifeless” 50 (Luken & Vaughan, 1999, p.422). With different voices, this life history approach is also multi-biographical, not only in a sense of delimitation by not representing/retelling the full life of one single individual person, but also in a strategic sense for contingent, multiple translations into political projects and alternatives. In particular, I conduct life history interviews with community activists to enable voices: not simply in a sense of answering researchers’ structured questions, but of encouraging interviewees to tell their deeper feelings, self-definition, and shared intersubjectivity. My intension to leverage subtle and sensitive personal qualities into political articulation – qualities not readily observable, not really quantifiable, neither to be exoticized nor to be essentialized – prioritizes life history interviews over other more structured forms of interviews and even ethnography (though perhaps in autoethnography). Life history is never an already, ‘full’ history, but selectively recalled experiences further reconstructed into narrative logics/forms of events and stories, further depending on the particular life stage of the narrator, mutual trust between the narrator and the listener, and the dynamics of communication. A narrative study of pride means it is necessarily wider than an argument, and I do not intend the thesis on pride and people’s lived stories only as a collection of some logical arguments. I seek to tell stories, and the point of telling stories is about giving voices and seeking resonances, to invite active translations to our own different situations of social tensions, and to offer possibilities for many kinds of collaborative work. This is my political take on the use of narrative inquiry, not as an attempt to build up abstract theories or models of social management, but as a tool of disruption, of questioning the grouping of different histories and spaces into some coherent progression goals often with particular political interests and centring. Further I take it as a tool of translation, of translating life stories into future actions, into what could be done with/between you and me. 3.2 Data collection I collected data from mixed sources, in order to unpack the complexity and changes of (Chinese) pride. This collection included: 1) audio life history interviews with 13 Chinese 51 Canadian community activists, 2) written autobiographical stories in a Canada-based, national, Asian Canadian cultural project, 3) life history documentaries in a China-based, international, overseas Chinese cultural project. I selected these sources not only because they spoke to different significations of ‘Chinese Canadian’ resilience/empowerment/privilege/superiority at different scales, but also because they enabled me to make connections to some of the social and political impacts that I have acutely felt. First, these community organizers, often as activists, spoke powerfully to the intersection between pride and collective identities, and how that worked discursively to evoke public resonance. This was evident in the activists and empowerment activities where national pride, ethnic pride, gay pride, and disability pride were voiced and mobilized (e.g. Dobratz & Shanks-Meile, 1997; Sniderman & Piazza, 2002; Ross & Sullivan, 2012; McCarthy, 2003). In particular, previous Chinese community leaders in Canada have particularly referred to the feelings of pride as the point on which collective identities centred (e.g. Ng, 1999; Chan, 1997, p.29). Further, community organizers stressed community practices and grassroots mobilizations. Attending to the voices and work of activists was a move towards the praxis-based cultural studies (Wright, 2003a), to address “the split between the university and academic work on the one hand and political, activist and performative work in the community and society on the other” (p.808). Second, the Chinese Canadian National Council (CCNC) was an impactful nation-wide activist network and organization of Chinese-Canadian communities, while the CCNC chairman (I only knew that the person was chairman in hindsight) had been personally and actively involved in Vancouver’s Chinatown and Downtown Eastside community meetings regarding affordable housing and counter-gentrification, which I have attended a few times. Although I was not a member of CCNC, these collaborative grassroots actions did allow me to have an initial, grounded understanding of the kinds of activism politics CCNC might associate with. Third, the transnational media-scape became quite powerful in conjunction with the popularity of Chinese TV programs among in Metro Vancouver (Kong, 2013), and the 52 increasingly strong transnational economic connections between Mainland China and the province of British Columbia including Richmond (Newsroom of Government of British Columbia, November 2013; Richmond Economic Development Office, 2013). This made the Mainland China-based online and televised 中華之光(Brilliance of China) international project a particular interesting voice to analyze. 3.2.1 Life history interview with 13 Chinese Canadian activists The life history interviews involved 13 participants who had Canadian citizenship and self-identified some Chineseness. Having lived or worked in Richmond, these participants were actively involved in different aspects of community organizing, in making different communities, and with different capacities. They were of different ages, family migration histories, genders, work experiences, and community involvements. Some participants chose to use their real English and/or Chinese names, and some chose to use pseudonyms. Besides “activist”, some preferred alternative identifications such as “community builder”, “community organizer”, “community artist”, and “grassroots collaborator”, among others (please see Appendix A for the mini stories for each participant). The connection to activists was established since early 2014, through a mix of reading media reports, social networking, referencing from mutual friends, volunteering, and event participation. On the one hand, SUCCESS (United Chinese Community Enrichment Services Society)11 turned out to be a locus where I stated to know some activists, primarily situated in/connected to Hong Kong-Canada migrations since the 1960s up to the early 1990s. The network and space of SUCCESS was also more accommodating compared to some community spaces of Taiwan-Canada, Mainland China-Canada, and other migration circuits entangled with some ‘Chineseness’, which I have also tried to reach and invite for participation. On the other hand, grassroots friendships and activist network turned out be another locus where I started to 11 For the social and institutional history of SUCCESS and the work it has done, please see Guo and To (2004), Guo (2007), and Guo (2008). 53 know some activists of younger generations, primarily 1.5 generation and local born mixed-heritage generation who were partially situated in/related to Hong Kong-Canada and Mainland China-Canada diasporas. In this process, there were three major aspects I wanted to make explicit. First, to better position myself, I tried to get some basic senses of the various forces that motivated and shaped the making of Chinese-Canadian communities. I did this mainly through media and public event participation to learn about the controversial issues, public debates, and community projects that had foregrounded Chinese-Canadian voices. Second, I tried to get some basic understanding of different scenes of community organizing in order to reach potential interviewees. I did this by asking for suggestions from friends in the S.U.C.C.E.S.S. publication department where I worked as a volunteer reporter, by asking for recommendations from friends who were actively involved in community organizing, by approaching community associations in Richmond through personal visits and emails, and by approaching potential interviewees directly through emails available in their public profiles online. I was also able to reach a few interviewees through a snowball sampling method, that is, one interviewee suggested another potential interviewee. Third, I did not assume that my relation with each interviewee was equally laid out and neutrally formed. I was personally more involved in the co-presence and collaboration with some youth interviewees, and more invested in the community projects they initiated and worked on, such as Chinatown intergenerational and intercultural projects, and Asian Canadian Zine Making. These different intensities, affinities, and capacities in particular kinds of community practices did influence my feeling of Chineseness, my own consciousness of Cantoneseness, my understanding of Canadianness, my seeing of community-making landscapes, and my speaking in particular tones and directions. Moreover, through the interviewing process, I became more aware of my own position in the making of diverse communities and broader social movements, and more capable to situate in this research project my unique, uneven relations with each interviewee. 54 Each interview was intended to be a two-part interview guided by questions (in Appendix B) – one part about the interviewee’s life movements and involvement in community organizing, and another part about interviewee’s feelings and understandings of ‘Chinese Canadian’ and the context of Richmond. Depending on the mutual agreement between each interviewee and me, some interviews were conducted in English, some in Cantonese, some in Mandarin, and some in a mix of English and Cantonese/Mandarin. All interviews were audio recorded by iPhone voice memo. The time of interviewing each participant varied between 120 minutes and 180 minutes. For nine participants, the two-part interview was done in two separate meetings. For four participants, the two-part interview was done in one meeting. The interviews locations varied, including participants’ work places, participants’ homes, the common lounge at my living place, and different food catering places in Richmond such as the food court at Richmond Centre and McDonald’s on No.3 Road. No financial reward was provided to the participants. The first interview was on August 11th, 2014, and the last on July 12th, 2015. 3.2.2 Written voices in a Canada-based media project on Asian Canadian pride This Asian Canadian Culture Online Project – a Chinese Canadian National Council (CCNC) online initiative – aimed to “connect, listen, and share stories that instill pride and cultural understanding about our cultural heritage” in Asian Canadian community (Chinese Canadian National Council, 2013). Out of an anthology of short writings and videos, I analyzed five pieces of short writing, i.e., About My “Lo Wah Kui” Family (Sid Tan Chow), On being Chinese-Canadian (Daryl Chow), A Love Poem (Sandra Ka Hon Chu), Here, We Learn to Grow Up! (Chenru Gu), and The Things I Did and Doing Now (Ed Zhao). I selected these because they were written by folks following different streams of Chinese diasporas to Canada – in particular reflecting a pioneering stream of old overseas Chinese searching for livelihood and “Gold Mountains” across the Pacific, as well as a most recent stream of new overseas Chinese living international education and migration. 55 In the spring of 2014, I got to know about Chinese Canadian National Council (CCNC) through media and words of friends. I found out on their website the Chinese Canadian Culture Online Project (CCCOP), which since the summer, however, appeared to be hacked and later became inaccessible. In early 2015, the website remained inaccessible, and I emailed and called CCNC to ask about the situation. In responding to my email of inquiry, the chairman of CCNC kindly suggested an alternative website, in which I found out a project called Asian Canadian Culture Online Project (ACCOP). In August 2015, I accessed through the ACCOP website an anthology of more than a dozen short essays and poems written by Chinese-Canadian youth and older generations. I saved electronic copies of the anthology in my computer. 3.2.3 Biographical videos in a China-based media project on overseas Chinese pride This project was 中華之光(zhong-hua zhi guang) – official English translation as The Brilliance of China – organized by Overseas Chinese Affairs Offices of People’s Republic of China. Initiated in 2012, it was an annual event broadcasted on international television program (CCTV4) and online, aiming to promote Chinese pride globally by giving awards to distinguished overseas Chinese-heritage persons who made significant contributions to Chinese cultures in and across different continents (http://news.cntv.cn/special/zhonghuazhiguang/). I focused on the video clips and selected narrations of two life stories, because they were the only Canadians among the award recipients, and they identified a Chinese heritage: 葉嘉瑩 Florence Chia-ying Yeh as award recipient in 2013 (http://tv.cntv.cn/video/VSET100180367860/c0cac939204242ebbca1eedf48fc1171) and her university talk (http://tv.cntv.cn/video/VSET100188386341/f3a1d41148c541cca28dd3bc49bd85b9, and 吳永光Nelly Wu as award candidate in 2012 (http://tv.cntv.cn/video/C40672/4169d9690c72461aa44c354d5e790258) and later as award recipient in 2014 (http://news.cntv.cn/2014/12/29/VIDE1419853497667935.shtml). 56 In the summer of 2014, I found this online project through media and a Google search of 中華之光 – a synonym of Chinese pride. I watched online the two annual programs – one in 2013 and one in 2014 – where many persons and organizations with Chinese heritages were nominated annually, reviewed by a committee, and eventually ten individuals and one organization were respectively awarded the title – 中華之光(The Brilliance of China) – as representing the most outstanding and influential promotions of Chinese cultures around the world. 3.3 Data analysis I conducted the data analysis from August 2015 to December 2015, including three stages: arranging different texts, coding, and synthesizing into themes. I analyzed the data manually with documents on paper and Microsoft Office Word documents in computer, without using any streamlined, electronic data analysis software. I myself transcribed the thirteen life history interviews, and translated, among them, seven interviews in Chinese (Cantonese and Mandarin). The interviews with Tung Chan, Hwa, May Kei, Peter Poon, Tse, Ken Tung, and Wilson were mostly in Chinese (for original quotes in Chinese, please see Appendix E). I have sent the interviewees what I have written about their stories and the quotes I used, for their review and approval. 3.3.1 Arranging different texts I manually arranged data in two collections of texts. First, a paper collection including interviews notes, community activity notes, and some print newspaper articles about relevant community issues. Second, a digital collection including audio interviews, interview transcriptions, online video clips and written texts of the two cultural projects, relevant government documents accessible online, and relevant newspaper articles online. A point about interview transcribing was that it was also a process of intense listening, during which I took notes of the tonal emphases, changing moods, changing tempos of speaking, points of hesitation, and other conversational dynamics that were more readily accessible in audio but hardly visible 57 in transcriptions. Seven interviews were done in English. Six interviews were done in Cantonese, Mandarin, and/or some mix with English. For the purposes of giving a fuller sense of meanings and for readers interested in reading Chinese, I have attached the selected Cantonese and/or Mandarin quotes Appendix E, while providing my English translations in the main text. 3.3.2 Coding, triangulating, and synthesizing into themes I took three steps in the data analysis: open coding, a more structured coding based on cultural politics of emotion and space, and further refined into a trio of historical, socio-political power dynamics. First, open coding was used to mark what appeared to me as ‘interesting’ and/or ‘valuable’, such as the English/Chinese terms of pride, expressions including music and images in media representation, and the affective experiences (visceral language, emotional terms, general moods of telling the stories, etc.) shared by interviewees, in written documents, in spoken narratives, as well as things that arouse my own particular affective reactions and experiences. The coding of audio-video media projects involved a detailed reading of various rhetorical, contextual devices employed in the texts, especially in videos, such as images, music, designs of scenes, sequences of actions, and absence/presence/co-presence of persons. Second, a more structured coding frame based on cultural politics of emotion and space was applied (see Table 3.1 below). The purpose was to analyze the data more systematically, with a theoretical guide in mind. This structured coding also helped me to compare and see how the preliminary data generated from the open coding would relate to this systematic analysis. Table 3.1 Coding with cultural politics of emotion and space Coding Cultural politics of emotion: Personally Sensitive (Intimate relationships, ancestral heritage and family memories and relations, sense-experiences 58 (sounds, smells, scenes, etc.) related to identities, narratives of visceral imageries of face, bloodlines, and bodies) Cultural politics of emotion: Politically Sensitive (Local community activism and community organizing, identity politics, political representation, and narratives reflective of geopolitical relations) Cultural politics of space: Migration (Diasporic connections; transnational migration stages, networks, and processes; international relations; nation-state immigration and regulation; local integration and contestation) Cultural politics of space: Richmond (Richmond’s own different and changing landscapes, Richmond in relation to different spatial scales and places such as Vancouver, Vancouver’s Chinatown, other smaller British Columbia towns, and local/national/transnational media space representing different Chineseness. Third, I use an inductive process to categorize the data (generated from above) into three broad narrative dimensions as the historical consciousness of changing socio-political power dynamics: 1) Empowerment narratives that told the dynamic positionalities of disadvantages such as margin, minority, anti-oppression, struggle, defensiveness, resistance, hardship, solidarity, among others. 2) Betterment narratives that told the dynamics positionalities of advantages such as superiority, privilege, majority, expansion, rising, mobility, development, 59 recognition, among others. 3) Balance narratives that emphasized on accommodation, adjustment, cohabitation, harmony, and peace. Table 3.2 Coding for conjunctures and complex narratives Coding Empowerment Betterment Balance Cultural politics of emotion: Personally Sensitive Cultural politics of emotion: Politically Sensitive Cultural politics of space: Migration Cultural politics of space: Richmond The point of doing this was to see the patterns, contrasts, and interrelations. Some major dynamics were unfolded: Chinese diaspora, gender and migration, the senses of belonging as local and national citizens in Canada, etc. For example, diasporic dynamics turned out to be significant in all the three narratives: the empowerment of intimate remembering different diasporas of Chinese elders as well as the present political battle and dilemma of affordable housing for low-income Chinese-speaking seniors; the relative Chinese-Canadian privilege situated in Asian-Canadian diasporic politics and beyond; the balance between diasporic heritage and everyday local entitlement. Intersected with these diasporic dynamics, a gendered shift was quite noteworthy and complex with life stories to illustrate; therefore, the pride in gendered diaspora became a major storyline. Based on the coding at this stage, I was able to see what potential theme/storyline would illustrate the most complex process and power differentials, and to find a way to tell stories in an interrelated, comparative, and complex way. At this point, I also used local English and Chinese newspapers as additional data to further contextualize the thematic findings (e.g., particular community relationships noted in the life stories, particular phenomenon of migration, particular cases of activism, etc.). I attended to various sources but mainly to The Richmond Review, The Georgia Straight, The Vancouver Sun, 大漢公報 (The Chinese Times), 明報 (Ming Pao), and 星島日報 (Sing Tao Daily). I 60 collected these documents over a period of one year since 2014, through access to Richmond public library, online publications, and friends. 3.3.3 The nature and presentation of findings From the abovementioned process, two themes were generated. The first theme, pride in gendered diasporas, emphasized the flux of power dynamics – grandmother-granddaughter crosscurrent of translating diasporic Chinese heritages, migrant man-migrant woman crosscurrent of navigating the very process of transpacific migration, and queer-nonqueer youth crosscurrent of creating openings in local activism spaces. The second theme, pride in multicultural states, emphasized the stability of power dynamics – colony-nation crossroads as a minority finding an anchorage in national citizenship, ethnicity-city crossroads as a majority in a local state of development, and further, migration-communication crossroads as a state of mind that went transnational and could (re)turn to the flux of diasporic heritage, increasingly in terms of global Sinophone soft power. To tell Chinese pride in gendered diasporas (Chapter Four), I invite you to a watery journey – a context of migration currents across life stages and Pacific waters. The watery journey is a reality as well as a metaphor – of the remembered and lived stories of migration from West Pacific waterfronts to East Pacific waterfronts, characterized by multiple streams of consciousness, fluctuation of relationships, crosscurrents, and the yearnings for (alternative) convergences, all of which would eventually shape the steps and paths ashore. Humans, after all, are not waterborne creatures and have to turn, now, to the stability of the land. This is where the storylines change, and where I invite you to an earthly journey featuring different searches for footholds, land developments, and new horizons. This earthly journey locates Chinese pride in multicultural states (Chapter Five), characterized by territorial feelings, nation-state bordered settlements, local land (re)developments, and transnational outreaches to the global Earth with the investment of state interests that are concurrent to and could be a (re)turn to the watery 61 journey – as a new round of activating diasporic knowledge. The six crosscurrents/crossroads of Chinese pride were not conclusive, not exhaustive, and not simply descriptive of individual lives. They were political possibilities. They were meant to provide a roadmap to locate pride – as a double-edged tool for critical, aspirational education – in personal experiences and socio-political contexts. With my own pride I was able to find their pride, in different locations of power, and of different kinds: sometimes, bringing their stories into conversations with texts I selected from the academia and media; sometimes, bringing their stories into conversations with each other; sometimes, bringing my own voice into conversations with their narratives; and still, sometimes, a mix of all these. The point of such mixed narration was to provoke your thinking on how pride – subtle and obvious – could be articulated, disarticulated, and rearticulated in the changing conjunctures of many ongoing politics. Eventually I shared my writing of these life stories, to the interviewees who gave me these stories at the first place. They reviewed how their respective life stories have been represented. Some chose to use real names, some preferred pseudonyms. These findings of pride were encounters: encounters between what the community activists shared and voices on Chinese pride, selected stories in media projects that aimed to promote Chinese pride, and to a lesser extent my own experiences. Therefore, I invite you to read and think about such pride neither as my one-way theoretical imposition on the interviewed stories and media texts, nor as purely unmediated voices from the activists – but as a reflexive and communicative space in which we spoke with/to each other. 3.3.4 A conceptual map prepared for the journey Moving in and between gendered diasporas and multicultural states, the six crosscurrents/crossroads of Chinese pride are different political possibilities of historical consciousness. Zooming into each of these crosscurrents/crossroads, pride is also manifested by/infused with specific emotional stories and spaces of activism. With the theoretical compass I 62 have outlined (at the end of Chapter Two), here I hope to share with you a preview of the journey, with some conceptual mapping. These concepts serve as signposts in locating pride, thus they are also part of the storytelling. The pride in gendered diasporas has a few conceptual signposts. The first crosscurrent runs with women’s place and leadership, especially in relation to a diasporic process which is “always gendered” (Clifford, 1994, p.313), while its predominantly androcentric, ethnocentric, and nationalistic characterizations (Gilroy, 1993) need to be further problematized and transformed. A relevant concept here is “hybridity” in different aspects of feminist work such as remembering mixed cultural heritage and building multiple relationships in grassroots organizing. Hall (1993) spoke of hybridity as a capacity of identifications that “produce themselves anew and differently” – because folks living the “cultures of hybridity … are inevitably the products of several interlocking histories and cultures” (p.362, original emphasis). Further, Ang (2003) pointed out that while the idea of (ethnic) diaspora can be “a powerful, almost Utopian, emotional pull”, one must also recognize its double-edgedness, and in particular its tendency to draw essentialized and ready boundaries (p.2). Therefore, in everyday life and social actions, “hybridity” was urgently needed to foreground “complicated entanglement rather than identity, togetherness-in-difference rather than separateness and virtual apartheid” (Ang, 2003, p.1). The second crosscurrent moves across “gendered geographies of power” (Pessar & Mahler, 2003): a conceptual framework which understands gender as a cultural process and aims to unpack gender-migration entanglements – how gender controls who stayed and who moved, the ongoing roles of the states, migration networks across different geographical scales and uneven social locations, and the gendered social imageries that influenced marriage, migration desires and decision-making on settlement. Thus the stories told are not following a linear conception of immigration process, but rather, juxtaposing multiple vignettes and voices that reveal ongoing processes of migration and perhaps hint at visionary connections between multiple sites. The point is to offer a provisional way to move gendered geographies of power forward – speaking 63 with Pessar & Mahler (2003) that “the challenges of leaving an essentially bi-local and comparative approach to transnational research for a more transnational social field approach (where multiple scales and sites are studied more or less simultaneously) are daunting, but we are heading in this direction” (p.838). The third crosscurrent moves in the mix of fluctuating, multiple, and translucent gendered work in local activism. A key concept here is “intersectionality”, which has an origin in Black feminist critical thoughts in American law (Crenshaw, 1989, 1991) revealing the intersected locations that have marginalized in particular women of color. The political and conceptual power of intersectionality offers a vista of learning about social difference and collective organizing, while it also faces critiques of its aspects of mainstreaming, institutionalization, and depoliticization (Carastathis, 2016, p.233). Further, in the urgency of grassroots organizing and politicization, the entering of queerness – with stories of queer and nonqueer youth collaborative work – is exploratory: it relates to what Muñoz (2009) suggests as “holding queerness in a sort of ontologically humble state, under a conceptual grid in which we do not claim to always already know queerness in the world, potentially staves off the ossifying effects of neoliberal ideology and the degradation of politics” (p.22). Therefore, in relation to the conceptual signpost of intersectionality, what the stories tell is an Asian appropriation of Black feminist thoughts. On the one hand, it is an appropriation exploring and reflective of intersectionality, voiced by Asian diasporic youth feminist (allied), queer (allied), antiracist activists. On the other hand, it signals towards extended relationships that not presumed binary gender as the only foundational category of analysis, and that in specific local grassroots context of politicization, queer youth have worked substantially in collaborative activism projects but do not necessarily always foreground gendered and sexuality identifications. The pride in multicultural states has a few conceptual signposts. First, the Canadian state of multiculturalism was complex and double-edged (Wright, 2012): on the one hand it became “a successor regime to race relations which in turn was an improvement on assimilation and 64 explicitly exclusivist and racist immigration policies that reflected Eurocentric conceptions of the nation”; on the other hand, Canadian multiculturalism remained predominantly oriented towards a cohesive management of differences and contested histories within the nation state, even becoming ideologically “part and parcel of the very character of the nation” (pp.104-105). Second, “ethnoburb” was a concept coined by Wei Li (1998) in examining the suburban Chinese population in Los Angeles, comparing the Chinese suburban communities to the landscape of inner city Chinatown. Li (2006, 2009) later used this concept to look at the ethnic concentrated (in particular Chinese and Asian) suburban contexts in a number of USA cities. Li (2006) touched briefly on the Canadian context of Vancouver with a few pages of general descriptions and comments, but she quite rightly noted that the increasing presence of Chinese communities in the suburban Vancouver of Richmond signified drastically changing ethnocultural landscapes and deserved much further research. While “ethnoburb” does provide a provisional frame to examine local contexts such as Richmond where non-European population (including Chinese) became a majority, it needs to consider Chineseness as not simply surfaced on/locked into ethnic landscape in local suburban space, but also infused with deeper, wider, and complex discursive re-articulation of nation, citizenship, and power (Xiao, 2015). This latter point requires a third signpost: a type of cultural studies-inflected transnationalism negotiating “between the transnational in culture and local histories of experience and expression” – in particular here dealing with “the minoritized status of world majority peoples in specific hybridized circumstances (e.g. Chinese in Vancouver)” (Morris & Wright, 2009, pp.690-692). This cultural studies-inflected transnationalism suggests the fluidity of “Chineseness” in its linguistic, cultural, and performative aspects across national borders; on the other hand, these expressions and productions are part of the Sinophone worlds where Mainland China as a rising global power might exert new influences upon diasporic communities and evoke what Ang (2006) called “residual Chineseness”. With these conceptual packages I now invite you to join me on the journeys of pride. 65 4 Pride in Gendered Diasporas This is a journey about searching for homes, with three crosscurrents. First, the grandmother-granddaughter crosscurrent is illustrated by granddaughters’ navigation in relation to androcentric Chinese-Canadian migration histories and ancestral memories. But besides this political emphasis on women’s remembering and collaborative leadership, the complex lived processes of migration and settlement involve both genders: this is the second crosscurrent – migrant man-migrant woman crosscurrent – illustrated by the life stories of transpacific migrants settled in Richmond of Greater Vancouver, an emergent Asia-Pacific gateway city compared to the less notable context of smaller British Columbia towns. The immigration and settlement process has further spawned a younger generation of local grassroots activists who had come to Canada as migrant children: this is the third crosscurrent – queer-nonqueer youth crosscurrents – illustrated by the collaborative work of queer and nonqueer youth, which is not confined to binary politics and moving queerness into the intersections with diasporic and other movements. 4.1 Grandmother-granddaughter crosscurrent: translating memories of home Remembering grandmother is important, and the importance stands in relation to how grandfather has been primarily positioned in the stories told. Tan’s autobiographical essay About my “Lo Wah Kui” family recollected experiences of late 19th century diasporas of “老華僑(old overseas Chinese)” in Canada, in particular his Toisan-Cantonese grandfather migrating from Guangdong Pearl River Delta to the Canadian prairies of Saskatchewan. Tan’s narrative resonated with an exemplary type of historical consciousness in diaspora – based on androcentric movements, labors, and relationship building, while women’s role became subsidiary and their journeys unspecified. In making a new home, men’s work was emphasized in Tan’s storytelling: grandfather as a diasporic pioneer, survivor and supporter of a family, grandfather’s experience of loneliness as a hardworking man operating a cafe which later became both a retail store and a small wholesale food outlet, and grandfather’s meeting with Cree chief Len to build fraternity. The women’s images trailed behind, and at best served to resonate and underscore the masculine 66 narratives: grandmother was supported and came later in the 1950; grandmother cried, pushed the kids to learn Chinese, coughed, and chuckled, all resonating grandfather’s actions; the Cree women ate and cleaned the tables after grandfather and the Cree men ate; the sister of Cree chief Len needed work and was provided by grandfather. Writing as a grandson, Tan offered a nostalgic, powerful portrayal of his grandfather’s resilience and leadership. It could be said that the masculine resilience had its historical contingency: the solidarity between diasporic Toisan-Chinese people and Indigenous Cree people were analogized, by Tan’s grandfather, as “mong kwok toi [lost country boys]” together resisting the British rule as “hun mor gok” [kingdom of the red hairs]”. And these hard masculine struggles went deep into prayers and a defensive spirit: when asked about Canada’s racist law against Chinese, Tan’s grandfather “would look towards the back wall shrine of Kwan Kung, patron protector of warriors, writers and artists, facing the front door. Then he looks upward as towards heaven and thanks the local Indians for their friendship”. Here, the Han-Chinese masculinity ideal文武(wen-wu) (Louie, 2000) – wen exemplified by the male guru Confucius offering wisdoms and wu exemplified by the male semi-god Kwan Gung offering protections against violence – was recast, under the pressures of the time, not only into a single, hybrid, compressed image of Kwan Gung, but also in conversations with the spirits of Indigenous people. Aspiration for safety, gratitude for friendship, the grandfather’s spiritual quest arguably reflected some pride in “masculine innovation” as both “(conservative) continuity and (unsettling) distortion” in the historical process of migration and settlement in Canada (Coleman, 2000, p.161). Tan’s story of his grandfather might have come to an end, but its political import was unfinished. One development was about the historical relations between Indigenous people and the diasporic Chinese – in particular, a sense of pride in alliance. Tan expressed, in his story, a particular hybridized territorial self-identification as an heir of “the Toisan clan of the mighty Cree nation of Saskatchewan near Sweetgrass and Red Pheasant”. In relation to the academic 67 historical consciousness, the Indigenous people-diaspora Chinese relations formed particular close alignments and even family/bloodline relationships: not only with different locational narratives in academic publications (e.g. Barman, 2013; Chow, 2000, 2008; CCHS, 2008), but also with stories to tell the public – for example, in a children’s book in hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓, Cantonese, and English (Grant & Ling, 2013), as well as in the quite recent documentary films Peeking into the Pink Houses at Musqueam: A Migration Story, and All Our Father’s Relations, telling stories of a Chinese-Musqueam family across generations since late 19th century, and the Musqueam elders’ research for paternal bloodlines in Guangdong, China (Ling, 2015, 2016). This perspective of relationship-building is quite new, compared to the popular historical consciousness even among the Chinese-Canadian communities, where the victimhood of Indigenous people and Chinese people had long been represented, for example in The Chinese Times12, in separated struggles and accordingly separated “structures of feeling” (Williams, 1961). In the early 20th century Chinese-Canadian newspaper The Chinese Times, Indigenous people was addressed as “茵陳人” (yan-chahn-yahn) or “煙陳人” (yin-chahn-yahn) – quite likely a Cantonese sound translation from the English term “Indian” (The Chinese Times, January 1915, January 1917, March 1921). The Chinese communities, for example in Tan’s time of Saskatoon, did know the traumatic experiences of Indigenous people, and considered the Indigenous experiences a lesson to be translated and learned – in emphatically proposing Chinese education as a way to save the Chinese from the almost erasure of language, culture, and people, or in Chinese language as “亡國滅種” (The Chinese Times, February 1963). But other senses of connections were almost absent: the general images of “Indigenous people” were separately represented on the pages of Culture and Literature, through exoticized, funny, and/or fantasized stories of “土著(aboriginals)” living on lands afar, or in the aesthetic imagination. The name and position as “原住民(indigenous people, or literally ‘original residents of the place)” were not articulated in local or Canadian context, but attached to the American context or other 12 The Chinese Times, in Chinese language as大漢公報, was based in Vancouver and one of the most widely read newspaper among diasporic Chinese in Canada since the early 20th century. 68 more distant contexts such as Indonesia where indigenous people were sometimes in confrontational relationships with the Chinese (The Chinese Times, September 1953, May 1961). When it came to everyday local issues of concern in Vancouver, British Columbia, on the pages of Social News, Indigenous people, sometimes referred to as “紅人(red people)”, were often reported with stereotypical descriptions, illegality, and negativity involved in crimes, fights, and alcoholism – until 1944 when a report appeared on the front page about a conference among Indigenous leaders in British Columbia, and through the subsequent decades up to the 1990s, with intermittent reports on Indigenous population, “problems”, and some events such as the production of a national magazine from Prince Rupert (The Chinese Times, 1915, 1923, 1936, 1944, 1956, August 1968, 1987, 1990). Even today, for Chinese-Canadian activist youth born in the 1990s like 阿風 (a Chinese name preferred by the interviewee), the historical consciousness of complex relationship with Indigenous communities remained needed among Chinese-Canadian communities, even among some activist circles: “A lot of work, like the community-building around being in solidarity with Indigenous people with the awareness of the history of genocide in the making of Canada and the awareness of Chinese people’s complicity in Canadian settler colonialism, needs to be done in anti-racist Chinese activist circles.” Much has been said about how far the grandfather-grandson stories might travel. But the granddaughters also remembered. Like Tan’s story, Chow’s poem On being Chinese-Canadian staged the struggles of a quite isolated grandfather. But unlike Tan’s story of the proud man-to-man intergenerational translation, it was an English-speaking granddaughter remembering her Chinese-speaking grandfather, in different and more difficult terms: from a grandfather almost incomprehensible to her, to the gradual sympathetic recollecting of the old man’s life struggles and yearnings of diasporic return; from inner-life explorations, characterized by an old man on a voyage of motions and emotions, to the eventual reinvigoration of new life symbolized by his great-grandchildren’s eyes. It was a prolonged translation, and it was the re-emergence of the granddaughter figure in the last episode that made a difference: the aged 69 androcentric touches did not go further, and the granddaughter wanted a different way out. In this last episode, a particular moralizing touch on animalism and metamorphosis did the expression: the temporary growing into a “she-wolf”, the compromised skin shedding to avoid being called a “chink”, and the “soul-deep” contrasted representation of “duck” and “swan” where she herself wanted to be in control of judgment. Granddaughters took the agency, of not only remembering, but also remembering grandmothers. A traditional emphasis on male labors building a Canadian nation has marginalized women’ experiences in wider stories – in diasporic stories before, concurrent to, and after men’s presences. It was a matter of where to start, and whose struggles to be included: for example, there were complex experiences of women of different generations including Tan’s grandmother’s, in various locations such as South China laboring, supporting, being resilient, and making stories before and after moving to Canada (e.g., Woon, 2008). It was on this critical type of academic historical consciousness in gendering Chinese-Canadianness that Chu’s A Love Poem started to touch. Much of grandmother’s power was in the granddaughter’s remembering of visceral scenes: from grandma’s Toisan-Chinese voice of “no-lee good (very good)” when granddaughter washed her hair, to granddaughter’s massage and grandma’s “grasp at words”; from grandma’s embodied struggling with Alzheimer’s disease, to grandma’s singing of her “old village songs” and even minutely with the “sunshine on her face”. These temporal-spatial presences might not be easily categorized into Canadianness and/or Chineseness, but they were definitely part of grandmother’s life: all had pushed histories into terrains not confined by nation-state, and not limited to male narratives or interactions. Chu’s poem would have transformed into a genetic type of historical consciousness, with a further step: not only remembering and imagining the “old village song”, but also stepping into grandma’s actual old village, into her actual hometown. 4.1.1 Kathryn Gwun-Yeen Lennon: my Cantonese grandma from Cheung Chau island Kathryn took the step of spending six months with her Cantonese-speaking maternal 70 grandma living in 長洲 (Chueng Chau island), Hong Kong. With Chinese-Irish heritage, Kathryn called herself “first-generation Albertan”, while coming to a stronger consciousness of expressing Chineseness – a quality “I never felt consciously ashamed, but also never felt consciously proud [of either]”13. This reclaiming, with her own ‘racial’ ambiguity and English/Chinese name translucence, was perhaps a strategic performance of hybridity: in her words, she learned to be “more in control” and “to have sovereignty” over the question of visibility, especially when asked by men. In some contexts of grassroots organizing where Chinese-Canadian identity became a necessary signifier, she could take a strategic control that “I could claim that identity if I wanted to”. But this recent reinvigoration of some “residual Chineseness” (Ang, 2006) was not so much influenced by the rise of China, but a reflexive learning from Indigenous pride signaled by the movement of Idle No More, combined with her work experiences with Inuit communities. It was in relation to “cultural revival” – including the knowledge of elders, intergenerational inheritance, and alternative ways of life against colonial power structures “around who could belong and who couldn’t” – that Kathryn spoke to Chinese pride as “almost more ashamed of not being Chinese, rather than being Chinese”. In this cultural fragility of not being Chinese enough, the gradual recovering and affirming of grandma’s Cantonese home had power. Compared to the Irish paternal family heritage, the very living status of Cantonese maternal grandma brought a more intimate relationship. Kathryn’s remembering of maternal family diaspora made a past-present nexus as a third space beyond men-centred diasporas and homogenous narration of space: from grandma’s arranged marriage during the Japanese Occupation of Hong Kong, to the present “rural island Hong Kong Cantonese” household space with an English-speaking Filipina housemaid, to the daughter’s migration as an international student to the 1970s Winnipeg, Manitoba and later becoming a Mandarin teacher, and to the granddaughter’s visit of grandma’s home. As a granddaughter as well as a Master degree student in urban planning, Kathryn’s pride in Chinese heritage became 13 Words/phrases/sentences in double quotation marks are quotes from interviewees, unless otherwise specified and/or referenced. 71 engaged with the present Chinatown space in Vancouver, with her own childhood memories and her mother’s social circle in Edmonton’s Chinatown. The remembering of grandma’s home culture was stretched and attached to Chinatown. But the recovering of Chineseness – which Kathryn felt almost “ashamed of not being enough of” – also came with a careful acknowledgement of privilege: “I’m always trying to bring up the fact that Chinatown is not a Chinese exclusive space, it’s not a Cantonese exclusive space. It is a multicultural space. This is the home to, um, you know, we have to be very careful, because probably, or actually, Chinese-Canadian is the most powerful minority, so we have to be careful that we actually have a lot of ability, and we have to be careful that we don’t wipe out the less powerful voices: Indigenous people, Japanese-Canadian, Vietnamese-Canadian, Taiwanese-Canadian, and there’re Mexican families running Hogan’s Alley Cafe, and the Black communities used to be there. We just have to be conscious and make sure that we don’t, um, so yes, I’m always conscious about that.” This is a political attention to the multicultural nature of Vancouver’s Chinatown – a caution on the possibility of overstating Chinese diasporic claims on history and space, which might overpower other minorities. The careful recognition of Chinese having “a lot of ability” is double-edged: the granddaughter’s inheritance carefully respected a traditional, predominantly Chinese space, but also brought a wrinkle to the historical image-text of Chinatown space either as victimized by exogenous Anglophone whiteness or as vehemently constructed by endogenous Chinese quests for local power (e.g. Anderson, 1991; Ng, 1999). This carefulness was also a further entanglement: Chinese heritage pride entangled with the power of Chinese men. As Kathryn reflected, and as academic historical consciousness started to address, the women’s presence spoke to a history of gendered-familial dynamics in shaping diasporic Chinese community since its founding moments: “I wonder how much that had an impact on some of the dysfunctions of the community, like the fact that the founding pioneers, they were not families, they were bachelor men who were lonely and sad and wanted to go home, um, it wasn’t the whole family bringing everybody over, until later, so I thought that probably had an impact on [the community], um. I want to know more about the 72 role of woman, and that history, it’s pretty invisible, I know there’s a little bit of work out there, but, yes.” This “yes” was to consciously activate the multicultural locations of Chinatown including the place of women’s history and knowledge. It was an activation in relation to a historical perspective very much told from the perspectives of men’s Chinatown, often mediated through kinship/clan organizations or fraternity associations inseparable from patriarchal structures, and with majorly male representation in political mobilization (e.g., Ng, 1999; Wai, 1999). In doing otherwise, the grandma-granddaughter historical consciousness worked not only as a curiosity “to know more”, but also as a practical tool to make third spaces in Chinatown beyond the duality of essentialized ‘Chineseness’ and men’s practices. The young women’s leadership presence was partly formed through Kathryn’s collaboration with the Chow sisters from Hoy Ping Benevolent Association, and Claudia Li from Hua Foundation, who intimately related to their own different memories of grandmas and Chinatown spaces. A basic grassroots structure was built. Its collective naming as Youth Collaborative for Chinatown, in Chinese as 青心在唐人街 (green/young hearts in Chinatown), added creative elements to the Chinese grammar itself. The granddaughter core leadership also significantly expanded through the Chinatown organizing and media outlets in which various young women collaborated and contributed with their different knowledge: an international student and linguist Zoe providing knowledge on Cantonese language and culture, Richmond youth Nicole creating online Chinatown heritage petition and media liaisons, graduate student Sarah sharing Chinese-Indigenous stories and historical relations, and social worker Chanel supporting low income Chinese-speaking seniors and later producing a film centring seniors’ perspectives and voices. The collaborative work represented a genetic type of historical consciousness, by placing hope in feminism that involved a relationship to the present as “affected by its imperfect translation of the past” and as “the bodies of subjects shudder with an expectation of what is otherwise” (Ahmed, 2004, p.184). Also with men’s involvement, this feminist leadership created community engagement strategies such as Bring Your Own Po-Po (grandmother) to evoke the youth consciousness of intergenerational 73 relationships, and with the actual participation of elders, to bring liveliness and everyday relevance to Chinatown space: “The spirit of a family relationship … if the relationship becomes like, friends, we feel connected in some way because we work together ... A lot of the young people that I’m meeting are somehow coming to Chinatown looking for something. There’s that spirit as well, we’re looking for something that we want to find. Maybe the thing we’re looking for is community, we’re looking for a sense of belonging, we are looking for a sense of pride… So with yesterday I was sooo happy because some of the spirit was coming out and it reminds me of being around cousins, aunties and uncles. The spirit of working together, the collective sense of we can get something done. I think those aspects are also in the culture, in the pride, and there are things maybe we don’t recognize, because they are so everyday, or maybe we see the negative not the positive.” Yes, pride in Chinese cultural heritage. Yes, pride in feminist collaborative leadership. But also, pride in something more – something aspirational, open-ended, and with the intimate evocation of community analogous to everyday family relationship and friendship. With the granddaughters’ leadership, the youth grassroots taking/making of public space appropriated traditional cultural symbols to redefine a Chinatown presence, by organizing Hot and Noisy Chinatown Mahjong Social. The outdoor, non-gambling playing of Mahjong at Chinatown Memorial Square – as a neighbourhood welcoming stance – spoke doubly to a struggling-history for Chinese recognition, as well as a policed-history of Chinatown’s racialized enclave where Mahjong had been stigmatized as an underground gambling activity. Now, Mahjong (with its sounds, table-sharing, and dynamics of chatting) offered a public gesture. Intimate and everyday for many Chinese-heritage families, it was also a memory access to elders’ presences, and evoked connections as well as changes across generations. Gradually more activities were unfolded such as elders’ performance, singing, bookbinding, storytelling, and painting, including folks across generations in collaboration with artists and social workers. In Kathryn’s project, the grandma-granddaughter historical consciousness opened the polyrhythms of place making: I remembered once we chatted about what we were “looking for”, and about how the project needed to create a sense of everyday rhythms in the neighbourhood. In Kathryn’s words of 74 “finding ways as young persons to be present in the neighbourhood”, the process of organizing and volunteering formed an extensive knowledge sharing network, including younger generations across genders, ethnicities, citizenship status, and educational locations – a network that not only showed “the spirit of working together” in Kathryn’s words, but also mobilized resources of languages, cultural knowledge of games, artwork, social network, and media to empower “creative geographies” for “the dynamic spaces of resistance” (Wright, 2008, p.384). Different from the “conceived space” of elite planning around commercial redevelopment and residential rezoning, the Youth Collaborative for Chinatown created a “lived space” (Lefebvre, 1991) of imagination and arts for soft relationship building around familial intimacy, friendship, intergenerational, and intercultural re-searching. 4.1.2 Claudia Kelly Li: my culture of strong Hakka women If Kathryn’s project of Chinese pride emphatically reached out for hybridity and multicultural sharing, then Claudia’s project reflexively learned about deeper entwinements of identity and culture. Instead of a narrative where both Hakka and Cantonese are molded into homogenous Chineseness, here Hakka-Cantonese cultural heritages were distinguished and proudly claimed to make a difference: “I’m able to operate from a place of values that I grew up with. And I can operate with those values to give back to the community, or try to make this a better world. That kind of sounds cheesy, but to me that’s what pride is. When I went to the Hakka museum in Meizhou [梅州], I learned about how the history of the women, and how Hakka women are known for being very very capable, they can do everything. When I learned about that, that makes so much sense because all my aunts are like that, and my mom is like that too. That gives me a sense of who I could be, it gives me something to aspire towards, like being a capable woman, being a strong women, and I think that’s something to be proud of, if you come from a history of that. And everyone, eh not everyone, but I hope that everyone has something in their history that could ground them like that, and again help them make decisions in life that are based on those values. I think that’s important, to feel the sense of pride and empowerment.” Her pride was a value commitment. And significant values came from a reflexive take on “a 75 place of values that I grew up with” – a deepening journey into grandma’s past, and an evaluation of a cultural ideal of Hakka women. With a strong remembering of her Hakka maternal grandmother who raised her as a child, Claudia looked at her own family stories in a Hakka village in Huizhou [惠州], and further the ancestral, cultural grounding not only in Hong Kong but also in Meizhou [梅州] – a place located near rural and mountainous areas in northeastern Guangdong. The Hakka identification also had problematic Sinocentric diasporic and homeland narratives of Han-Chineseness. But here, at least, a sense of hybridity was initiated, and meaningful conversations became possible: the mountains related to family history of women, the rural cultures, and the conscious opening of personal history and space different than “Cantonese” which was often narrowed down to rigid dichotomies and produced by metropolitan centres of Pearl River Delta and Hong Kong. The emphatic remembering of grandma and in extension the maternal family diasporic history – as she felt “less close” to the quite “successful” stories of her paternal side of Pearl River Delta Hoi Ping-British Hong Kong-USA-global diaspora – was also an preferred emphasis on the space of rurality, and an awareness of what she called a privilege of living in metropolitan Canadian cities. As a university-educated young woman who graduated from business school, Claudia chose to work in the non-profit world of environmentalism, instead of a potential career prospect in a transnational business consulting firm that her father was excited about. Speaking to an ecological ethos of caring for water, for earth, and for future generations, Claudia invoked the intimate connection to her grandma’s care, her grandma’s Hakka home village in Huizhou [惠州] Guangdong, and a fishing village Lei Yue Mun [鯉魚門] in rural Hong Kong where her grandma raised her five children. In this strategic sense of strong rural womanhood, and in an extended articulation of a Chinese ecology, Claudia shared with me her “great transition” of community projects from Shark Truth to Hua Foundation. Claudia organized Shark Truth as a non-profit project to oppose the consumption of shark fin, in particular the consumption of shark fin soup – an issue of considerable social and political controversies. During Claudia’s Shark Truth 76 organizing in Vancouver and Richmond, some quarters of Chinese communities including some traditional elders called her “banana environmentalist,” knowing/caring nothing about Chinese culture, a naming that Claudia felt as “the biggest dishonor” to her. At the same time, the dominant Canadian approach was one that valued the promotion of scientific truth, factual reasoning, and strong legislation, along with Anglophone mainstream media on Shark Fin debates where Chinese culture was either homogenized or dismissed its relevance to ecological values. After Shark Truth, Claudia’s respectful re-appropriation of grandma’s culture entered, heuristically, as a revaluation of her cultural heritage and elders’ knowledge, which were for her too dear to lose: “a pivot point where we can win the shark fin issue, but will lose the entire Chinese community on the way”. Cultural heritage became a valuable part of community making. Her pride was in that revaluation: “a great transition” to the more flexible establishment of Hua Foundation (co-founded in 2013 by Claudia and her business partner Kevin), which supported Chinese-Canadian youth to initiate projects of using cultural heritage and promoting social/environmental changes. Moving beyond Shark Truth, the Hua Foundation was a great transition for Claudia that it did work “based in heritage and culture”, and that “no elder would say this is not important” – for example, there were intergenerational workshops of learning food knowledge from diasporic Chinese elders, engaging youth, and remaking ecological values in the changing contexts of local food production and consumption. This great transition came with a stronger consciousness of Chinese diaspora: grandma’s culture mattered not only intimately but also strategically. The historical consciousness of Hakka-Chinese grandma and in extension the Hua people (a term for global diasporic Chinese) became a way to promote social and political arrangements: in this case, making a space of diasporic solidarity through ethnocultural networking between a specific, mixed, personal narrative of Cantonese-Hakka, and the strategic use of Hua people (華人) as an exemplary historical consciousness of global diasporic Chinese inheriting Han-Chinese-centred genealogies of Hua Xia (華夏). The worldly, 77 collectivity-evocative symbol of Hua was grounded in the local mobilization of youth of different Chinese diasporic generations to gather and connect through email list, google groups, as well as online and face-to-face making of Hua Ren environmental network including more than 70 people. Besides network, the great transition also came with a genetic consciousness in making Chinese diaspora infused with environmental and everyday relevance: the granddaughter not only remembered the Chinese grandma, but also created new ways of relating to ‘Chinese’ values and making innovations such as in organic food production and ecological knowledge –according to Claudia, even the organization name Hua evoked “change (bian-hua)” and “culture (wen-hua)” in Mandarin-Chinese pronunciation. These were the particular stories of a Canadian university-educated young woman of color coming to a presence of self-redefining. It was a personal transition from a university-educated young woman once being labeled as Juk Sing Mui (竹昇妹) – a Cantonese naming of girls similar to the idea of ‘yellow-outside and white-inside’ – to her self-defining as a proud Hakka-Cantonese woman activist. It was also political transition, in that Chinese cultures were open to critical reflections but also offered significant ecological knowledge. For Claudia, a collective struggle was important, and inspirational models of leadership was needed that “in Canada there are not a lot of Chinese women I really admire and look up to” – although sporadic presences also appeared in academic historical consciousness (e.g. Chinese Canadian National Council, 1992). It was in this presence – of an educated young woman of color in the conjunctures of feminist, ethnocultural, and ecological activism – that a future of Chinese leadership and pride remained important for her: “My hope is that, if I had a vision for what change would look like in ten years, Chinese grandmas grocery shopping, organic cuts of meat, a lot of restaurants, fair trade and sustainable food, Chinese school that isn’t boring and kids want to go to and is fun, and you could walk down the street and could feel that sense of pride and heritage … In ten years, leaders in politics, running companies, making good decisions, professors, people just to step up as leaders, to capture the opportunities as they deserve. (Interviewer: These things are not here today?) No, no, I don’t think so. Metro Vancouver, 21% of population Chinese, and when I go 78 to environmental events and conferences, I am like ‘where are our people?’” 4.2 Migrant man–migrant woman crosscurrent: making home In the previous crosscurrent, pride has a temporal focus, as what the present has to do with the past: diasporic Chinese heritage, intergenerational inheritance, and in that temporal translation the presence of women’s perspective, place, and leadership. Now in the following crosscurrent, pride shifts to a spatial focus: of living the very dynamics of transpacific migration, of the emplacement in British Columbia towns, and in that shift of locations the resilient navigation by both women and men in a gradation of generations and family arrangements. Much could be learned from Tung Chan (陳志動), and his pride was here: the diasporic route of a 1950s-born New Territories Ho Chung village boy living a long journey across British Hong Kong, Netherlands, and British Colombia towns, and now speaking for himself with a Canadian presence inhabiting a Richmond household for the past 40 years. The Canadian presence was not only a statement of social mobility through migration, but also an eventual familiarity with Canadian politics and a sense of cross-cultural “confidence”: expressing identities in relation to quotes from Canadian politicians such as Gorden Campbell and Brian Mulroney, while also holding the concurrent importance of diasporic remembering and in particular the cultural practices symbolized by the Chinese Confucius: “Mulroney said ‘I am a Canadian and a Quebecer, proud of my country and my province, I say this simply, without embarrassment, without hesitation, and without ambiguity’. So I turned that into ‘I am a Canadian and a Chinese person. I am proud of my country and my heritage. I say this simply, without embarrassment, without hesitation, and without ambiguity’. So I borrowed his words, and I said that to myself. (Interviewer: So Chinese-Canadian is your self-identification?) Sometimes it’s just Canadian, like speaking as an Honorary Captain of the Royal Canadian Navy, I would simply say ‘I am a member of the Canadian forces’, nothing more. Well, it depends. At the same time I know it’s the ancestral 炎黃[yan-huang] blood running in me, as the Dragon’s descendent. Oftentimes I act and see things according to the Confucian ways, with the Confucian tenets of 禮義廉恥[propriety, righteousness, integrity, self-critiques].” A Canadian man, a son of Confucian teachings, and “to say this simply” is his political and 79 cultural confidence. The quite male guru centred, literate knowledge of Confucian culture he learned from his father and acknowledged lifelong influences – in particular the ideas of “君子(gentleman)”, “仁(benevolence)”, and a historical script 座右銘 (Motto) in Han Dynasty under a predominant influence of Confucian schools of thought. But this Confucian inheritance was not exclusive and not to be simplified. After migrating to Canada in the late 1970s and studying sociology at the University of British Columbia, the Confucius in Tung met European men: John Stuart Mills, Rousseau, Marx, Machiavelli, and Plato, philosophers to whom he credited considerable influences on his worldview, his ideas of liberty, and concepts of democracy. Inspired by his father’s establishment of a home village elementary school 積善小學 in Ho Chung, Tung created a Chinese family motto 積善之家[Accumulation of Good Deeds]. And there was now an intercultural and intergenerational translation, where Tung’s local born daughters used an English translation of the family motto as “Honor in Service” more attuned to a Canadian ethos of service. Partly, this conscious recognition of the value of service was inseparable to public engagements: in Tung’s own reflection, the experiences of being a public servant as Vancouver city councillor, being the Chief Executive Officer of a social service organization S.U.C.C.E.S.S., and the establishment – inspired by the stories of a Vancouver businessman van Dusen – of an endowment fund at the Vancouver Foundation that has provided bursaries to Kwantlen University at Richmond and funding support to Richmond Public Library. Tung’s Canadian presence has more, as migration engendered more than ideas and personal identifications. Tung has been a banker since 1978, and was the vice-president of Asian banking at Toronto-Dominion Bank from 1994 to 2001. He spoke to the partnership between David Lam and Bob Lee to exemplify the immense emplacement of Hong Kong-Canada migration circuit and capital dealing with “British commercial practices”, “European legal system and culture”, and “local talents”. In October 20, 1992, the then Vancouver city councillor Tung organized an idea exchange forum, only by invitation, to bring together different Hua people (華人) – diasporic Chinese including Cantonese who had considerable influences in touch with Canada: 80 “I was hoping to encourage more Hua people to get involved in politics. Interviewer: Was it productive? Yes! In this idea exchange forum, for example Raymond Chan was introduced to those businesspersons like Stanley Kwok, among others, so they got to know each other, and it helped with fundraising. These were the name of the participants (flipping papers), all quite influential folks…It could be in different formats, but with the same purpose: to bring these leaders together, not to unify their thoughts. They have different ideas, but it’s a very precious opportunity for people to get to know each other.” Tung explained to me the participant name lists of this and other similar Hua people meetings he organized: the “influential folks” included participants who were sons and grandsons of the different founders of variously known or even legendary Hong Kong business enterprises, as well as participants involved in different levels of electoral politics in Canada. The list of 1994 meeting expanded to include 97 names, with representatives of more professional groups, more Taiwanese networks such as Canada Taiwan Trade Association, and more specific Richmond establishments such as The River Club. The network continued: a 2000 meeting between Chinese Canadian professionals and elected politicians, and a 2002 meeting among elected politicians. The “idea exchange” was also an opportunity to build political-economic connections. In Tung’s organizing, the ethnocultural Chinese convergence of business leadership, fundraising capacities, and political influences could be seen as revolving around “migration-development nexus”, whereby political-economic liaisons were engendered through particular social networks and agents (Bailey, 2010). The network of diasporic men, once demonstrated in the case of Guatemalan Maya migrant workers struggling for legal citizenship in the mid-1980s Houston (Hagen, 1998), now found its quite differently contextualized, North American counterpart: the case of Hong Kong-Cantonese businesspersons managing settlement practices and new citizenship status, since the 1980s, in the development of Richmond and Vancouver area, and in a broader context where transnational migration was roaming across the Asia Pacific circuits particularly entangled with “millionaire migrants” (Ley, 2010) and the “cultural politics of modern Chinese transnationalism” (Ong & Nonini, 1997). Tung’s role might resemble that of 81 “encargado” (Hagen, 1998, pp.58-59), that is, a leading man of ethnic minority who liaised – often with, beyond, and mobilizing an “ethnic-base system” – between migrants and established local institutions. The difference was that the leadership here in developing solidarities involved capital mobilization and connections between immigrant businesspersons, local businesspersons, and local politicians. Subtly, the exchanges were also a gendered circuit. A surface gendered layer was the representation in the networking scene, about who were making the key connections between transnational migration and local developments: Bob Lee, David Lam, Stanley Kwok, Raymond Chan, and other variously male businesspersons, professionals, and politicians. Even in researching this migration-development phenomenon, the academic persons speaking to Tung were male scholars such as Peter Li, David Ley, and in this case, myself. Another, though subtler, layer of such political-economic networking agency was about how it might speak to gendered distributions. Arguably, the nature of such wide networking organized by Tung did offer opportunities to steer away from androcentric reproductions in close family, kinship, and friendship circles. Women’s presence was not only in those meeting attendance lists, but also in wider stories such as Hong Kong Chinese immigrant women entrepreneurs in Richmond, many immigrating between 1985 and 1996, and mainly doing business in retail, wholesale, professional service and personal service (e.g. Chiang, 2001). At the same time, there were notable meeting participants such as Terry Hui and Stanley Kwok who were in the millionaire circles associated with the Li Ka-Shing business empire (e.g., Ley, 2010, p.198-199; Newman, 1998). One might wonder how this would speak to the stories of ethnicized Chinese transnationalism or the more regionally-defined Asia-Pacific capital movements – stories inseparable from fraternity ties, Confucius ethics, and paternalistic family reproduction around the status of male heirs and public males (e.g., Ong, 1999; Ley, 2010; Tu, 1989). Tung’s story continued. But here in the gendered dimension let us make a temporary comparison to another activist’ voice. As the founding chair of an immigrant social service 82 organization in Vancouver, May Kei’s voice offered the perspective of a middle class woman: “As a woman I became the chair of S.U.C.C.E.S.S., and I was quite young then. Among the Chinese societies and groups in the 1970s Vancouver, there was virtually no women’s presence in leadership positions: everything was then led by men, particularly middle age or senior men; every association had a women’s group, where women only took the role of cooking, making cakes, etc. But I never felt inferior to men. I had meetings with those men from local associations, and I was never afraid to speak. Now in reflection, I guess I was just being young and fearless, with much to learn, and willing to take risk.” Looking back, of the gendered power asymmetries Tung made an acknowledgment, when asked about how he felt through the years as an activist man: “Interviewer: When I interviewed women activists, I might ask how they feel as women. So I wonder how you feel, as a man, through these years of activism. Tung: Maybe let’s speak to a different dynamic, not as a man, but as a visible minority person. At the beginning I was quite timid, not because of my skin color, but because of the struggle of expressing myself in English. It was a subtle and practical observation of ethnic, language, racial, and gender differences. The role of women was, later and in fact, emphasized by Tung, in terms of public speaking skills. This consciousness of feminist power was intertwined with an ethnicized, immigrant working class man’s learning of English language: Tung reflected on how he learned – through reading “books written for women entrepreneurs and executives” – to speak “power language” with “強力的有力的字眼[powerful and strong terms]” in public speech and community organizing. If the above imagined dialogues between May Kei and Tung touched on the role of immigrant women, then the following story of Hwa opened a world. Like and unlike Tung, Hwa’s Canadian presence was also entangled with ethnic Chinese migrations from islands of industrialized economies – this time, not from Hong Kong, but from Taiwan; and this time, not as a man, but as a woman. 4.2.1 Hwa: love struggles Subtly, deeply, and as a daughter, Hwa affirmed part of her identification as “台灣撒種的廣東潮州人[Guangdong Teochew diaspora in Taiwan]”: remembering a household split by the 83 bifurcated Chinese nationalism after 1949, and centred on her mother’s Guangdong Teochew-Hong Kong-Taiwan border-crossing looking for her husband. The borders were resiliently passed by the woman, via letters, police stations in Teochew, ships to and from Hong Kong, and the permit to enter Taiwan. The man later arranged a divorce with his second wife in Kaohsiung, and the reunion of the original spouse eventually gave birth to Hwa in 1962 Taipei. With this memory of her mother’s migration story, Hwa spoke of some “pride and dignity” in the reunion of her parents – in particular an affirmation of diasporic, familial togetherness. Now much migration dynamics, unfolded in Hwa’s own life, was in her changing struggles and strategies: from being the president of a transnational airline workers’ union in early 1990s Taipei, to the wife of a skilled immigrant family in Canada since 1995 caring for two growing children, and later to an independent candidate running for Richmond city councillor in 2014. She already called Richmond and the broader Canada home. Her migration outcome of home-making was expressed as “very proud of being Chinese-Canadian”, further encouraging people that “you don’t feel shame about being a Chinese-Canadian yourself, you should feel very proud of being a Chinese-Canadian, because you are a good Chinese-Canadian contributing to the society”. This pride in being good and at home came from/with her struggles along a timeline of transnational family migration. In 1995 Hwa came to Richmond with her two children and her husband who was the primary applicant through the Canadian skilled immigration stream. But different from the prevalent narrative of women’s passivity in a “tied migration” following the male labor streams in transnational migration (e.g., Raghuram, 2004), Hwa’s story spoke much to women’s agency in strategizing the road map for family migration and labor market prospects. Hwa persuaded her husband to agree on family immigration to Canada as an intact household, although the man was not very keen on migration and preferred the model of “astronaut family” (Ong, 1999). Before immigration they also visited Richmond to pick residential locations, partly because of what Hwa called “血親[blood intimacy/relatives]” with her brothers living in 84 Richmond. In adjusting to the changes from Taiwan labor market to the Canadian situation, she was again quite adamant and prepared. In the early 1990s Taipei she already learned about transnational capital and labor market, through her experience of organizing labor movement as the president of the workers’ union in a transnational American airline company. Before migration, she deliberately worked for a few months in Taipei MacDonald’s to get some basic, transnationally recognized work skill, as a safety net for possible disadvantage and skill under-recognition for immigrants, coupled with her consideration of an industrial age factor as a mid-30s flight attendant – often considered a “老媽子[grandma]” attendant in East Asian airline industry. The woman was actively negotiating options in the Canadian labor market, which was not easy for an immigrant woman of color, not to say a mother of two baby children: she took exams and successfully became a flight attendant in the Canadian Airline. Further, she used her social network to support her husband, who struggled with English language and was unemployed, to start a business of franchising innovated coffee machine in Mainland China. Hwa was capable, but this capability involved the complexity of women’s agency entangled with men’s, in multiple social locations, spatial scales, and across time. Hwa had those visions of migration, as a multilingual, university-educated woman growing up in what her called “an upper middle class family” and “multicultural” neighbourhoods in the city of Taipei. Her organizing of the union labor movement was influenced by her husband’s ideas and input. The Taiwan-Canada family migration arrangement as an intact household was crucially supported, despite her husband’s initial disagreement, by her father-in-law who also considered physical togetherness as paramount for the nuclear family. But later with her husband’s relocation to Mainland China, the Canada-Mainland China circuit started to hold too much tension. The woman in her mid-30s spoke to the man in his mid-30s: in this case, the wife’s life-stage expressed in terms of loneliness and love expectation for reunion in either Canada or Mainland China, was contrasted to the husband’s life-stage textured with extramarital relationship and entrepreneurship status in Mainland China. The transnational mobility of capital and labor 85 institutionalized by both Canadian and Chinese nation-states, gradually and in its gendered effects, went into conflicts with the institutions of marriage, with the expectation of nuclear family ideal and parenthood. Hwa’s capability was thus also in her undergirded resilience, at a particular conjuncture in transnational migration: the persistent regulations of nation-states, entangled with the translucent discourse of love ideals and desires. In person, Hwa eventually chose a divorce, but the structural knot was very hard to untie. Canada regulated immigrants’ work credentials pronouncedly through the politics of educational and occupational recognition in labour market (e.g., Guo and Shan, 2013), and the deeper textures around non-European immigrant women (e.g. Shan, 2015). In Hwa’s stories it shaped an additional layer of gendered struggles: the woman was quite successful in managing a route of “entrepreneurial self” (Shan, 2015) in readily finding work as a flight attendant, while her unemployed husband was very unhappy in struggling with English language and social network, resembling a stereotypical tag of “the understimulated male” in Asia-Pacific family migration circuit (Ley, 2010, p.200). After three years, the husband’s relocation to Mainland China for business opportunities marked a shift in gendered struggles in a new context: the Chinese state mobilized strong industrial ideals in attracting foreign investment and entrepreneurship, with a particular cultural mobilization twist on overseas Chineseness such as 華商[Hua Shang/Chinese businesspersons] and 台商[Tai Shang/Taiwanese businesspersons]. In these changing contexts, the migrant husband became quite transnationally mobile and satisfied, with business success and eventually with a new girlfriend in Mainland China. And with these changes, the migrant wife became transnationally moored and in need of strength, as a de facto single mother enduring the painful process of “雙人床睡單人枕頭[sleeping with a single pillow on a double bed]”, working, caring her two children, learning to drive and talk back to a condescending white male driving instructor, and waiting for a possible reunion with her husband. After seven years of struggles, Hwa penned an official divorce with her husband in Taiwan, and this revealed additional nation-state regulations in the transnational migration 86 circuits: a significant ritual and practical arrangements in (exiting) the social institution of marriage were linked to a third place, in this case Taiwan, beyond the main residences of marriage parties either in Canada or Mainland China. It was in these international contexts – of nation-state regulations, of negotiations between career and family, and of physical/discursive entwinements in love – that a woman’s resilience was produced and much manifested: resilient between “an entrepreneurial self” (Shan, 2015) and “an astronaut wife” (Ong, 1999), between the Asia-Pacific locations of Richmond, Taiwan, and Mainland China, between the investment of capital and investment of love, and between life-stages in her 30s and 40s. In living through these mixedness, a historical consciousness of collective empowerment emerged, expressed as “serving the people” that extended personal feelings beyond the household into different spaces of community life. This time, the spiritual agency as a Christian woman figured pronouncedly in the gendered geographies of power. The power of Christian peer support network played a role in her embodied health struggles, including post-divorce heartbrokenness and surviving breast cancer twice. Hwa also served in a Christian multilingual radio station called Far East Broadcasting Company (遠東廣播) in Richmond, an international radio network that aired Christian programs in 149 languages reaching places including Mainland China. Her historical consciousness of what should be changed and what the future should look like came with value commitments. The Christian spirituality of putting oneself in the honour and glory of God, and bringing love to people across all walks of life, was in and through her political platform and expressions of solidarity as “彼此相愛，愛人如己 [love each other, love your neighbour as yourself]”. Although love did not guarantee a foundation for political action or signify good politics, here love did motivate a wider, public engagement. On the one hand, the love of place, during her campaign for Richmond city councillor as an independent candidate, got translated into her policy guidelines for local environmental safety, beauty, and harmony. On the other hand, the love for all, after all, came with tensions during the political campaign, when her position on gay pride was questioned by some of her fellow 87 Christians. Here, for Hwa, love was an accommodation between personal belief and social action: while agreeing with and supporting one man-one woman relationships and marriages, she considered the society in need of more spaces of love and understanding for people who chose homosexual relationships. This ongoing intertwinement of spiritualty, love, and community life, as Hwa reflected, was her motivation for social action. In the academic historical consciousness around the “feminization of migration”(Cuban, 2010), women’s histories were largely represented in the spatial movements from the ‘developing’ Third World to the ‘developed’ First World, or revolved around Latin American-North American or Caribbean-European circuits (Sinke, 2006). Here, Hwa’s story and her pride, particularly contextualized since the 1990s from Taiwan to Canada, show how a multilingual, middle class woman’s agency can unfold in a complex and contingent manner. 4.2.2 Daughters and sons: migrant teenagers in small British Columbia towns If the stories of Tung and Hwa offer two perspectives, respectively, of the post-1970 and post-1990 contexts of adulthood migration and agency in Richmond, then the following creative work – in comparison – offered a supplementary glimpse of post-2010 migrant teenagers’ experiences in smaller British Columbia towns with less notable currents of Chinese diaspora. Both Tung and Hwa hoped the future immigrant settlement would be more spatially dispersed beyond Richmond and metropolitan Vancouver, and now there it was: migrant teenagers living in much smaller British Columbia towns of Nanaimo and Lake Cowichan – with two autobiographical short essays, by a high school girl (Gu as an international student from Mainland China) and a high school boy (Zhao as an international student from Mainland China). Like the stories of Tung and Hwa, there remained an aspirational and hopeful storyline of migration in the youth’s autobiographic accounts. But it was on a different stage in life, and a different position in family. Rather than the power dynamics imbricated with major roles of father/mother, husband/wife, as well as male/female workers and community organizers, the 88 youth struggled with transnational family arrangement and parental decision-making: the pride was in overcoming a duo-struggle of learning about the local context while making parents happy from afar. In Gu’s story, that overcoming was crystalized by her five-month-long arguments with her father – after which she made a transition from an undisciplined daughter who made her father “so mad” to an academically achieving daughter who made her father happy. But the transition had been hard, in the girl’s explicit expression of her own feelings ignored by his father, and the limited urban recreational spaces: as an international student pressured by English language and the teenage culture to smoke, and as a consumer in malls and restaurants that “I even have no idea how to ‘waste’ my time!” Concurrent to such expressions and ongoing communication with her father was her making a space of friendships with a teenage boy Panzi who lived similar situations: Panzi had considerable pressure from his parents but he “tried to be happy since I don’t want to piss them off”, Panzi’s “English sucks”, and yet there was an observation on the class-molding of social network, when the “luxury guy” Panzi initiated and built social relationships primarily through paying bills for dinners with his friends. But the youth’s living of international education process was more than making parents happy. In Zhao’s story, making his parents happy was not a primary concern: the initial “wonder how my parents found Lake Cowichan” soon converted to his statement of “but I like it here because it is a peaceful place”. The main, conclusive struggle was in his learning to become a “big guy” – an overcoming of a knowledge gap, narrated as “growing up”, “knowing more”, knowing “how to solve” difficulties, and seeing national and cultural differences between Mainland China and Canada. It was concluded, at the end, with some adulthood pride as a “real adult” – changing from a lonely 16 year old young boy to a person who was now willing to support and share his experiences to other international students. Turning again to Gu’ story, a similar capacity for extension – not only making a personal change but being sensitive to those who were similar and migrating – set the conclusive tone. It was concluded in a scene of an international airport: her murmurs after looking at the watch, her listening to boarding 89 announcements followed by her taking of a deep breath, her hearing of a female guide calling for newly arrived “Chinese immigrants” and of a dad calling her daughter Pingping, her inner voice of wishing the girl Pingping good luck, her self-position as someone who now travelled across national borders quite at ease, and eventually her extended wish to many new members brought by the plane back and forth. As the infrastructures of local entertainment industries and the transnational media in alternative languages were yet to develop, the British Columbia small town lives experienced by migrant students – from Mainland China cities in particular – also had some common contexts, not so much about gender, but more of their timing and spacing of migration. Threading the essays of Gu and Zhao there was a common loss of urbanity and sociality, a confusion of where they were, and a gradual regaining of confidence. The changes of globalization they lived were not from a deeply established system with known procedures, but were very nascent ones emerging into negotiable networks and orders: Mainland China-Canada transnational educational cooperation in formal secondary and tertiary education started significantly only about a decade ago, the mutual images communicated through media and migrant remained quite simplistic up to as recent as 2000s (e.g. Teo, 2007; Zhu, 2013), and in Canada the Chinese-language TV and entertainment production only grew to a particular level of market profitability to substantially reach relatively big and global cities such as Toronto and Vancouver (e.g. Kong, 2013). It was in these new Mainland China-Canada circuits of migration, internationalization, and learning (e.g. Guo, 2014; Shan & Guo, 2014), that the daughters and sons found their presences and resonance. In the above migrant crosscurrent, pride is primarily about the hopeful learning of resilience, accommodation, and rich experiences of (im)migration. That hopeful learning speaks to a social mobility of making a home and being capable for social actions beyond the personal; it also speaks to a cultural mobility with (potentially) confident navigations between cultures. The following queer-nonqueer crosscurrent moves the learning of migration-settlement forward, and yet the hopefulness is at once less and more. It is less hopeful, that the learning involves multiple 90 intersected oppressions, frustration at government institutional structures, and discontents even in activism. It is more hopeful, that the learning involves self-definition with explicit political consciousness, grassroots collaborative initiatives, and searching for political alternatives in and beyond Chinese diasporas. These are the stories of three activist youth, who have grown up in Canada as children of immigrant families. 4.3 Queer-nonqueer youth crosscurrent: a different home is possible? “It might be very difficult for young, Chinese women like myself to feel empowered in spaces that are very white, and male dominant, or very heterosexual, or very able-ist… I experienced a lot of violence from men, who used me as a racialized woman, who basically saw me just as a potential convert for their particular kind of activism. They wanted to convert me into their particular kind of activism. They didn’t see me as a full human being with my own views. So that’s a struggle.” This is the voice of Lily, daughter of an immigrant family migrating when she was 6 years old from eastern Mainland China to western Canada in 2000. As, and more than, a queer young Chinese woman looking for a space of empowerment, Lily’s point on the struggles as “a full human being” has a personal story to tell. She connected struggles to what she called “white supremacist logics of desire”: it located the privileged sexual imageries of white men, but also made a wrinkle of western educated women’s complicity, with her honest acknowledgment that “my friend circle could be quite white dominated” – used to be in favor of English-fluent maleness well versed in western philosophy and literature. This relative intimacy – though she also decided “not to date white dudes anymore” – was in contrast to a lack of basic, trustful relationship with Chinese men – “it could be I’m just very averse to a certain kind of masculinity, that Chinese men are pressured to perform”. In Lily’s experiences, pronounced negativities of Chinese masculinities – what she referred to as “harassment and misogynist violence” – were unfolded around her weak relationship with her father, and her encounter with a Chinese-Canadian boy. But Lily’s search for empowerment was not just in personal space. It was more politically a 91 struggle in unfolding a fuller and more complex space of activism. The activism was located in the political “left”, and the fullness, here, was an elastic space of intersected oppressions, where personal courage and collective power were needed: “Lily: Right now, I’m very frustrated with Vancouver’s leftist community, and I’m thinking about doing something about it, but I’m very scared, it requires a lot of courage, and it can’t be done with me alone. Interviewer: What kind of Vancouver leftist community you’re talking about? Lily: Ok, I think I’m mostly talking about specific kinds of streams of activist, one of which is very closely tied to municipal electoral politics. The other one is anti-racist, anti-colonial activism. Another one is anti-violence, feminist organizing. Maybe another one is mainstream trans-organizing. And all of them have a sort of mainstream public element. I find things frustrating about all of them, hehe. I find it very frustrating that certain groups don’t do anything about the rapists and abusers in their own organization. I find it very frustrating that anti-violence feminist organizing collude with and organize with trans-exclusionary radical feminists, just to be in solidarity with all feminists. I find it very frustrating that municipal politicians are very tokenistic, paying very lip service to a variety of issues, being colluding with trans-exclusionary radical feminists, and including abusers in their various fields, so I guess the worst part is the municipal politicians. I also find it frustrating that some people, in trans-leadership, or in the queer community, can be very classist, ignorant about indigenous issues. So, basically, what I’m saying is, building new spaces is important, because these existing spaces are very frustrating. They are attempts at building, hmm, they are attempts at creating a better society, but doing it within the hierarchy of the existing society. I deal with that with more activism. One thing, not direct, but influences me a lot, environmental racism and destruction of the land, in all places, especially on indigenous land. I don’t do environmentalism, but it motivates me, that this is going to affect so many people.” This was a realization of the intersected oppression even in activism space. This was, further, a yearning for more work to be done around the mutual ignorance and exclusions among various streams of activists. For Lily, frustration not only became the word for that complex power struggle scene, but also had implication for her critical engagement with her own gendered, ethnic, racialized collective identity. With lived experiences of Chinese masculine oppressions entangled with subjection to hegemonic masculinities, and with an opinion on the “male-dominating and hetero” space of Chinese activism in Vancouver, Lily maintained a 92 critical distance from doing activism with Chinese-Canadian or Asian-Canadian communities – because “gender relations and other barriers might prevent me from entering it, or whether I have enough Chinese women to mentor me to go into these spaces.” In spaces where Lily did feel enabled and empowered to enter, her frustration was a further, careful attention to particular margins, even in feminism space: “One thing that is a constant struggle in this city in this area is dealing with feminists who exclude trans-folks, trans-women specifically. So I’ve done a lot of work, that you don’t really get credit for, like, making sure folks who feel attacked and marginalized by these feminists asked people to support them, support their decision in standing up for themselves, basically. It’s not institutional. It’s very grassroots. Like two or three people there, saying no this is not right, why are you doing this, like that”. It was her frustration at particular feminist exclusions – and in turn, her pride in making a small safe circle of support and solidarity for transgender folks. In the struggles between racialized patriarchy and normative feminist practices, Lily’s transgender-supports shaped a third space. Face-to-face communication was a vital support and itself a learning process for Lily to build “awareness” and “knowledge” of strategies. Cyberspace enabled the forming of intimacy, safety and alliance, in particular through social media space such as Tumblir and Facebook Group where networks of trust and sharing were built “around the violence people cause”. Sometimes the cyberspace anonymity and information circulation – buffering the “risk of being attacked” while “bringing a lot of people together” – also enabled more effective callouts and critical writings against violence. Moreover, the higher education space of University of British Columbia became a preferred bastion of doing grassroots, media-based work in and between feminist, anti-racist groups. The access to critical works – by writers such as “Indigenous women Leanne Simpson, Andrea Smith, women of color activists, like Harsha Walia, and disability justice folks like Mia Mingus”– has shaped the more complex and critical edges of empowerment. Critical writing was empowering, crucial grassroots support was empowering, and counter-intuitively the frustration itself is empowering. What Lily did with her frustration at the 93 existing leftist activism spaces was to do “more activism”. With actual residential relocation from her family house in Richmond to her own rented space in East Vancouver, joining grassroots forces against the gentrification of Chinatown, and speaking in a Downtown Eastside film panel around queerness, Lily was moving metaphorically and physically to explore a home space in the interfaced landscapes of activism. Eventually Lily and another queer youth 阿風 [ah-fung] organized a grassroots project related to Asian diasporas, together with five other youth. For Lily, it could be said this collaboration was her provisional praxis (re)turning to Asian-Canadian activism space where she had kept a critical, practical distance and had felt ambivalent. More elaborated below, this collaboration was now also a turn for us to listen to a different story of 阿風[ah-fung]. 4.3.1 阿風: building my own house Like Lily, 阿風[ah-fung] was a 1.5 generation Chinese-Canadian – when he was a child in the late 1990s, he migrated with his Hong Kong family to Richmond. But unlike Lily who lived in the south of Richmond, 阿風 lived in central Richmond where ethnic Chinese population figured more pronouncedly in commercial and residential spaces (City of Richmond, 2013). An educated, young gay man, 阿風 spoke on the pride in not speaking “gay pride”: “I am not proud as, um, I don't think an intellectual concept, or a social construct, or an orientation, is something to be proud of, just as straight isn’t something to be proud of. For me and my organizing, it is not relevant anymore. For me, I’m proud of knowing gender constructs. I’m proud of knowing the history, I’m proud of knowing the introduction of European gender binary, the binary of male and female, was one that became a colonial tool. And it was a way of breaking down the social fabrics of Indigenous nations here. So I’m proud of speaking that truth. I don’t know if that’s gay pride. I’m proud of being able to know history, even that’s a history that often gets erased, and always gets re-arranged and scrambled, not accidently, but actually intentionally by institutions.” For 阿風, making gay pride irrelevant was not to mute homosexual and queer voices. Not speaking gay pride was his speaking on its limits: not confined to a personal identification simply in sexual orientation, and not confined to politics that positioned sexuality as the only and 94 overwhelming force of struggle. Speaking to academic historical consciousness, this liminal voice might also be a cautious checking of gay men complicities/privileges that partly shaped transnational and local space (e.g. Manalansan IV, 2006; Ross & Sullivan, 2012; Sykes, 2016). For 阿風 and his organizing, saying gay pride “not relevant anymore” was a statement of sensitivity in knowing more – particularly, the political sensitivity in Indigeneity, colonization, race, and gender. It was his personal diaspora to North America, through what he called “inter-colony migration” from the 1997 British Hong Kong to British Columbia, as the son of a Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadian immigrant family on “unceded Coast Salish Territories”. The time-space of his natal body was consciously re-thought: “I, um, was born in, um, I’d like to say that the year we are using is a colonial Christian concept, I was born in 1990, in the British colonial year, centred on the history of European countries”. His retelling of personal histories was consciously threaded through the presences of women of color, where he positioned as a learner, supporter, or co-worker. In elementary school he had a difficult time of communication with “teachers who grew up speaking English or an European language, teachers who are white, that they have a different concept of attention and care for those who cannot be understood”. In his more intellectualized learning (including a bachelor degree in sociology at the University of British Columbia) and extramural grassroots activism at many fronts (from speaking against gentrification and discrimination at city council public hearings to participating in local spoken poetry nights for people of color), he acknowledged significant inspirations from writers such as “Anishinaabeg speaker and writer Leanne Simpson, and black lesbian writer Audre Lorde”. It was with these intellectual and community learning that 阿風 took a reflexive look at his own life, and was “proud of knowing the history” of the social context he lived. The pride was not only in knowing but also in being capable of doing more grassroots praxes rather than philosophical debates. 阿風 shared his political consciousness and roadmap as “building my own house”, inspired particularly by Leanne Simpson who – extending Audre Lorde’s question “can the master’s tools dismantle the master’s house” – suggested to build a 95 house through community praxes. “I need to see myself as a person with culture, I have a shared vision with my community members, I have, um, it’s not having the delusion that I am not oppressed, obviously I am oppressed, obviously I am marginalized. But I can be stuck with that, at certain point, and I need to have the power to make up new words, new language, I need to have the power to find lost traditions, I need to have the power to give to the next generation. (…) I have to give credit to a writer Leanne Simpson. It’s an idea that I got from her. Leanne Simpson thinks that, if you dedicate and invest all the time in philosophically trying to convince people, that master’s tools cannot dismantle the master’s house. So build your own house.” The power to build was in praxis, standing in the midst but also beyond victimized positions. In building his own house with “culture”, “new language”, “tradition”, and “the power to give to the next generation”, 阿風 started with his personally relevant, diasporic culture. 阿風 and Lily co-organized a grassroots project Asian Dialogue, together with five other Cantonese/Mandarin/Vietnamese/English speaking youth. In asking “when Chinese became Chinese” and “when Asian became Asian”, it facilitated conversations around diasporic Chineseness and broader Asianness: with conversations, building of networks, and the making of an Asian-Canadian zine, it became a lived space to stimulate imagination, create new symbols, and generate resources, beyond the duality of ‘European/Asian’ and ‘White/Asian’. Though always problematic, the community organizing signifier ‘Asian’ was used in relation to the Eurocentric writing and representing of Canadian histories: it aimed to promote the critical and even genetic kinds of historical consciousness, in particular as historically discriminated and homogenized ‘Orientals’ or ‘Asians’ coming to self-determined and different voices. Engaging with different voices such as from “Vietnamese, Sikh, and Nepalese people”, another critical practice of historical consciousness was to deconstruct multiple layers of dominant narratives: Canadian-ness centred on English-speaking local borns, Asian-Canadianness centred on East Asians, East Asian-ness centred on Chinese, Korean, and Japanese stories, and Chineseness centred on Greater China narratives in Sinophone diaspora – all that had long been represented in both popular and academic historical consciousness (e.g., Tu, 1991; Wang, 1993). Now, 阿風’s 96 take on Asian diasporas – to carefully appropriate Wright (2003b, p.14)’s articulation on African diasporas – was to state that Asian identity must not be straightjacketed as straight, yellow and continental: it can also be queer, non-yellow and outercontinental. 阿風 hoped to build wider and deeper relationships, in particular with Indigenous and Black communities. Here in the British Columbia context, 阿風 with his conscious checking of privilege was speaking with Wright (2016), that “with a low black population and a focus on Indigeneity and Asianness as the primary forms of difference, there is little acknowledgement of the black presence” (p.12). In this complex becoming of a university-educated Hong Kong-Cantonese migrant young queer male activist on the Indigenous land of North America, some “disidentification” (Muñoz, 1999) could be sensed, in transforming struggles around dichotomized racial and sexual categorization into broader revolutions, in what he called a “white settler colonial cis-hetero-patriarchal capitalist society”. It was always a complex transformation. Even communicating with his own grandmother, there was an ambivalent acceptance of intimacy: his lived and intellectualized gender sensitivities would speak to his grandmother’s upbringing under “very strict, hetero-patriarchal parents”; at the same time, with Cantonese language skills, his sensitivity to imperialism spoke to his grandmother’s survival experiences under the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong, which he decided to remember and pass onto the future. With ongoing grassroots organizing, 阿風 was expecting his 26: “One of the most important things I learn is I am a member of a community. That is different from being a human rights activist in a movement. I feel I’m more of a person with chosen family members and friendship with people I agree with, who keep me safe, who I can talk about different things with, as opposed to a worker in a movement where I’m told that I have only one goal and I have only one story to tell, and the story is always going to be interpreted in one framework”. 4.3.2 Tse: becoming a progressive Chinese Christian If the lived stories of Lily and 阿風 spoke outright to the complex and gendered youth searching for new, grassroots political homes, Tse’s stories illustrated a translucence kind of gendered power, with his more pronounced, exploratory becoming of a “progressive Chinese 97 Christian”. Organizing an active collective with gender-queer youth already had a progressive element for a Chinese Christian youth. A value commitment to the Christianity tenets of service and poverty alleviation became for him a political-economic edge of historical consciousness, throughout his religious family upbringing, educational changes from science major to social work, self-reflection as lower-middle class privilege, and subsequent praxis: “Many of the guiding values come from my religious belief, to care about people in poverty, to work for equality. Look at the present world, the rich gets richer, the poor gets poorer, I think this is not fair, not just, so I have to do something. I guess the main guide is here, that these things are not right. How do we fight for more rights for low-income people? How do we ensure it’s not just rich people to make the decisions? And the developers, who disregard local issues, have to justify what they do. Low-income people should have a better life.” The “just emotions” (Ahmed, 2004) stuck to class-signs. It became a concretization of Christian spirituality into class-differentiated consciousness and struggles: against possessive greed, against speculation, for the economically marginalized, and for a responsible culture. Much of this concretization came very close to a particular “structure of feeling” (Williams, 1961) in fighting against dominant capitalist establishments and in giving the under-recognized consciousness a valid expression. Yet between his reflexive checking on “privileged lower-middle class background” and his progressive collaborative for “working class power”, it was the higher education of social work that brought him to more specific promotions of social and political arrangements. The insistence on class-differentiated struggles had practical purposes: for him, the critical coursework on capitalism shaped his more transformative version of society rather than simply a grand ideal of religious service, or a conservative version of middle class ethics of service (e.g. Williams, 1961). The practicum work connected him to Carnegie Community Centre mainly serving Downtown Eastside and Chinatown area. And this particular emplacement eventually positioned him – and motivated him further after the practicum – to fight in the frontier of advocating social housing for low-income groups. It was this particular lived space of class struggles that was activated as a counter-space against the elite conceived space of residential and commercial rezoning. Chineseness became a 98 relevant political liveliness around dispossession and property-market: it made a difference through race and age in claiming a right to the city: “This place is Chinatown, historical and lived. They cannot erase this and turn that into a paifang (archway) and a museum. I think this is an important statement: they can’t just say that ‘oh this or that is insignificant, so we don’t need this.’ But insignificant for whom? And who can make these decisions? In this place I felt more real and looked deeper into things, by listening to people’s voices and stories: how people lost their language and felt ashamed of being Chinese, how Indigenous people struggled with the history of colonization and felt ashamed of being Indigenous. … Also there’re many Chinese seniors living in Downtown Eastside, and Chinatown as well. We’re concerned about how rising rents would displace low-income tenants, and turn the place into a new Yaletown – no affordable supermarket, no affordable service, huge impacts on seniors’ everyday life, and on a sense of neighbourhood belonging. Will this be a good change for Chinatown? Will we lose Chinatown? We need to support low-income groups and in particular seniors. So we organized a petition movement in Janurary 2015, with 1,500 signatures, and we protested and delivered the signed petition to the municipal government in March. We keep using different ways to push this issue. Chineseness entangled with anti-ageism and anti-racism was not new in the academic historical consciousness: the elders’ care in social work and health literature (e.g. Chappell & Funk, 2011; Chow, 2012; Lai, et al. 2007; Lai & Surood, 2008, 2009), and the making of communities in Chinatown (e.g. Anderson, 1991; Ng, 1999; Wai, 1999). But to say that Chineseness only enabled an anti-ageism and anti-racism position was to limit Tse. In depth, the Chinese pride of solidarity was used as a diasporic network not only to counter the elite transnational capital speculation across ‘races’, but also to make more differences. Without his sensitivity to diverse ranges of structures of feeling – such as the rural Toisan/Hakka Guangdong cultures compared to the metropolitan Hong Kong-Cantonese cultures in Richmond – the solidarity would easily tend to a self-serving leftist position and a massification of class (Williams, 1961, pp.295-312). Without his conscious action to “affirm Chinese power and leadership” – which was partly compelled by the importance of translation and alternative expressions and ways of doing – the solidarity could hardly speak to the academic consciousness in cultural studies, of “de-centring” (Wright, 1998) English consciousness in seeing different ways of creating social changes. In his 99 praxis, Chinese empowerment was a progressive strategy to de-centre the imperial English development of working class consciousness, from the past of labour movements in B.C. (Heron, 2012) to the present frontiers of social work, where many Chinese-speaking seniors’ were underserved as most information and services were in English or meagre Chinese translations: “Now we’ve organized a Chinatown Action Group, hoping to encourage more youth involvements in social justice – to support residents in Chinatown and Downtown Eastside, and to grow into a more progressive Chinese voice. We’ll see how this group would develop, as a medium term strategy: especially we have many 唐人(Tang-ren/diasporic Chinese) in Vancouver, and need to engage them to participate in different social issues, to have a voice. We need to affirm Chinese power and leadership, instead of always following what the English group is doing, as if we’re a branch or subgroup. We have our own leadership, and to grow strong: this is a goal. We have another action group, of younger generations, more progressive, and concerning about social justice issues in our different circles. After all, we need to build a strong base including more residents; otherwise those politicians won’t listen to your voices. It’s a kind of democracy that depends on how many votes you have: if you only got 50 people, compared to thousands from the other side, then [the politicians] won’t listen to you.” Working with demography, intergenerational development, and the constraints of existing electoral politics, Tse and his collective’s focus on “people power” was manifested in active citizenship (Banks, 2008) of taking up spaces, through street and city hall protests, demonstration of strength, petitions, and other direct contestations to claim “the right to the city” (Harvey, 2008). The strong emphasis on “people power”, fighting with explicit protests on behalf on working class and low-income residents, would be easily stereotyped into pronouncedly resistant and rebellious masculinities demonstrated by men with ethnicized or class textures (e.g. Gutmann, 2003; Louie, 2015), if not for the fact that the core collective of organizing and leadership involved different women of color and queer youth, besides men’s involvements. Further in voicing out dissents, such as through city hall protests and town hall meetings, the collective highlighted the voices of senior Chinese-speaking women. This particular empowerment was more allied with Chinese-heritage younger generations of women leaders such as June Chow and Doris Chow of Youth Collaborative for Chinatown (Vancouver Sun, 100 December 2015; Ming Pao, May 2016), but quite apart from other activist women’s voices such as Eveline Xia a young woman speaking from a young professional and middle class position in Vancouver’s housing debates (The Georgia Straight, May 2015; Vancouver Observer, May 2015). Yet in spite of these differences, the voices of (professional and/or business) men – some with deep diasporic roots in the Chinatown location while some with very recent real estate interests – featured primarily in the contestations around the positionings and prospects of Vancouver’s Chinatown, in local newspapers sending messages to both Chinese-/ English-speaking communities (e.g. Sing Tao Daily, May 2016; Vancouver Sun, May 2016). More recently, Chinese-heritage women’s voices were rising, represented on the facebook page of Tse’s collaborative Chinatown Concern Group and local newspaper (e.g., Ming Pao, November 2016); there was also an emphatic representation of women – mainly a grassroots position of dissents against the fast developments in Chinatown. After all, counter-gentrification was Tse’s primary position: a presence grounded on a past of diasporic Say Yup-Chinese making of Chinatown with a major working class base, now in the face of mixed transnational capital investments and local land redevelopments. In this urgency of action – entangled with an anxiety of losing ethnic heritage culture and space, a critical view of urban planning process, and a fight against capitalist speculation – it could be said that there was a de-gendering aspect of historical consciousness in Tse’s narrative. Such de-gendering was relative to the academic narratives that suggested gendered struggles: the Chinese version of Chinatown past was one that featured majorly men and male-centred kinship organizations (e.g., Ng, 1999); the transnational capital mobilization, circulation, and enterprise making were inseparable from patriarchal power and network, often based on heterosexual family reproductive logics and gendered social ties (e.g., Ong, 1999); and the local gentrification process was entangled with the life courses of professional (single) middle class women, in the metropolitan and even transnational context of labor mobility (e.g., Bondi, 1999). But after all, in the praxes primarily around affordable housing, gendered struggles tended to submerge, 101 translucently, under the paramount contestations around different social class positions, commercial interests, and the racialized and ethnicized histories of neighbourhoods. 4.4 A temporary landing This journey of pride, so far, is primarily about the fluidity of searching, by different travellers/storytellers. There is an inflow of diasporic dynamics: like a river, upstream – more distant in time and space through family memories; closer to midstream – the very lived process of migration; flowing downstream – a younger generation’s hope for complex convergence across and beyond diasporas. The river runs with sediments: with the essences of Han-Chinese diaspora (e.g. Tang people, Hua people) even entangled with/as part of the continentalized Asian diasporas – to make a difference in place-making, class, gender, race, generational changes, ecological knowledge, among other contestations. But the river also washes away some generic, nationalistic and androcentric Chineseness, and moves towards more mixed, intimate, and specific (though not necessarily narrower) articulations such as Cantonese, Hakka, Teochew, New Territories, island Hong Kong, among others. In searching, there is also an outflow of gendered dynamics: from engendering women’s routes with granddaughter-grandmother crosscurrents, to differently gendered agency and mobility in the actual process of (im)migration, and further onshore into the grassroots space of queer-nonqueer youth collaborations. Much of this chapter has been about flux: intergenerational heritage inheritance/translation, transnational family (re)arrangement, cross-cultural exploration, cross-community relationship in the queer-nonqueer youth activism with both frustration and hope. Much pride is produced in this flux/context of active searching. But concurrent to searching, there is also a process of settling: a journey about stability, secured status quo, and further a saturated state of mind with extended, global aspirations. This is what the next chapter shows. 102 5 Pride in Multicultural States States close and open: from territorial nation-states to specific states of local development and further to a global state of mind. Multicultural situations are always there and changing: foregrounded in national policies and politics of recognition, re-articulated in polemically-ethnocultural contexts, and further re-turned to a fact of common multiculturality of life. It is to these complexities that (Chinese) pride now turns, with three crossroads. First, the colony-nation crossroads is illustrated by the ambivalent case of Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadians, moving from a British Hong Kong colonial past into a Canadian multicultural state entangled with ethnicized ‘Chinese-Canadian’ status quo. But the affirmed status as Canadian nationals cannot be separated from a local multicultural context: this is the second crossroads – ethnicity-city crossroads – illustrated by the case of Richmond in a state of significant urban development and debates around ‘Chineseness’ as a local majority population. But the ideas of Chineseness are almost always on the move with global ethnocultural representations and communications wider than the local context: this is the third crossroads – migration-communication crossroads – illustrated by the case of Sinophone messages in a global state of mind. 5.1 Colony-nation crossroads: British Hong Kong-Chinese becoming proudly Canadian? Hanson recalled his 1960s family migration – from British Hong Kong to Canada – as a key life juncture in becoming a proud member of an “independent”, “democratic” country: “We came from Hong Kong, and Hong Kong was a British colony. My father was running a knitting factory in Hong Kong [in the 1950s and 1960s]. The Hong Kong government was corrupted, the inspectors to the factory received ‘red pocket’, or in Chinese 利市. I was young, and not accustomed to these things. I asked my father, and he said it’s just to make things easier. (…) Transition from Hong Kong to Canada had quite a heavy impact on my thinking. Before, I was not allowed to challenge authorities, although I came from a high school in Hong Kong with a known tradition of students talking back to teachers. It’s called Diocesan Boys’ School, an Anglican school. (…) In terms of the Hong Kong government, there was hardly a chance for young people to say what they want. 103 The British government ran a very tight ship, they knew what they wanted and they did it. I remembered the only opposition voice in Hong Kong was from a British woman Elsie Tu, an expatriate, who was the only voice against the government. We looked up to her to reflect the needs of Hong Kong people.” Canadian citizenship itself was ridden with colonial histories and ongoing struggles of First Nations: Hanson spoke of Canadian independence and democracy in relation to his life experiences in the 1950s and 1960s Hong Kong under the British colonial rule. This was a colonial-migrant’s pride: the historical consciousness of spatially exiting colonial subjectivity and entering a presence of nationhood. But there was a generational difference. For 1990-born 阿風(ah-fung) who migrated as a 7-year-old in 1997 with his family, the “life changing” experience was recalled as “inter-colony” migration from British Hong Kong to British Columbia, in particular to Richmond as part of the “unceded Coast Salish Territories”. Among Hanson’s peer generation of British Hong Kong emigrants, there was also social class difference in expecting just what national citizenship meant. For Tung who called himself a “village boy[鄉下仔]” from New Territories, the initial contact with what Canadianness offered started with higher education, work, and English language learning. For Ken also from New Territories but with deeper familial connections in Canada and later becoming an entrepreneur, the citizenship narrative of Canadian belonging was cultivated with an appreciation of “Canadian generosity” that offered him a permanent resident status, work opportunities, and the right to vote. For Hanson who “never worked for others” (except for a few brief stints after graduation from university), the Canadian stories were remembered as active citizenship in learning how democracy worked: city hall petitions participation, community mobilization through media, and involvement in electoral politics. Through time, however, these social class differences – among the 1940s/1950s-born generation of British Hong Kong colonial-migrants coming to Canada in the 1960s/1970s – tended to converge into an emerging territorial pride in nation-state. After living more than 40 years in Canada, Tung acknowledged no more connection to the currents in Hong Kong. Rather than saying “already quite used to live here [已經住慣]” which I presumed in my question to him, he preferred the expression that Canada was “already my home [已經是 104 我的屋企]”. Ken spoke more definitely, imbued with the interests of future generations. For Ken, this national pride reflected an ambivalent location – a global perspective of the industrial metropolitan advantages of Canadianness was mixed with a national perspective of protecting and cultivating a better society within the Canadian borders: “Canada is a developed country, with rich resources and high living standards. On a global stage, Canada plays a role to support some other countries to advance. We have these resources and talents, and could publicize and promote these scientific technologies to the world. I might not have such worldview and horizon if I had not come to live in Canada. So this is one thing I am really proud of. And proud of living in and towards a Canadian society which is equal and just, where everyone has equal opportunities to learn and thrive. (…) After about ten years, I realized myself really as a Canadian, that my identity is Canadian, I would not leave Canada, and my children, grandchildren, and future generation would stay in Canada. Whether I’m from Canada or Hong Kong, I’ll be proud of that. But at the present I’m a Canadian, and my nationality is Canadian. The most important element of identity, as folks in Canada would say, is whether you have a sense of belonging. But I’m speaking beyond the sense of belonging – it’s the sense of ownership, because I have a right to share the resources of this country and to have my voice in the process of policymaking. I have ownership. So I care, and I will protect her”. For British Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadians, there was almost always this possible pride of turning colonial subjectivities into a secured state of full citizenship – what Ken expressed as moving “beyond the sense of belonging” into a sense of “ownership”. Pronouncedly expressed in the practices of Ken was a narrative around themes of liberal multiculturalism – citizenship education for immigrants as first-generation Canadians, rational and objective deliberation, and personal intercultural learning (Kymlicka, 2003, 2007, 2010, 2012). A particular emphasis was on youth learning. He organized youth camps of learning about First Nations cultures through projects of Civic Education Society, a non-profit organization which he co-founded with friends in 1991 based in Richmond and reaching out further to British Columbia Lower Mainland areas. With experiences and inspirations from the model of Duke of Edinburgh Award project in British Hong Kong, Ken also founded the Youth Leadership Millennium program in Vancouver 105 collaborated with S.U.C.C.E.S.S since 1999, with significant supports from the then S.U.C.C.E.S.S CEO Lillian To. Mainly Chinese-Canadian youth joint the program, and learned to become “successful in the society” as “a leader” and “a good citizen” cultivated through various personal development projects, such as scouting, first aids, toastmaster, interview skills, financial management, physical fitness, and social awareness. In Tung’s stories, there was a more specific emphasis on the adult learning of political skills, including English language, speech manner, public speaking/performance, group deliberation, and conversational skills. He himself learned some of these from a toastmaster club in Kelowna where he started to adapt to local Anglophone contexts, through various local social events interacting with European-Canadians. Relocated back to Vancouver he co-founded the Centennial Toastmaster Club in 1986 with a group of Chinese-Canadian young professionals, later with the membership and participation of Chinese-Canadians who were involved in electoral politics. For British Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadians, moving smoothly into Canadian pride was a possible accommodation: the exemplary narrative being that the present multicultural Canada had replaced its racist past, and promoted a present as well as a future better than “assimilation” or melting pot” in the United State of America. But for Hanson, national pride did not mean that racism receded and became a matter of the past. Instead, (anti)racism was among his major narratives: during the 1990s Vancouver tree bylaw debates, ‘race’ was an antagonistic entanglement with the Caucasian community, in particular what he remembered in the mainstream white media reports and the organization of “the Dunbar resident community association with all white women.” When he ran for the position of city councillor in Richmond in 2010, ‘race’ took the form of being questioned about forming a “Chinese party”, and his realization that “the racial perception will never leave you, that you have a yellow face, although I’ve been living here for forty years”. He was deeply involved in the movement of Chinese Head Tax redress, with his community mobilization with the Cantonese radio program 華僑之聲 (Overseas Chinese Voices), and direct negotiations with federal politicians such as Steven 106 Harper and Jason Kenny. Between anti-racism and national citizenship, Hanson’s Canadian pride had tensions: a critical distance from and even a disbelief in the Canadian government and state, and yet an affirmation as a Canadian; a sense of belonging in an independent nation, and yet a sharp critique of it as a white nation rotated between the regimes of the English and the French. In Hanson’s terms, it was the ongoing struggle for “democracy” – with a liberal view and an international narrative privileging Canadian-ness – that held multiple contradictory tensions of national pride together: “The federal government didn’t like me, because I was hitting them with Head Tax all the time. The Head Tax redress took us twenty years from the day the movement asked for the redress of the Head Tax, to Steven Harper’s promise and Steven Harper’s delivery, twenty years. In a way, activism worked, but it took so long, involved so many people, and wasted so much money. Sometimes it made you feel, (silence), made you feel 無奈. Maybe frustrated is the word. But 無奈 is not frustrated, 無奈 is a sense of helplessness. (…) But during the process of the Head Tax redress, I saw and I understood that in a democracy things do not happen overnight, it’s not revolution. A democratic process sometimes takes forty years. But at least in Canada it can be done! It is done! Right? So that’s the pride you’re talking about. But that pride comes with a price. Democracy also comes with a price. (…) The message I want to send through activism is that, many countries in this world are under despotism, under dictatorship, many countries have no freedom, where you cannot say what you want and you have no choice. So though activism, hopefully you can change that: even dictatorship, you can change. But if no activism, then there’s no change.” For youth activist 阿風, however, the tensions around Canadianess were complex and contradictory to a point where national pride was not articulable. Although multiculturalism became “a successor regime to race relations which in turn was an improvement on assimilation and explicitly exclusivist and racist immigration policies that reflected Eurocentric conceptions of the nation” (Wright, 2012, p.104), an explicit rejection of hegemonic Canadian multiculturalism was voiced: “I feel, um, Chinese people need to understand the society they live a lot more, and I think they live in a white settler colonial cis-hetero-patriarchal capitalist society. It’s able-ist, too. I don’t want inclusion or acceptance campaign, I don’t want multiculturalism. 107 Interviewer: You don’t want multiculturalism? No, no, because those are acceptance and inclusion campaigns. Why being included, when you’re never actually included. Why not put the word into being a better known stranger? Why be a better known stranger, when you should destroy border? Stranger is someone displaced, someone you don’t know in your neighbourhood, someone shouldn’t really be there.” 5.1.1 Looking forward to Canadianness? In refusing to accept “the promise of multicultural happiness” (Ahmed, 2006) in a Canadian location, it could be said that 阿風 spoke to a transformative citizenship stance to “dismantle existing laws, conventions, or structures” (Banks, 2008, p.136). Tilting between his stance and the stance of liberal multiculturalism was the ambivalent ethnic minority pride of Chineseness – a niche status in a Canadian multicultural state – differently articulated by different generations of colonial-migrants from British Hong Kong to British Columbia. Tung and May Kei – both quite connected to different levels of government and in particular with experiences as a Vancouver city councillor – spoke with different emphases. Tung’s opinion represented a position of “not quite there yet”: the Chinese empowerment for more institutional leadership was needed, as a visible minority with comparability and workable allyship with other minority groups differently signified by ethnicity, gender, and sexuality under the rubrics of multiculturalism. Tung considered the political consciousness among Chinese communities as still quite “immature” with “surprisingly low expectation” on politicians – mostly about honorary presence at banquets and celebrations, rather than promoting social and political arrangements. In the nuanced workings of political institutions, he observed the insufficient Chinese participation in the political party’s strategic steering committees and discussion groups, especially at the formative stage of deliberating/making different policies which laid the grounds for the party’s political strategies used for elections – “without involvement at that [strategic] level, Chinese-Canadians do not have a voice”. Further, there was a lack of Chinese presence in the political appointments of staff, as advisors for the elected officials: “All provincial legislative members and ministers have their own executive 108 assistants. Basically they run errands and provide opinions. These positions are political appointments rather than elected ones. At this level of political appointment, Chinese are very rare. These persons have unusually strong influences, because they’re seeing the ministers and premiers all the time. They could tell the politicians what they think is right, select materials they like and shelve the ones they don’t like. Chinese communities rarely get involved at this level.” May Kei, on the other hand, represented a position of mixed Chinese recognition and privilege. Reflecting on her Vancouver life for almost fifty years, she now felt very proud of the “Chinese power [shi-li/勢力 in the original]”, yet with a critical touch: “One of my strongest memories is that, during my time as city councillor in the 1990s – so 20 years ago – I gave this speech at a merchants’ association attended by many Chinese entrepreneurs and businesspersons. I said, ‘I’m very happy that today our Chinese could have such promising business developments here, with these many enterprises established, I’m very happy to see the achievements. But on the other hand, we need to think carefully and to hire folks based on their skills and capabilities, rather than racial or ethnic identities’. Because at that time, Chinese companies rarely hired westerners or Caucasians. (…) So I said, ‘when you hire, please consider not just Chinese, if you really want people to respect you. In this world, well, to be practical, if you offer me a job, I respect you. You are entrepreneurs, business owners, and employers. You have a responsibility to elevate the Chinese status. It’s not about how big the business is. The Chinese experiences in Malaysia already gave a lesson: gigantic business, economic monopoly, but did they earn respect from people? Big problems.’” It was a provisional statement to check the local and global privilege of Chineseness. More than twenty years ago, the speech reflected a critical type of historical consciousness: translating Chinese capital and business interest into substantial respects by ‘non-Chinese’ groups including “westerners or Caucasians”, with lessons learned from the Southeast Asian experiences, but also with a hope to subvert a particularly racialized hierarchy in North American histories. May Kei was quite acute to recognize entrepreneurship and hiring practices as a key location of political and social arrangements. Her awareness of overseas Chinese business landscapes – changing from a past of enclave space and jobs to larger corporations and wider entrepreneurships – was 109 also in resonance with the academic historical consciousness of the time in North America (e.g., Li, 1992, 1993, 1998; Wong, 1993). 5.1.2 Looking forward to Chineseness? The multifaceted pride produced through the positionalities of British Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadian had no clear and easy fit: its struggling for national pride was not only entangled with the Canadian situations, but also with a critical remembering of China. This was a double-remembering: a Canadian recalling of Hong Kong’s memories about a particular past in China. Such recalling, for Hanson, Ken, and 阿風[ah-fung], revolved around a persistent democratic pride, where a colonial-migrant position was entangled with a mix of colonial geographies, historical events that pushed migration, and a presence of transnational imagination of justice and injustice: the Hong Kong territorial negotiation between British premier Margaret Thatcher and the Chinese premier Deng Xiaoping, the 1989 democratic movement in China with persistent impacts on both Hong Kong and Canada, criticisms of dictatorship, and the ongoing imagination of the ideological and political systems in China. In the future, shifts in the triadic Canada-Hong Kong-China presences would continue to modify the critical tones and stances. The colonial-migrant ambivalence would grow, as Chinese-Canadian international relations grew tighter, especially in economic and cultural ways. The 2014 Brilliance of China award, with a video representation of Ng’s life stories, illustrated the increasing production of cultural heritage pride, in complicating the colonial-migrant ambivalence. Born in British Hong Kong and migrated to Canada in the 1960s, Ng became a doctor in Toronto and later established a foundation in 1998 to preserve Chinese cultural heritage and artifacts, partnered with organizations in both her “Chinese homeland and adopted country of Canada” – as a former deputy minister of Heritage Canada recommended her for the award. In Canada, cultural heritage anchored a narrative of ethnicized Chinese pride, as Ng in the video spoke to the importance of cultural recognition through “敲开演出场所的门，敲开决策者的心 110 门(opening the doors of performance places, opening the doors to the hearts of decision-makers)”. The Brilliance of China was produced in alignment with Chinese state interests, in particular the Patriotic United Front and the Office for Overseas Chinese, both aimed at a global mobilization of Chineseness. The pride in Chinese culture, here formulated as heritage and artifacts, became a discursive location of mobilizing “residual Chineseness” (Ang, 2006), where not necessarily economic-motivated persons could find possible resonances, especially in relation to an ethnicized Chinese minority context in a Eurocentric nation where they lived. In Ng’s case, her contributive role was highlighted as“中华文化软实力与国际影响力的推动者” (promoting the soft power of Chinese culture and its global influence): just to what extent the resonances could be pumped into such pride-constructions as Chinese patriotism or Chinese world civilization was another debate. But here for colonial-migrants, there was almost always some diasporic attractiveness in the ideas of cultural heritage: rediscovering roots, reforming cultural identities, and researching for things been taken away. It was indeed the case that Ng’s stories were also partly represented as a Canadian doing international work and promoting Sino-Canada friendship, as a Canadian senator also spoke on the ceremony as an award recommender representing the Canadian state. But much was on the colonial-migrant agency of diasporic researching and belonging: at times a cultural praxis of transnationalism via her organization of heritage preservation, and at least for herself, a “double-consciousness” (Gilroy, 1993) of ethnicized cultural heritage pride in a Eurocentric nation, joint by a world-historical cultural heritage pride promoted by a different though Sinocentric nation. Chinese arts, especially cultural artifacts, might remain an important evocation of residual Chineseness among some Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadians, with a cultural consciousness in relation to China. Artifacts are more than aesthetics. In the Brilliance of China presentation of Ng’s story, the selected highlight of culture as artifacts was inseparable from a larger (anti)imperialistic angle, aligned with particularly dominant forms of popular historical consciousness and academic 111 historical consciousness in China. In the former, there were already quite commonly narrated and publicized histories, through public education and state media, of Chinese indigenous artifact loss and damage in a historical context of European imperialism in particular since late 19th century, and in relation to metaphors of the wholeness and violation of Chinese bodies, anti-imperialism solidarity, and collective emotions (e.g., Wang, 2012). In the latter, there were already state-supported research projects into the dichotomized historical presences of 华夷秩序[Hua-Yi/Sino-Barbarian order], as a Han-Chinese indigenous reconstruction of world orders appropriated from Sinocentric worldviews in the past 2000 years – such as the ancient ideas of 天下[tian-xia/under heaven] and 大一统[da-yi-tong/great unification] – which were considered contestable to the Western historical worldviews (e.g., Han, 2008; Liu, 2011; Cheng, 2016). These pride entanglements between anti-imperialism defensive moods and empire revival feelings were fine and complex. Cultural artifacts represented a civilization nostalgia and a recovering of global routes: the history of “海上丝绸之路[maritime silk roads]” with the trading of china and silk was setting the tone at the very beginning of Ng’s award introduction; in ending the episode, Ng’s contribution was highlighted as “把中国文化带到世界[bringing Chinese culture to the world]. The cultural imageries of global routes, intensified by the traveling of valuable and vulnerable artifacts, were revived in the current time of increasingly interactive and intensive global movements. The global “silk roads” imageries in fact were metaphorical of an exemplary historical consciousness of “中国梦[Chinese Dream]”, a newly articulated political statement and aspiration from the Chinese president Xi, and resonated in this particular case by Qiu, the director of Office of Overseas Chinese which was a key sponsor and organizer for the Brilliance of China project. In this Chinese Dream, there was an imperialism-inflected expectation of reviving the“中华民族[zhong-hua min-zu/Chinese nation], emphasizing on a timeline of the past 150 years since the Opium War in 1840. There was also the more explicitly trans-continental investment and trade idea of “一带一路[yi-dai-yi-lu/the silk road economic belt and the maritime silk road]” as one of China’s top policies for foreign relations. The particularly 112 reconstructive project of “silk roads” was a historical revocation of civilization rim, with the Han dynasty and later the Ming dynasty mapping – both Han-Chinese dominant regimes based on a worldview of 华夷秩序(hua-yi zhi-xu), or Sino-Barbarian order. In new times, new routes of Chinese cultural heritage pride were to unfold. 5.2 Ethnicity-city crossroads: Richmond in a state of development If the above storyline underscored the strenuous dynamics of Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadian pride in and between nations, then the following tales would zoom into the more specific context of Richmond, where terms such as “new Chinatown” and “ethnoburb” could become tempting labels to capture the changing urban landscape with a large Chinese-heritage population. With or without these labels, how would the changing ethnocultural diversity (in particular Chinese) in the city make a difference to citizenship and to the articulation of Canadian pride? The lessened pride in Canadianness was foremost voiced by Colin, a mixed Scottish/English/Chinese heritage youth born in Richmond, now considering himself “an overachieving person”: “I remember being younger and being very proud of being Canadian, being proud of our free education, our free health care system, our pristine parks, and then getting older and realizing that none of those things are sacrosanct, all of those things, in my generation, um, in our generation, we grew up with and we never had to fight for it. And because we never fight for it, we don’t feel any ownership of it, and because we don’t feel any ownership of it, we don’t understand how it has been eroded, and that one day, our tuition for the university might be through the roof, our health care system is likely going to a two-tier direction, our education is going to a two-tier direction. And it scares me that we don’t have a baseline standard of living for everyone who identifies as Canadian, whether as a hyphen or not, that everyone should access to a certain base line of services, as well as the opportunity to advance. And then I think the final nail in the coffin was the way that we treat First Nations people in this country. Then as an extension of that, learning about how we treated Chinese people in this country. So First Nations people take the cake for legislated discrimination by the Canadian government. Chinese people take a second to that, and I don’t think that’s something many people remember or recognize. Those things make me less and less proud of being an Canadian.” The internal, collective narrative of “we” and “our” remained. But the erosion of Canadian pride 113 was critical, in realizing the presence of colonial racism and the retreat of welfare state. Colin’s voice was a dissent against a strong liberalism (or neoliberalism) in multiculturalism: it was a dissent based on rich experiences working with government-related planning, from Agriculture Canada and to the Canadian Institute of Planners. Now doing projects of agricultural planning and food security, he spoke to his aspiration in “empowering the state” to regain some pride. “These days I’m guided by the principles in what’s called food sovereignty. Food sovereignty largely moves us away from a market-based approach, to activism, into a more political, democratic approach… I have a strong belief in the role of the state … but government also needs to keep itself accountable and listen to people. I would like to see us start building more faith in our state, re-empowering our state to do the work, because largely the state does not do it but passes on to the market, to private corporations … I’m really intrigued by the notion of interculturalism, particularly as we live in a multicultural society. But the many critiques of multiculturalism and then this movement towards interculturalism – none of these has been solidified in terms of what it looks like, whereas multiculturalism could probably just benefit from some critical reassessment, revaluation, and change.” This was the location of welfare state pride: a young person, already quite well versed in collaborative government planning work, was speaking against market expansions and corporate interests – signified by his particular commitment to “food sovereignty” that emphasized smallholders and shared decision-making in food production, distribution, and consumption. In framing alternatives along with multiculturalism and interculturalism, a healthy conceptual dose of academic-influenced political literacy, afforded by extensive higher education, was definitely there. But to solidify just what a multicultural plan would look like, the real challenging praxis was everyday relevant, even in his social circles “having far too many friends who would never come visit me, because they were literally afraid of being in Richmond”. In re-empowering the state, a non-profit path about agricultural planning and food security was chosen, and the location of Richmond – a place with much agricultural land – opened up two potential dimensions of re-empowerment. One was more conceptual, with the learning of alternatives around non-profit and state-intervention for low-income groups: learning from non-European 114 ethnocultural communities for what he called “alternative messaging” beyond the western notions of Judeo-Christian rhetoric of charity, learning from immigrant communities about different food knowledge and practices, and further learning transnationally from immigrants’ homelands – for example, responding to “a fair number of very low-income, working-class” immigrants in Richmond, Colin and his colleagues researched into different countries’ living standards, different definitions of hunger and poverty, and different states’ food policies and approaches to poverty alleviation. Another dimension of re-empowerment was around praxis. The adult education approach of “growing everyday multiculturalism” (Shan & Walter, 2015) through community gardens was used in Colin’s building of local communities. But in the ethnocultural-sensitive context of Richmond, and in a particular controversy around garden thefts, racialized tensions marked the frontline where Colin had to take particular antiracism interventions: essentialization of non-European immigrant cultural differences remained in the local English media, and the “intercultural contact zones” (Shan & Walter, 2015, p.31) were teeming with negativities one-sidedly attributed to Chineseness as a major visible ethnicity. This struggle in particular, and the larger struggle with what Colin called “very western centric, racially exclusive” community practices, continued along his efforts to restructure a local non-profit via his role as the director. “The food security organizations and local food movements have been very western centric, very racially exclusive, there’s an underlying set of values that don’t allow for bringing in a multicultural audience, so the organization like Richmond Food Security has taken a lot of that in. The board of directors when I started the job was all of white background. The approaches we were using, the volunteers we had in the mailing list, and everybody, for the most part, was of white background. So in the last two and half years, there has been a lot of dismantling of those kind of entrenched ways of doing things, changing the composition of the board of directors, employing and recruiting staff and volunteers from different backgrounds and cultures, and embracing different perspectives.” The restructuring of personnel and networks made different communities: bringing in a program assistant who spoke Cantonese and Mandarin, and working with Suzuki Foundation and 115 Fairchild Radio. But more tellingly, Colin’s praxis revealed at least two things of what ethnicity-city crossroads entailed. First, ‘race’ and non-European differences remained a key grassroots front not only in the media and imageries (Deer, 2006) but also in the contested local agricultural spaces such as community gardens and food organizations. Second, the ‘Chinese’ communities were never singular, coherent, and already there, but incomplete, full of flux, and with intersected dynamics. These all spoke critically to the popular perception of Richmond as a ‘Chinese’ place/city. These also spoke differently to the academic perception, where Richmond was for example conceived and dichotomized as a white, European local ‘minority’ increasingly overwhelmed by a non-white, non-European immigrant ‘majority’ (Rose, 2001, 2006), and where “ethnoburb” (Li, 1998, 2009) – originally used to describe a suburban area in metropolitan Los Angeles – tended to be simplified and confined to commercial developments and ethnic market. For a mixed-heritage youth like Colin, it was in this hybridized and changing context of ethnocultural salience that much remained to be done – at once unexpectedly and expectedly – in mobilizing non-European ethnocultural representations and leaderships to contest Eurocentric powers in local government. “I would like to see better representation across city council, across senior staff, within all levels of our local government. People tend to forget when you have a mayor council of nine people, and two of them are ethnically different, both represent one culture, but that culture is 50% of the population, and then there’s no representation from Filipino-Canadian communities, from Indo-Canadian communities, and those are significant populations. In fact I think those are larger than the white population. So, where is that voice (tonal emphasis) then?” 5.2.1 The power of local ethnic markets? If Colin’s stories revolved around the ethnocultural-representative pride of re-empowering the state to counter the market, then Hanson’s stories resembled almost a reversal: what he called the “ethnocentric” pride of using the market to counter the state, in a particular case of public education. But these were different states and markets. Though both focusing on non-white ethnic population, there were differences in social class and diasporic contestations for 116 multicultural citizenship: Colin’s focus was on the low-income population marginalized by the market, expressed as concerns around food security, while Hanson’s focus was more on middle class population contesting the state, expressed as concerns around English literacy. In the 1990s Richmond, new educational claim-making from the Hong Kong-Cantonese middle class families had already challenged the limits of liberalism and engendered new contestations around “education for democratic citizenship” (Mitchell, 2001). Hanson’s activism in 2001 told a particular story of establishing private English tutorial schools, in reaction to the Richmond school board’s decision of not teaching English spelling and phonics in public schools, based on teachers’ perception that the kids would pick these up naturally as they grew up. This decision raised English literacy concerns from many Chinese parents, as Hanson solicited parents’ opinions on the Cantonese radio program 華僑之聲 (Overseas Chinese Voices), with his already quite established local reputation as a radio host and a capable activist. Hanson collected 3,000 signatures for a petition to the Richmond school board and mobilized hundreds of parents to attend school board meetings. The petition did not change the school board’s decision, but the result was Hanson’s establishment of private tutorial schools, which after a year pushed the school board – in fear of losing student registration in public schools and wider community disenfranchisement – to reintroduce in selected public schools the teaching of English spelling and phonics. The nuanced playing of power – between the ethnic Chinese communities, Hanson’s role, and the municipal school board – was quite noteworthy: “I didn’t just announce the news on radio. I said I would go and speak on your behalf, if you came out to support. First time, over 1,000 people showed up at the Richmond school board meeting. But the school board was very crafty, they said ‘oh we can’t do these many, let’s do it next week’. Then next week 300 people came. Then the third week, only 100 people – this time they said ‘oh well we’ll form a committee’. So 4 Chinese people in 16 people committee, you’ll always lose. I saw it, and knew it’s not going to work. So in 太古 (Pacific Plaza Mall), I bought a unit and founded the Hanson Lau Education Centre. It’s a tutorial school to teach spelling and phonics. The school board got upset, because I got more than 300 students registered in one year – when I got 170 students, I could already start a school myself. The [Richmond] school board was worried, because I was really 117 getting involved. As a result of that, there emerged 17 other tutorial schools in 太古(Pacific Plaza Mall), haha, Jesus Christ, all private. After I started that, the school board came back and told me ‘ok we’ll teach now, in three schools for sure, with many Chinese parents’. They said ‘in the school if there were 65% or 70% parents asked for teaching spelling and phonics, then we’ll teach’. Later there were three schools where they would teach again. So I said ‘ok, if you teach, then I close’. So I closed my education centre.” Hanson was a skeptic and critic of the state. Fundamentally he supported private property and believed in the free workings of the market. There was a deep political consciousness of pride tied to the function of the market and the narrative of “selling” in the context of a white supremacy society: the endorsement of multiculturalism with “a strong liberalism (or neoliberalism) as hegemonic national ideology” (Wright, 2012, p.104). It was this consumption-oriented and market-based logics of pride that was not necessarily always already social justice oriented or explicit, but arguably everyday relevant: “If you talk about multiculturalism without economics, then it’s just an empty shell, a high sounding concept. Once you bring it down to the economics – Chinese food, music, film, artwork, whatever – bring it down to the context of marketing. And the marketing works two ways: sell the Chinese authentic stuff to the white society, or you sell something sort of fusion, meet half way. (…) What you’re proud of is what you can sell. Your culture, your heritage, your history, if you cannot sell it to the mainstream society, what kind of pride do you have?” One practice of his ethnocentric pride was this special twist of market “self-sufficiency” – gaining increasing leeway to counter the pressures of “selling” to the whites and of the dependence on Eurocentric consumption. Here for Hanson, it was the everyday market production and consumption – more so that the exaggeration of white English media – that worked quite substantially: “There are Chinese restaurants, insurance agents, and other businesses forming a unique market catering mainly to the Chinese and not to the Caucasian market. For example, my own travel agency, I only do Cantonese-speaking group tours, although I have a sign in English, haha. Many travel agencies only do ticketing to Hong Kong and China, and they might not speak English themselves. Why English signs? Why don’t I choose who I want to serve? When some markets focused on some increased demographics, the white Anglo-Saxon might feel 118 ostracized. (…) So the controversy of Chinese signs was nothing, but it showed that some people were not happy and felt threatened – they thought Richmond used to be a white people majority place, and then all the subsequent immigrants had to blend in and became white. But I don’t agree with that.” The controversy around Chinese/Asian-characters commercial signage, with the particular involvements of Hong Kong retail developers, already had precedents in early 1990s Richmond with tense public debates (e.g., Edgington, et al., 2003). In fact, the white Anglophone Eurocentric representation of Richmond always tended to promote moral panics and in particular a sense of “new Yellow Peril” based on media essentialization and exaggeration (Deer, 2006). These political arguments were inseparable from the changing business landscapes in Richmond: the Chinese pride of market sufficiency entangled with the white fear of losing ownership and access to benefits. Up to the mid 1970s, the biggest attraction in Vancouver’s Chinese-language real estate advertising was “近華埠[close to Chinatown]”. Into the late 1970s, a few Richmond advertising appeared as “new” and “spacious” (The Chinese Times, 1975, 1976, 1980). Since the early 1980s, 實業公司[real estate companies] using and providing Chinese language services started to establish office or set up branches along Richmond’s No.3 road, transacting a wide range of commercial and residential properties in and beyond Richmond (The Chinese Times, 1981, 1982). In 1990, the Richmond market was already so popular that an experienced real estate agent spoke on the intensities of transaction and speculation (The Chinese Times, 1990 June 9). Concurrent to this was an expansion of banking systems: in 1987, 匯豐銀行(the then Hongkong Bank of Canada) opened its first Richmond branch at 8191 Westminster Highway and called it 新華埠[new Chinatown] branch (The Chinese Times, 1987). In 1992, the bank already had three Richmond branches, with the other two along No.3 Road. The perception of real estate development in Richmond not only came with uneven Chinese and English media projections, but also with spatial-social class dynamics: the suburban landscape of Richmond on a floodplain under sea level was not as attractive as neighbourhoods such as Vancouver’s Westside, West Vancouver, and North Vancouver and other even wealthier neighbourhoods. In these market, social class, ethnic culture, and ‘race’ entanglements, Ken’s insights as an 119 experienced businessman revealed that the market was much more nuanced than definitely white or non-white, in the complex dynamics of consumption, operation, and ownership. A popular conception of Chinese or Asian business was the establishment of large and smaller strata malls in central Richmond – mainly within 20-minute-walking radius along No.3 road as well as the public transit of skytrain and bus routes from Marine Drive Station to Brighouse Station. But Ken’s insights added a dose of complexity – the business landscapes were more translucent and subtler than the sharp imageries and physical spaces they often resembled: “Compared to Aberdeen Centre, Lansdowne and Richmond Centre might resemble more closely to the images of mainstream society’s shopping malls. I want to talk about the changing developments of Lansdowne – at one point from mainstream to Asian, but then very quickly it was fluxed by western mainstream business and big companies, like Best Buy, Future Shop, Earls, Home Sense, Winners, mainstream stuff. So this was a very interesting change. Richmond Centre, it changed from a mainstream shopping mall, to another mainstream shopping mall. So what’s the change? It’s the operation, which became quite Asian-ized, you could even call it Hong Kong-ized. Many people with Cantonese-speaking and/or Mandarin-speaking skills were hired to run mainstream business, do marketing, and sell products. The complexity was actually a process of streamlining, to reflect the needs of culture and business. Interviewer: what are the changes in operations? When you go shopping, you’ll find many sales are able to speak Chinese, very different than before. In fact 20 or 30 years ago, opening a company or a shop in shopping malls was strictly regulated. You must have qualified experiences of running business. Hong Kong people had rich experiences doing business, so it became quite widely accepted here to have Hong Kong people to do business. At the beginning, westerner staff was often hired, and perhaps the owners were Chinese. Now in Richmond more Chinese-speaking sales were hired, and the owners could be Chinese or westerners – you can’t really tell. I’m quite familiar with business, so I could speak to this. For example, in jewelries, handbags, boutiques, cosmetics, I already knew many were owned by westerners. In what might appear to be mainstream, there’re lots of Hong Kong owners too.” Ken’s insights in the changing commercial power revealed a layer of more nuanced settlements, representations, and ownerships in less Chinese-salient, or even assumedly 120 traditionally white spaces such as Lansdowne and Richmond Centre. It refined the academic consciousness of what Richmond’s ‘Chinese’ or broader ‘Asian’ business landscape meant. The academic consciousness was mainly about transnational capital settlement impacts on local landscapes, and how such economic settlement was fixed almost permanently as ethnic markets (Li, 1992): the landmark construction of Aberdeen Mall as a representation, and the other malls from Taiwanese and Japanese transnational capital and corporations, as well as smaller space of strata malls, all of which concentrated around No.3 road. This “No.3 Road” commercial consciousness, almost equating to Richmond-Chineseness, might be once critical to what it used to be a dominant narrative of white suburb. Ken insights regarding the translucent business ownerships and changes implied another layer of urban commercial landscape, where space is produced through “network and relations” (Amin, et al., 2003, p.6), and where many transactions were situated in transnational/regional networking, business knowledge migration, and exchanging events such as international conferences, commercial exhibitions, city partnerships, business tours, and tourism itself, all of which constantly renewing capacity of movements and redefining spatial meanings. In this increasing “intersection between network topologies and territorial legacies” (Amin, 2007, p.103), there was a relevant case of Richmond’s commercial development. In 1997, the 4th World Chinese Entrepreneurs Convention was organized in Vancouver, and the local Chinese commercial circles in collaborations with Richmond city government and Richmond Asia Pacific Business Association actively showcased Richmond’s advantages and brought businesspersons to visit Richmond promoted as “亞洲以外最好的亞洲城市，集合了多個新建亞洲商場，區內亦有多間鮮為人知的高科技工廠，故此非常值得世界華商參觀 [the best Asian city outside of Asia, with many newly constructed Asian malls, with many new high-tech factories, and that is why it would make a great visiting tour for Chinese entrepreneurs from all over the world]” (Ming Pao, July 1997). It was a promotion to the world: the World Chinese Entrepreneurs Convention was an international biannual business event co-founded by The Singapore Chinese Chamber of Commerce & Industry and The 121 Chinese General Chamber of Commerce (Hong Kong). This told the potential prime location of Richmond as a rising Asia-Pacific gateway – and whatever popular development pride it might offer – in particular since the 1980s. But the Asia-Pacific economic narrative was changing and not always about Chinese-ness or Hong Kong-ness: from a particular articulation of B.C. capitalism touching tentatively to the “Pacific empire” with the then “rise of Japan” (Resnick, 1985, p.45), to the transformation of urban Richmond and larger metropolitan landscape with various Asia Pacific capital circulations (Li, 1992, 1993, 2005), and to more recent momentums that attracted enough investments and attentions for the Canadian International Council to publish a special issue on “Canada, the US, and China: A new Pacific triangle”, with perspectives such as “China’s rise” (Gilley, 2011) and “Dragon fears” (Hart, 2011). All these complexities pushed Richmond beyond its ready representation as “ethnoburb”. All these complexities fueled the space-reconfiguration pride in touch with the world, where a town such as Richmond had to engage with much larger and faster flows of people, capital, and information with regional economic transactions, and with various global time-space signifiers in ethnic, linguistic, religious, and indefinitely other cultural terms. A new “representation of space” (Lefebvre, 1991, p.39) – the space mainly conceived by authorities (such as “scientist, planners, urbanists, technocratic subdividers and social engineers”) who fixed particular essences of spatiality – now needed broaden perspectives of developments, place-cultures, and changing conceptions of North American cities. 5.2.2 A city councillor speaks In knowing/learning such international development perspective there was pride. Richmond city councillor Wilson spoke to the Hong Kong experiences of international metropolitan development. “I was born in 1955 Hong Kong, a genuine Hong Kong boy. In my childhood, I saw many homeless people on the street. Poverty and economic stagnation were not uncommon in Post-World War II Hong Kong. … I think these had quite an impact on my worldview, because I saw how Hong Kong changed from a 122 relatively backward society to an exceptionally strong economy, in particular during the 1980s. Not many people had this kind of experience. … So coming here[Richmond, Canada], one thing I speak with pride is that I bring a quite rich life experience, that I lived through and knew what social changes were. Many locals here hadn’t quite experienced social changes: this place, or this community, had been almost always the same through years, so now they might feel a bit uneasy to adjust to the current developments and changes. Another thing I could speak with pride is that Hong Kong is a very unique society, very multicultural, and Hong Kong folks very readily adapt to changes. Hong Kong is a successfully developed society, yet with few natural resources – in these, and particular in terms of the development conditions, Richmond is actually quite similar to Hong Kong. So my political view on Richmond’s development is more internationally oriented. Here, the difference I could make is to see the advantages of Richmond in becoming an international trade centre. These are some visions based on my Hong Kong migration background.” The remembering of Hong Kong developments and the ongoing learning from transnational urban partnerships produced his pride with an international planning perspective, a better understanding of complex changes. Wilson and his wife emigrated in the 1980s from Hong Kong as professionals: sensing the loss of a “human touch (人情味)”, and seeing how Hong Kong changed from a relatively backward society to “an industrial society, and further into a financial, post-industrial society”, within less than three decades. Working many years as a counselor in the Vancouver Coastal Health in Richmond, Wilson took a further step: this was the pride of “going into the system [進入建制]”. He took the municipal government path, first in Richmond school board in part stimulated by the educational issues around Hong Kong immigrant families in the 1990s (e.g. Mitchell, 2001). He evoked the metaphor “bridge” to highlight the agency of translating Hong Kong immigrants’ voices into conversations with local Anglophone opinions. This role of bridging continued, later in Richmond government where he served as a city councillor, and where an international perspective was evoked to inform Richmond development, with his Hong Kong-Canadian experiences of social changes, as well as his experiences of working with immigrant communities in Richmond and participating in city partnership tours in Mainland China through which he also learned more Mandarin language. Now at his particular 123 ethnicity-city crossroads – around ethnic representation in the municipal government – there were, however, leadership limitations: “The deepest experience is that ethicized people were set to act in really narrow space, because of two sets of expectation. The first is, they see me firstly as a Chinese, and expect me to represent the Chinese. But there’re so many subgroups in the Chinese, so many different opinions, so the dilemma is, even if you could represent, which group are you representing? When some people think that I don’t commit to what they see as Chinese interest, they would conclude like ‘you don’t do the things I want to do, then you’re a ‘漢奸(han-jian/Han-Chinese traitor)’. Then another expectation is from the whole society: as soon as your opinions have any ‘deviation’, the first explanation is that because you’re Chinese. So through all these years, this is my deepest feeling, the hardest dilemma.” It was a practical dilemma where ethnic pride was not quite articulable: in the city, his power of mobilizing ethnic Chinese population came with the impossibility of doing a unanimous representation of ‘the Chinese’; in the city council, his power of speaking with an ethnic-sensitivity was bundled with the political necessity to justify policymaking/positionality as not ethnic-specific. The dilemma also suggested a contextual status quo: when academic narrative considers the political potentials of pride with “active Chinese Canadian citizenship” in Richmond (e.g., Xiao, 2015), Wilson’s voice was an honest and critical acknowledgement on just how far, in the city hall, that ethnicized, representative position could go. Between the dualistic ethnic and government leadership constraints, the third space of Wilson was to invest more in grassroots praxis of community development. With a PhD degree in comparative religious studies, Wilson took pride in his co-organizing with friends of Inter-faith for World Peace Society in Richmond, which promoted what he called “grounded practices” to build collaborative relationships, respect religious differences, and solve practical problems: “The story was, um, around 2006 I was invited to a B.C. Muslim event, by a Muslim association. There for the first time I had a conscious awakening, realizing that Muslim was not homogenous: with African people, Asian people, Middle Eastern people, and so many other differences and diversities. So since 2006, I started to organize regular lunch or dinner meetings with a group of people from different religious backgrounds. Later we started to expand and organize events accessible to wider participations, and invited some guest 124 speakers. Our attitude was to put aside some religious differences and focus on grounded practices: how people with different religious backgrounds collaborate to solve some realistic problems like poverty, public security, moral education – all these were not problems just faced by one particular religious group alone. In 2009 we registered [Inter-faith for World Peace Society] as an NGO. This is a project I feel very proud of – very proud meaning that I feel I actually pushed and moved something. I feel very meaningful, more meaningful than my involvement in many municipal committees, because these committees were not doing these things themselves – a monthly meeting, perhaps publishing a white paper, maybe making a work plan, but not really doing and making things happened.” This grounded pride resembled a particular case of praxis at the intersections of religion, ethnicity, gender, and age. The Chinese and Muslim women relationship building offered one case of Wilson’s organizing: in June 2013 a group of Chinese women and a group of Muslim women were invited for a face-to-face meeting and lunch gathering, and in subsequent years, more exchanges and participations in each other’s community activities. There were also local inter-religion meetings, where multicultural experiences and expectations were discussed among religious youth such as Christian, Muslim, Bahá'í, as well as non-religious youth who were using Confucian ideas to express their beliefs. Different forms were used to involved youth, in both English and Han-Chinese languages, including annual dinners, seminars, compositions contest, arts, youth symposiums, and radio talks on Fairchild AM1470. If Wilson’s stories opened a prelude, then the following pages would offer fuller expressions of pride in multiculturality, beyond conjunctures of multicultural citizenship in the nation state and the city. Above all, ethnicity-city crossroads are primarily about local contestations and a condensed map. But the making of ethnicity and the city has wider contexts of communication and can no longer be confined to strictly local terms and/or within the fixity of national borders. Reading Sinophone messages offers a case to unpack that entanglement – as the next crossroads would show – by further zooming into changing states of mind, where local mentality communicates with the messages of transnational migration, and with global aspirations. 5.3 Migration-communication crossroads: Sinophone messages in a global state of mind 125 May Kei called her life stories “global experiences”, and promoted a worldview of “global village” beyond a Canadian society. What I learned from our conversations was that only in this view of global condition and agency could many of her feelings be expressed. For her, it was a lucky case of global experiences, as a person born into a 1940s middle class family in the previous French Leased Territory of Shanghai, whose diasporic routes of Mainland China-Hong-Kong-Canada had traveled through the times of World War II, 1960s Hong Kong riots entangled with the British colonial rule and the Chinese Cultural Revolution, as well as the changing Canadian immigration landscapes since the late 1960s. Living in Vancouver for almost fifty years, May Kei’s community work produced the pride unfolded around a type of culture-inflected transnationalism, as “the minoritized status of world majority peoples in specific hybridized circumstances (e.g. Chinese in Vancouver)” (Morris & Wright, 2009, p.690). As the founding chair of S.U.C.C.E.S.S., May Kei insisted it was not an ethnic Chinese organization (c.f., Guo, 2009), but a project of using alternative languages and cultures (initially Chinese) – instead of monolithic Anglophone, Eurocentric approaches – to better support immigrants. Even at the formative stage of S.U.C.C.E.S.S. in the early 1970s, May Kei recalled hybridized agencies and supports, besides the professional ethics and skills brought by Hong Kong-Cantonese professional immigrants. The transnationality of Chinese language and culture – particularly entangled with educational and religious mobility – shaped a local context of immigrant services: “At that time SUCCESS was not founded yet. It was just a small crew of us, with a few Chinese colleagues in YWCA. The YWCA director was a westerner [xi-ren/西人] who had been a teacher in Pui Ying Secondary School in Hong Kong for a few years – speaking a little bit Mandarin, quite close [qin-re/親熱] to Chinese folks, and very supportive of our ideas … There were fifteen people on board when we registered SUCCESS as a charitable organization. Two were westerners, who had been with us in the past two years, meeting and organizing together. One was a priest from United Church, who had lived in Hong Kong for a few years on church missions, speaking Cantonese, so quite close to Chinese folks. Another was from the local Kiwasa Neighbourhood House, just next to Chinatown Strathcona. He cared very much about new immigrants, attended our 126 meetings, and offered us space. … At that time, there was still a very large number of post-World War II European immigrants, from Britain, Germany, and Netherland. But they didn’t have much problem with language and culture, while the Chinese had more struggles. Many immigrants spoke different languages, so we needed to support them in different linguistic and cultural ways. We started with Cantonese, because at that time there’re few Mandarin-speaking immigrants. So it’s Cantonese-speaking, and words written in Chinese.” In its later operations, the transnational resonance of Chinese (in particular Cantonese) language and culture helped create a third space, in May Kei’s reflection, between the then duality of Vancouver Pearl River Delta-Cantonese clan/kinship mutual help model and Anglophone Eurocentric social service model. The former stressed paternal family names and lineages. The latter stressed clientship and legality, yet remained insensitive to tensions of familial and intergenerational restructuring among many Cantonese-speaking old overseas Chinese – tensions punctuated by stories of paper sons, mail brides, and identity questions, all embedded in the transnational contexts of colonialism and labor regimes (e.g. Woon, 2008). In May Kei’s remembering, the familiarity with Chinese languages, family ethics, Hong Kong-Canadian immigration network, and expressions of building relationship all lubricated the communication in professional social work. With global migration, this was May Kei’s pride in cross-cultural communication. Part of this communication was an extra sensitivity in professional work – of enriching the local professional mindset of social service with multilingual/multicultural approaches. But part of this communication was also to engage with the cross-cultural tensions in everyday life – even in the quotidian perceptions of local residential landscapes and the styles of habitation. In this case, it was May Kei’s decision to run for the Vancouver city councillor in the early 1990s: “To communicate with other city councillors, to understand why the Chinese cut trees in their own courtyards – might because of the logics of fengshui, for example a tree in front of the door might represent a stick attacking one’s heart. But the important thing was to help the city councillors understand the logics and cultures of these new immigrants, instead of always saying ‘this is nature’ or ‘things are naturally that way’. I also hoped to bring messages to new immigrants, so that they could understand the kinds of adaptations they had to go through 127 when they just arrived here. (…) The tree controversies, during the initial city council discussions, it’s absolutely disapproval of tree cutting, not a single one. Later, I talked to different councillors, saying that the homeowners should have some autonomy. Perhaps there’re reasons you might not understand or agree with, but might be very important to the owners themselves. So the final compromise was, each owner, each year, could cut one tree, and did not need to apply for permit. Of course you need to plant a new tree. This was reasonable. So it’s a compromise, not a complete change.” It was a time of tensions around “fengshui” and “monster house”. The “monster house” – with the debates around house reconstruction, tree-cutting bylaws, and neighbourhood styles – was but a name tag of a typical white reaction: when the new transpacific shuttle of Chinese “flexible citizenship” (Ong, 1999) settled in, unsurprisingly it received minoritized pressures of anti-Chinese racism and xenophobia which were deeply embedded in the white supremacy history of British Columbia (e.g. Deer, 2006; Stanley, 2011; Yu, 2008). But the Chinese justification through the ecological culture of “fengshui”[風水]14 – literally wind and water – also signified a new situation. These new transnational Chinese migrants – rarely peasants or working class laborers from Guangdong as before (Li, 1998), but mostly upper-middle class groups and even millionaires from Hong Kong and Taiwan – now openly challenged the socio-economic and in particular residential privileges historically associated with whiteness, and redefined these privileges with new cultural claims. The debates, as May Kei recalled, were too extreme. And it was here, her knowledge of Chinese language, cultural logics of household and ecology, and the translation of meanings and expressions became important ways to foster communication and bridge cultural gaps in the municipal government decision-making circles, through her role as a city councillor. May Kei’s cultural engagement with municipal government politics broke a path: it also spoke to the popular and academic consciousness where the local, spatial contentions/expressions powered by upper-middle class Chinese transnational migration were not new. As early as 1966, when 14 For the ecological ideas and applications of fengshui, particularly in urban context, please see Teather & Chow (2000), Marafa (2003), Whang & Lee (2006), Hong et al. (2007), and Han (2009). 128 Hanson’s family moved into a house in Vancouver, it triggered his neighbors’ concerns about houses purchased above market price, and later a city hall petition about the impacts on property tax. Since the 1980s, the influences of Hong Kong corporations and investors groups in making Vancouver’s downtown area were detailed in the journalist account of Peter Newman (Newman, 1998). May Kei considered many Chinese residential and signage debates in today’s Richmond were of similar nature as the 1990s Vancouver debate. It was one similarity that enabled this temporal-spatial connection: a Chinese minority marked by some “cultural logics of Chinese transnationalism” (Ong, 1999) yet almost always subjected to Anglophone mainstream media depictions – from the 1990s Vancouver residential controversies to the 2000s Richmond suburban controversies (e.g., Ray, Halsethm, and Johnson, 1997). 5.3.1 Creating a common space through Chinese drama? It could be said that May Kei’s story showed an obvious sign of migration-communication crossroads: the utility of Sinophone knowledge in addressing publicized, cross-cultural tensions of migration settlement – and with such utility, a sense of pride in bridging some obvious communication gaps in social service institutions and later in the local government. Peter’s story, in the following pages, marked a subtler and smoother turn: with the artistic explorations of common feelings, and in particular with Hong Kong-Cantonese-inflected drama education and performance. Peter’s Cantonese theatre started in a context where migratory currents (in particular Hong Kong-Canada migrations) had formed a quite settled, local community in Richmond. It was a theatre mainly made through Dramaonevan – a grassroots space of drama performance and education established by Peter and his wife May in 1995. It became particularly active since 2010, with performances in places such as Gateway Theatre and River Rock Theatre in Richmond, and some of the projects even worked with the local organization CareBC to serve the community. Peter’s conscious making of theatre spoke uneasily to the academic historical consciousness. It was not quite “the theatre of the oppressed” (Boal, 1981) as an explicit political weapon for class struggles and fundamental changes in relationships of production and reception. 129 It also stayed quite away from some political articulations in “Asian Canadian theatre” (Aquino & Knowles, 2011) – politics entangled with a history of racialization and nation-building discourse, a pronounced presence of English speaking local born and internal East Asian dominant representation, and the contested dreams between solidified professionalized theatres and multiple “Asian Canadian critical practices” (Lee, 2011). Instead, Peter promoted a future of common world: “Dramaonevan means to gather different people in one theatre, a collective place. (…) First, the world is multicultural, but multicultural in communicable ways: we work in different areas and have different ideas, but fundamentally we share something in common. Because the problems we face are common: birth, aging, sickness, death, anxieties, work, breakup with lovers – we share these problems, though dealing with them in different ways. Second, it’s about positive thinking that nothing is in total despair. We don’t say ‘oh we are free of problems, and we have hope’. My message through theatre is, we have many problems, but we still have hope. We need to create fusion arts. My theatre is not to particularly mention a ‘race’, but to talk about universal issues happened in different groups, so that they know these issues are not particular to them. A universal question brings resonances. A universal question is not divided by ‘race’.” This aspiration for a universal theatre might resemble a particular ideal of “beyond ethnicity, into equality” (Yue, 2009). In specific production, he collaborated with his wife May and directed his own play 女人心[literally “the hearts of women”], focusing on women’s emotional life: in particular, the different anxieties lived by three women in Vancouver, Hong Kong, and Mainland China respectively, yet each of their aspirations were situated in a larger interrelated context of transnational migration and industrial developments. The narrative of “women” became a “trope of the ongoing effects of modernization” in Asia Pacific (Driscoll & Morris, 2013, p.170). On the one hand, a macro entanglement with ethnicity-space intimacies remained: the triadic Mainland China-Hong Kong-Vancouver circuit modified the “Greater China” in academic historical consciousness (e.g. Tu, 1991), by including the transpacific location of Vancouver in the spatial logic of Han-Chinese diasporic connectivity. On the one hand, the narrative moved towards a focus on the emotional struggles of women. There was a micro 130 entanglement of place-gender intimacies through mainly the household space and family relations to narrate power relations and industrial aspirations in women’s experiences, in which Peter hoped to create transnational resonances: “I wanted to tell three stories in Mainland China, Hong Kong, and Vancouver, about three different women in different life stages. These three characters reflect a common issue lived by women in different places: anxieties. The girl’s desire for fame and wealth yet with worries, the wife’s concerns about family, husband and daughter, and the daughter’s frustration over the simply lack of maternal love and care – these are all anxieties. In Vancouver, there’re many women living with anxieties but we didn't know, so I want to arouse the communities to attend to these people’s emotional life. It’s not necessarily about political topics. Drama is very broad, might with political topics, might with community issues, might with aging issues, different kinds of issues, it’s all about life.” Drama is broad. Anxieties might be common. But more specifically, Peter’s drama production reflected a particular transnational translation of Hong Kong-Vancouver knowledge in making a theatre. The promotion through the media of Fairchild Radio, Facebook, and Vancouver’s Chinese newspapers such as Mingpao and Evergreen News – mainly built on Hong Kong-Vancouver diasporic network – played a role in facilitate popular knowledge among local communities and audience reception. In Peter’s deeper objective to build a centre for serious drama studies, there was also a nexus of international migration and knowledge: for example, connecting the alumni circles of Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts (HKAPA) where Peter was a 1988 graduate and later became an award-winning actor in Hong Kong, and the local drama education and performance in Vancouver area where Peter has worked for ten years since the 1990s as a Program Director in Fairchild Radio. The knowledge migration went from the selection of scripts written by Hong Kong award-receiving writers, to the drama recommendation/promotion videos posed HKAPA alumni on social media, to the public performance of visiting actors quite well received by parts of diasporic Hong Kong-Cantonese communities in Vancouver, and to the more specific praxis of a readers’ village for drama learning and reading, translated from his learned knowledge of the Russian Stanislavsky system which was used as a major tradition in HKAPA. 131 The power of mobilizing knowledge migration and credential transferability could be seen in a larger context of life stage migration through the Hong Kong-Vancouver nexus. With significant Hong Kong migration since the 1980s, Vancouver became concomitantly a major place of professional retirement or career transition, especially among those who had worked successfully in the art and cultural industries of Hong Kong. Peter himself was transitioning in the early 1990s from a professional drama actor in Hong Kong to a Program Director in a Chinese Radio station Fairchild Radio in Vancouver. Further, the social organization of Hong Kong alumni circuits was surely not limited to Peter’s stories and the case of HKAPA, but including diverse ranges and stages of education among those who had migrated to Vancouver. The organization was at the very least a form with annual networking dinners and gatherings in different restaurants and hotels in Richmond and Vancouver, with dozens of secondary and higher education alumni associations, among others (e.g., Ming Pao, February 1997, January 1998, November 2001, March 2009, April 2012). 5.3.2 Moving Sinophone poetry into global knowledge? What made the journey ongoing – by connecting the stories of May Kei and Peter to the following, more condensed story of Yeh – was a thread of similarity: personal migration experiences, a global perspective of communication, the use of professional knowledge, and the role as an educator. But it was the difference that made the story worth being told. While May Kei and Peter sent out Sinophone-inflected messages to fill some communication gaps in the status quo of a larger, more inclusive project (be it Chinese languages as part of a multicultural social service, or Chinese performances as part of a theatre of common feelings), the life story video of Yeh – a professor emerita of Chinese poetry at the University of British Columbia – sent out a more ambitious message. It was ambitious in that the professional knowledge (i.e., teaching Chinese poetry) became infused with academic prestige. The academic narrative opened the ceremony: from the introductory presence of Sinologist Jan Wall who recommended Yeh’s poetry work in relation to 132 a grand Sinophone culture, to the respect from non-Chinese university students worldwide, and to the title of Canadian Royal Academy fellowship as the only Chinese-heritage woman. Her movements of teaching between North America and Asia helped established particular international network of higher education and knowledge circulation. But more ambitious than academic prestige and recognition was the message of international connection through Sinophone knowledge. That scope of knowledge dissemination was activated by the narrative of diaspora, and with a personal touch of Yeh’s migration and transcontinental pedagogical role. A seamless diasporic narrative set the basic tone: from the nomination and introduction of Yeh’s life achievement with a Chinese root (轉蓬萬里根在華夏 [multiple routes with a root in China]), to a focus on her role in the survival and further dissemination of Chinese poetry culture. At times of tense international political divisions, the education of Sinophone literacy and symbols maintained some diasporic imageries and networks. At times of increasing educational internationalization in both China and Canada, the Sinophone literacy had more explicit exchange values. The projection of Yeh’s history of migration and poetry teaching has put together what would have been in fact fragmented junctures of different states and different diasporas. Instead of asking – to appropriate Wright (2003b)’s heuristic question – “whose diaspora is this anyways”, the knowledge dissemination became a very generic diasporic survival and resettlement pride. It was in resonances to an emerging array of Mainland China state-programs (百年潮中國夢, CCTV, 2014;下南洋, CCTV, 2011), moving from specificities into a grand, seemingly seamless Chinese cultural diaspora in contact with the overseas, with the foreign soils, and in most general terms, with the world. But even more ambitious was the positionality of teaching – not only making Sinophone knowledge a historical contribution to the world, but also making it continuingly learned by the world. And the world was learning Chinese poetry. There was a naturalized, global projection – in the award video – of a water imagery of running currents going with the voice of “為中華文化的長流貢獻力量[contributing to the long flows of Chinese culture]” in overseas teaching and 133 research: from early childhood education that “教幼兒園的孩子是撒種子[teaching kindergarten children is spreading seeds]”, to an almost spiritual education that “個人是狹小而短暫的, 文化是永恆的[individuals are narrow and short-lived, while cultures are eternal]”. There was also a demographic projection of diversity – on the award performance stage – with Yeh’s reception of greetings from students of different skin colors. But there was a more specific projection of the audience. The focus on black people in the audience – witnessing and appreciating the very moment of awarding – might evoke particular historical imageries of alliance: after World War II, the making of Third World solidarity where Mainland Chinese-ness made political alliance, in the metaphors of brotherhoods and sisterhoods and in the actual diplomatic and trading relations, with Cuban Blackness and in particular with significant parts of African Blackness (Li, 2005; Park, 2008; Reicheneker, 2011). But to the attentive reader, the very symbolic staging of Chineseness-Blackness co-presence might bring ambivalence beyond a simple, benevolent history: the anti-black racism in post-Mao China (Sautman, 1994), in the 1980s the active discrimination – imbricated with nationalism – against black people from Africa (Sullivan, 1994), since the late 1990s the distinctive urban residential divisions of black Africans in the southern metropolis of Guangzhou (Li, et al., 2009), and more widely, the recent Sino-African relations with various Chinese teams to different African countries to get involved in the construction of infrastructure, the development of Sinophone education such as through Confucius institutes, and the cultivation of agricultural lands, with ambivalent reactions from local people in different African countries (Abdenur, 2015; Cowaloosur, 2014; Giese, 2013; Hofman & Ho, 2012; Wang & Elliot, 2014). After all, the global life story of Yeh, and in general the international representations of Chineseness, came with growing Mainland China-based productions through Internet and television channels accessible to families who have interest and could afford. Lily offered a reflexive voice of her experiences in everyday transnational Sinophone media consumption and reception, as a 1.5-generation youth growing up in a Chinese-Canadian family since 2000: 134 “In Canada, specific channels with Chinese television, I watched a lot of these shows, and that influence my views on Chinese history and Chinese culture. (Which channel?) I don’t remember, but um, I do watch them, it’s Mandarin speaking. So, um, obviously, when I was little, I watched a lot of sun-wu-kong, the Money King … Every year, during like the spring something festival, we would watch that thing, the pageant for it, that would be a way for me to be exposed to sort of national, um nationalized narrative of what Chinese culture is. Extensively, television for me was not an independent place, Chinese television was something my parents chose and orchestrated for me.” Sinophone messages were transmitted through the parental control of TV programs in an immigrant Chinese-Canadian household. Claudia offer another reflexive grassroots voice, as a local born youth who observed a new layer of power in producing a global imagery of Chinese culture, not just from China’s Chinese media but also from western English media: “I don’t think [Chinese culture] is necessarily shaped by the people themselves. What is told as a Chinese story, or Chinese culture being spread, and the things associated with that, I feel it’s more controlled by the western media, and the way they shape and narrate what it means to be Chinese, versus the people themselves.” In receiving Sinophone messages in media, Lily and Claudia made a political point: the contestation between different groups in defining/making Chinese culture. Beyond Yeh’s story, beyond her video in the Brilliance of China program, political tensions around Chinese cultures did exist: for example, China’s promotion of actively teaching Chinese language and culture through the Confucius Institute (a sponsor of the Brilliance of China project) was not always at ease with different community interests in its diverse localities of establishments (e.g. Dehart, 2016). How these state-inflected, pedagogical, Sinophone evocations might (re)turn to the flux of diasporas – gendered and otherwise – would await more future stories. 5.4 A temporary landing This journey is primarily about a stable state of the storytellers/residents: at colony-nation crossroads, ethnicity-city crossroads, and migration-communication crossroads. These crossroads did not necessarily suggest personal or community relations between the storytellers/residents; these crossroads were more about contextual and discursive relations that suggested a provisional 135 way to see some national, local, and transnational articulations of Chinese pride. Much pride was about ownership: from an attached, secured status quo of national citizenship (compared to colonial subjectivity), to a more concretized local context of citizenship practices in city, and further into a softer, elastic state of mind that is sensitive to Sinophone language and culture. The colony-nation crossroads signified a specific route/location of Hong Kong-Chinese-Canadian and the national anxieties entailed. Zooming into the local context, the ethnicity-city crossroads signified the changing agricultural/industrial/commercial developments in an entrenched ‘white-Canadian’, British Columbia town now infused with a variety of ethnocultural consciousness, in particular Chineseness. But Chinese consciousness is always more than a local product: this is the turn to the migration-communication crossroads where multiple Sinophone messages signify a transnational state of mind – a state infused with the aspiring, border-crossing qualities in migration culture, in artistic culture, and potentially in a diasporic turn. 136 6 This Is Where I Have Come To, and Where Is Your Pride? In researching pride, I have come to a deeper scoping of the uneven grounds that some folks and myself have lived. The unevenness urges my movements from mountains to delta and to waterfronts, urges silhouettes of self-esteem, urges foundations of solidarity, urges the speaking of yes to some politics and no to some others, and to speak with Wright (2016), urges the still pronounced struggles with Eurocentric “arrogant ignorance” (p.10). But the unevenness also grounds a position to end “innocence” (Hall, 1991): my changing entanglements with hardship and privilege, my location in Vancouver as an international student, my ambivalent carrying of a passport from a nation-state sometimes considered a rising global power with all the implications this entails, and my hesitated (Cantonese/Chinese/Asian) self-locating among/in relation to diversities in British Columbia. All of these ground my journeys, ground my research, and ground me. This is why I have written an introduction in the way it is. And this is why I always feel a need to carry my baggage, coming to this point of speaking with an international, academic audience. I do not intend to build a grand theoretical enterprise, or to speak of a worldview. I only want to speak with you. With you I seek to open a discussion but not to conclude it. And with you I am only capable of speaking of a sharing: a sharing of the knowledge I have learned, with the position in which I choose or in fact have little choice but to occupy, and with the project I have done. In researching pride I ask how it is expressed and produced. In researching it I ask who needs it? Where, in education, does pride make a difference? The pride I have found has its limit: it is particularly about Chinese pride that claims on history, claims on space, and creates convolutions. Double-edged as it is, taking pride also means taking a further step: connecting a state of emotion and consciousness to the doing, the praxes, and the making of different communities. In what ways does pride work as a new tool of critical, aspirational education? In the following pages, I first present a research summary of this pride project with some implications, and second, offer what my tiny and particular project has (hopefully) brought to larger projects in cultural studies of education. 137 6.1 Research summary and implications I consider this work a complex exhibition of Chinese pride, and each character’s role and path are supposed to show the uneven landscapes and soundscapes in producing/expressing Chinese pride – some characters have more elaborated stories, and some work better as vignettes. Sometimes there are personal connections between storytellers, with political collaborations between them, and sometimes there are visionary/extended linkages to make comparative narrations/observations to show how pride is changing as the contexts are changing and lived differently. The guiding narratives of gendered diasporas and multicultural states involve artificial, conceptual linkages. It is, however, not an attempt to give a meta-narrative, but to illustrate pride in political conjunctures, beyond a presentation of activists’ personal histories and biographical narratives. Eventually it is also my storytelling and representation of their stories: I cannot say that these are simply naturally their stories to be told. Necessarily, hopefully, I invite you to imagine this research of pride as a scenario where I come in with the role of inquirer, listener, storyteller, and moderator, trying to bring these stories/storytellers into meaningful and political conversations, and eventually giving these conversations back to them to further probe/invigorate what can be done otherwise and collaboratively. 6.1.1 Pride in gendered diasporas, and who needs it? Chapter Four tells the pride in gendered diasporas as a journey, with three crosscurrents. The first crosscurrent, grandmother-granddaughter crosscurrent, is about activating diasporic family memories and strategically translating the cultural heritage of diasporic elders. Beyond the androcentric remembering and relationship built in Tan’s significant though limited story of grandfather-grandson nexus, diasporic granddaughters not only remember but also remember their grandmothers’ homes and heritages. This is the more complicated expression of pride troubling the grandeur of patriarchal pride, and is told from the stories of granddaughters who consciously engage in feminist movements and broader politics. Kathryn as a Chinese-Irish heritage youth remembers her Hong Kong-Cantonese grandma’s home in Cheung Chau Island, 138 and strategically extends such diasporic culture to the collective and creative projects of youth and grandmas’ Chinatown as a home-place. Claudia recollects even more nuanced memories aside from Hong Kong-Cantoneseness, with her Hakka grandmother and maternal family heritage as strong Hakka women. She endeavors to build a broader and flexible project of Hua Foundation, which aims to remake diasporic Chinese culture and ecological knowledge. But beyond the diasporic heritages reinvigorated by local born granddaughters, women’s roles are in the very migration process itself, in relation to men’s. This is the second crosscurrent, migrant man-migrant woman crosscurrent, about making a home in one’s own migration process. One powerful splash concerns the social mobilities of a village son: a son born in the 1950s Ho Chung village in the British colony of New Territories. This mobility, in Tung’s term as 闖(exploring), is predominantly a masculine working class mobility in a system of androcentric political-economic structures and cultural-representative scenes, accessed by an immigrant man of color whose significations and agency at some point are converging with influential flows of transnational migration. To the burgeoning stories interested in the reproductive dynamics between transnational migration and masculinity (e.g. Broughton, 2008) – including the place of emotions (Montes, 2013) – Tung’s mobility has added a new page: a village boy becoming the first Hong Kong-born city councillor in Canada and a community leader in Vancouver, with a family motto inherited from his father’s Confucius teachings. Another powerful splash concerns the love struggles of an immigrant mother. This is the pride of women’s agency and resilience in the process of transnational family migration. But it is a specific case of a multilingual woman born and growing up in an upper-middle class family in Taipei, Taiwan, who moves into the position as an immigrant-working woman of color in Richmond, Canada. What locates the main struggle is a resilient storyline, from being an astronaut wife as her husband has relocated across the Pacific to Mainland China, to her active agency in regenerating a way of life as a Christian woman in Canada. This woman-centred story speaks to the changing agency and yet the embeddedness of family migration in the conjunctures 139 of nation-state immigration policies, industrial developments, and transnational household arrangements – the gendered layers of which have been uncovered sporadically (Salih, 2001; Raghuram, 2004; Shan, 2011, 2014) and yet await more intersected examinations. As a specific life history, Hwa’s case points to the additional importance of timing, age, place, and spirituality in affecting women’s making of a new home: to speak with Pessar & Mahler (2003), the need for more systematic research into different gendered geographies of power, and the need for longitude studies. Another implication of this story is how it would (not) speak to practices beyond heterosexual, childbearing families as a body of ‘completeness’. This particular family ideal has been the unspoken grammar underlying much gendered practices and the very intelligibility of what togetherness and separation mean in transnational family migration, in vocabularies such as satellite families, astronaut wives, and satellite kids: what would be the other “gendered penalties” (e.g. Ong, 1999), other “love desires” (e.g. Manalansan IV, 2006), other reproductions, and other struggles, if we see beyond heterosexual family ideals and the perspectives of members situated in its normative arrangements? A further splash concerns the agency of a new generation of international youth. This is a particular context of small British Columbia towns, where international capital and media make less obvious impacts as in cities like Richmond and Vancouver, and where international teenage daughters and sons away from their parents are learning to study and to live. The agency of daughters is reflected differently than that of the sons, but this difference is not to essentialize either female or male experiences. It is to see how agency is relational, and how gendered textures are produced, nonetheless, in a broader international context: especially at an international-conjuncture of nation-state policies, where the Canadian international policies of bringing in more Asia Pacific interests and international students meet the Chinese international policies of encouraging ‘going out’ and individual overseas studies, pronouncedly since 21st century. As the educational mechanism of family-class reproduction now goes global, some youth are also becoming international youth: one future question regards how the 140 international-conjuncture – with the gendered aspects of policy itself such as in immigration and adult education policy (e.g. Walton-Roberts, 2004; Iredale, 2005; Cuban, 2010) – will be entangled with the dynamics of parental control almost always unfolded with gendered power relations, ideals, and expectations. With changes in transportation technology such as Internet and airport, with increasing Asia-Pacific economic cooperation, how will this small town context relate to new systems of internationalisation prior to higher education, new migration circuit of Mainland China-Canada compared to Hong Kong-Canada circuit and Taiwan-Canada circuit decades earlier, and after all, new life prospects? The third crosscurrent, queer-nonqueer youth crosscurrent, is about collaborative, extramural learning to make a different social justice home. This is Lily’s learning as a 1.5-generation migrant youth from eastern Mainland China in 2000, and her aspiration in “doing more activism” alongside her frustration about multiple interlocking oppressions (even in some activism spaces). Lily later co-organized a grassroots event on Asian diaspora with 阿風, who is a 1.5-generation migrant youth from British Hong Kong in 1997. As a gay man, 阿風 finds pride in not simply speaking “gay pride”, but in the broader, grassroots praxis of cross-community building. In a grassroots event in Vancouver Downtown Eastside, 阿風 met Tse, who is exploring what a progressive Chinese Christian means. With a Christian value commitment actualized in working class power and mobilization, Tse worked closely with queer and nonqueer youth to advocate affordable housing and antiracism in a changing Chinatown. The youth are making and defining what kinds of home Canada is to become. One lesson from these youths’ narratives is the relevance of women-centred and gendered dynamics in understanding what has happened and what is going on. As shown by Lily’s case, there are particular pronounced layers of racialized, gendered tensions in entering and creating activism space: from Asian Canadian/Chinese Canadian space, to feminism space, and to transgender activism space. There are also subtler layers of gendered dynamics in organizing specific social movements around working class power and affordable housing: here, gendered relations are 141 part of the empowerment strategies, but nonetheless become a translucent current submerged to sometimes more pronounced politics of class and race contestation. With these, future studies need to ask to whom and in what specific contexts gendered pride is useful in mobilizing collective actions. How do these movements, at what points, converge and/or disrupt each other? Another question is: how will this emergent pride of searching for new political homes – in activism and in person – change diasporic network and consciousness, as the youth are making homes in new locations and solidarities that remained sensitive to colonial tensions yet no longer neatly in ethnocentric, racial, national terms? The meaning of a diasporic collective will be in very different terms than what has been traditionally defined around the intimate cores of biological family, relatives, kingships, and ethnocentric/racial relational ties. How will this emergent pride signify a future of diasporic becoming, when a term like ‘Chinese-Canadian’ sounds awkward or at least a very limited expression to these youth? What kinds of diaspora are they making, when 阿風 emphasizes “chosen families” alongside with and alternative to a normative family in biological, heterosexual-reproductive terms, when Lily explicitly states no plan to have a family in the future and not belong to her parents’ ethnic-diasporic place/clan-based associations, and further, when Tse is exploring a possible belonging as a progressive Chinese Christian? 6.1.2 Pride in multicultural states, and who needs it? Chapter Five tells the pride in multicultural states as a journey, with three crossroads. The first crossroads, colony-nation crossroads, takes foremost an expression of independence. Like many cases of postcolonial independence, this pride is bounded to a territorial sense of nation-state, and deeper to an epistemological sense of indigenous culture. This is a particular case of British Hong Kong migrants becoming Canadian nationals: shedding British colonial subjectivity, but growing into what? The new nation was neither Hong Kong nor Britain. The Canadian state was a colonial state, and yet – to these British Hong Kong colonial-migrants – the claims on Indigeneity were ultimately not theirs. Migratory exit from Hong Kong became an 142 emphatic question because local struggles for independence was hard from within. The question of ‘returning’ to an indigenous culture and state was extremely complicated, because its tidal negotiations of territorial sovereignty since the 19th century – with its subsequent history education across generations (e.g. Luk, 1991; Kan & Vickers, 2002) – have been overwhelmingly drafted in extraterritorial hands most visibly in, though not limited to, the Manchu-Qing empire, the British empire, the Japanese empire, the nationalist regime of the Republic of China, and the new regime of the People’s Republic of China. By going into Canada, the British Hong Kong colonial-migrant is going into a presence and a future. Besides economic reasons, Canada – and perhaps resonantly Australia – becomes an ideal middle way in smoothening sharp power heirachies: of colony-colonizer, of inferiority-superiority, and of colonial subject-national subject. The pride here concerns mainly a positionality of entering as a third person, entwined with a new ethnicized position of ‘Chinese-Canadian’. This is why an officially legislated multicultural state such as Canada could be reasoned as an accommodation, in having both an independent national citizenship and a right to Hong Kong cultural heritage which has often been a mix of Britishness, Chineseness, among other influences. The proud identification to a new citizenship does not exclude residual identifications such as New Territories rural boy(新界的鄉下仔), Shatin boy(沙田仔), and a genuine Hong Kong boy (地道的香港仔), which all remain in the men’s conscious articulations. The latter right to cultural recognition is also a reason why 1967-migrant like Hanson, 1979-migrant like Ken, and 1992-migrant like Peter, among others, take pride in Canadian multiculturalism for its being more desirable than the melting pot in USA. In the future, the quite established Hong Kong-Canada circuit might be affected by an expanding corollary of multicultural call from China with its representation of rich and diverse cultures. This expansion includes the recursive routes to a “cultural China” (e.g., Tu, 1991) appealing to the cultural heritage pride of colonial-migrant represented by Ng’s video-story, yet complicated by the critique of a “political China” (e.g., Tu, 1991) coming from the democratic pride of 143 colonial-migrant such as Hanson and Ken. This double-entanglement of culture/politics and compulsion/repulsion would be the strongest for those who are relatively economic secured or at least not struggling intensely with economic needs, while investing in the multicultural struggles either in Canada’s cultural heritage representation or in voicing criticisms of the Chinese state, which remained very vivid in colonial-migrant youth like 阿風 (ah-fung). But by going into Canada, the British Hong Kong colonial-migrant is also going into a presence and a past, entangled with ongoing struggles of Indigenous people under European settler colonialism and white supremacy, in which the ‘Chinese’ communities situate unevenly and transmit a collective signifier of ‘Chineseness’ that oftentimes has racialized and ethnocultural bearing on the Hong Kong migrants. This is where another part of colonial-migrant pride resides, escaping from one particular colonial circuit but moving into another albeit very different one. The historical consciousness that colonialism is ongoing: this is where 1997-migrant youth like 阿風(ah-fung) saw his own movement as “inter-colony migration” – within the British imperial presence – contextualized in his family migration from British Hong Kong to British Columbia. The historical consciousness that racism and its milder narrative of visible minorities are ongoing: this is where Hanson among many others supported Chinese Headtax Redress and antiracism stance, and this is where Ken and Wilson, in more liberal tones, invested in the future of ethnic minority youth leadership. The historical consciousness that Chinese economic powers with its direct and derivative privileges are ascending: this is where May Kei spoke to the necessary elevation of a collective status for minoritized Chinese, and yet also for a further de-racialization of employment boundaries. But all these are from those who are able to move in the first place. For Hong Kongers who have and have chosen this mobility of emigration, spatial changes were definitively unfolded around class and education, including residence-wise questions of location, consumption, and spacious housing, career-wise questions of business, second-career, and retirement, as well as education-wise questions of family migration and intergenerational class reproduction (e.g. 144 Waters, 2005, 2008; Waters & Leung, 2014). In the future, one direction is to examine the continuity and complex composition of such Hong Kong-Canada circuit itself, as Peter’s theatre case has indicated, and as the younger generations grow up. Given the close ties between higher education and labor market, what kinds of alumni, professional, and cultural networks will grow out of this ongoing migration circuit and to whose benefits? In this circuit, where are the voices beyond millionaires, middle class men, and heterosexual family narratives, as there are also marginal movements of migrant women sex workers, single international students, and queer-identifying folks? In the future, another direction is to examine how the changing complexions of this Hong Kong-Canada circuit might intersect with other transnational circuits, especially those signified by a Chinese nation, a Chinese ‘race’, or a Chinese culture. Why and in what ways would folks from Hong Kong-Canada circuit build solidarity with folks from mainland China-Canada circuit? How is an international student from Hong Kong different than one from Mainland China, and what difference such differences make? Further, what roles will Canada and especially Hong Kong-Canadians play in shaping a new Hong Kong-Mainland China circuit, which, besides its long history of cross-border population movements, also has more than three decades of Hong Kong-leading industrial capital investment and interests embedded in the Pearl River Delta of Guangdong, now expanding into a gigantic blueprint of “Pan Pearl River Delta” infrastructure and industrial network (e.g., Yeh & Xu, 2011) including almost one fourth of Mainland China? The second crossroads, ethnicity-city crossroads, locates pride as a discourse of “active citizenship” (Xiao, 2015) in the context of ethnocultural communities, economic markets, and municipal government. This is a particular case of Richmond as a British Columbia town and increasingly an Asia Pacific gateway, with multiple layers of majority-minority relations: a city where Europeans for a long time assumed much government power, and yet non-European population is now the majority, and in particular Chinese is the majority within that majority – consisting almost 50% of municipal population, though being a national ethnic minority 145 consisting around 3% of Canada’s total population. In this context, one expressions of pride is re-empowering the state to counter neoliberal promotion of market mechanisms, and for a more inclusive and benevolent public sphere. This is the pride needed and articulated by an English-French bilingual, Scottish/English/Chinese mixed, local born “home town boy” Colin, who had rich work experiences in and with government agencies and had friends working in the local government. In re-empowering the state, the ‘burb’ in “ethnoburb” (Li, 2015) here took an agricultural focus, as Colin was actively involved in movements concerning agricultural lands, community gardens, and became the director of a local non-profit Richmond Food Security Society. Within this focus, “ethnocultural” became an active opening to the grounds of non-European ethnocultural communities, alternative food knowledge, reshaping the “very white” structure and network of the non-profit organization itself, and a further quest for non-European representation and leadership in the local government. Another expression of citizenship pride is making new markets different from Eurocentric consumptions and distributions. For a businessperson and activist like Hanson, who believes in private property and free market while being an anti-racist critic of the Eurocentric state power and bureaucracy, the non-European ethnic economics based on market needs provides a quite strong leverage to negotiate with the government. In his example, the community mobilization through Cantonese radio Overseas Chinese Voices (華僑之聲) and later at Pacific Plaza (太古) the opening of private tutor centres catering to English-as-Second-Language learners – all as a result of the controversy of English teaching in local public schools – make a case for why and how specific educational markets outside normative needs of Anglophone, European populations were activated to affect the decision-making of Richmond school board. In this context, the specific contestations of democratic and multicultural citizenship are ongoing (e.g., Mitchell, 2001), the numbers of both population and business establishments are increasing, and in the future a question might be asked regarding why and to what extent these changes could be “radical” (Xiao, 2015) to marshal and mine the changing demography in decentring 146 Europeanness in territorial and epistemological terms, while reproducing market-inflected, ‘multicultural’ ideas of capital and privileges. But for now, besides this rather sharp contrast of Chinese/European educational (in particular English learning) consumptions and markets, there is also a subtler case of the translucent commercial landscapes even in the presumably dichotomized, seemingly ‘Chinese’ or ‘western’ shopping malls. This is seen from the eyes of a businessperson like Ken, who has rich experiences in commerce and is himself a quite successful entrepreneur. The ways that marketing staff, workers, customers, products, shops, and malls look like would not readily tell the faces of the owners of the business and those who significantly benefit from a particular growing industry. This is different than the ethnic enclave before mostly characterized by small-scale family business, where key stakeholders were more visible. In researching ethnic business landscapes, the academic antenna has moved from intra-city ethnic enclave perspective based on historical documents and narratives to touch on ethnic corporations and entrepreneurship, based on media and statistical analysis (e.g. Li, 1993; Li & Li, 2016). But now even that sensitivity on scales and class would hardly suffice, because what that ‘ethnic’ really is about becomes too ambiguous to take it for granted in the first place – the complex globalized business mechanisms from ownership to production to marketing to consumption have necessitated the need for more flexible, grounded, and detailed fieldwork, and in particular the studies of global chains of industries such as “global ethnography” (e.g., Burawoy, 2000). A further expression of citizenship pride is about planning a future, yet with a complicated twist between local government planning, grassroots work, and international perspective. In Wilson’s position as a city councillor, the government politics of multiculturalism comes with the ethnic representation power of Chineseness, but also with the ethnicized constraints/stereotypes as only representing ‘Chinese’ expectations. The various committees dealing with local diversity are also considered quite theoretical and tokenistic, as Wilson takes much more pride in “really doing something” through grassroots work with multicultural communities of religions, ethnicities, youth, and women. In Richmond, what will a localized 147 multiculturalism look like in time, when Wilson speaks from his immigrant backgrounds and put much hope in the future generation of local born ‘Chinese-Canadians’ who are expected to have a stronger claim on locality? What will an internationalized multiculturalism look like in a city, when Wilson takes pride in his international perspective of urban planning inspired by his experiences with Hong Kong development? With younger generations like Kathryn who travels extensively around the world, considers culture more related to city than ethnicity, and eventually becomes an urban planner, how will the mobilities of planning ideas, cultures, and policies shape the relational future of cities where many of us live? The third crossroads, migration-communication crossroads, locate a global state of mind in touch with different Sinophone messages: within metropolitan Vancouver where ethnic Chinese comprises almost 20% of the total population, within Canada where Chinese is a historically racialized visible minority, and yet still within of a global construct of ethnic Chinese as a “world majority people” (Morris & Wright, 2009). One expression concerns a descriptive statement of a multicultural world, where the power balance is in diversity. This is where May Kei calls her engagement with multiculturalism a primary “methodological question” – of using and promoting the factual multiculturality of life through language and culture as she herself is an experienced educator and language teacher. Her activism cases of engaging with “Chinese-ness” are not to simply deepen ethnocentrism, but to leverage its demographic power and transnational migration flux for more diverse communications and a multicultural awareness, in the particular institutionalized contexts of Anglophone monoculture social service in the 1970s, and later of Vancouver municipal government in the 1990s. Another expression of communicative pride concerns an aspirational statement of a common world, where the ideal is to be achieved through commonality. This is where Peter calls Canadian multiculturalism an experiment for 小同社會(a minor-common society), in reference to a Chinese Confucian expression of utopia as 大同世界(a major-common world). What appears to differentiate – between society and world, between minor-common and major-common – is the duo-construction of ‘race’ and ‘nation’. It is here to 148 understand better Peter’s pride in producing a grassroots theatre: writing storylines in transnational contexts, not discussing issues of a particular ‘race’, and performing on topics that aim for “universal resonances”. A further expression of communicative pride concerns a justification statement of a global culture in the making, where the power dynamics is in the making of a new international order. This is mostly the justification of a territorial state increasingly interested in overseas resources, as exemplified by the Chinese state media production of 中華之光 (The Brilliance of China), and in particular through its representation of Sinophone poetry, which signifies a global transmission and effervescently refracts time-space imageries of Sinophone civilization. The pride is a justification of presence: the constructing of a globe network is not the privilege of Europeans and Euro-Americans, and here the Chinese come. But the pride also begets a need for further justifications: to speak with Wang (2012), in many African countries deeply entangled with questions of postcoloniality, ‘development’, and imperial nodes (e.g., Abdi, 2007, 2013), now what are the Chinese agencies doing here? 6.2 What does my research of pride bring to cultural studies of education? This research of pride is in part my initial step on a journey of cultural studies, and particularly as a locational landing in the cultural studies of education. In wondering what this project could offer to such locus, I will highlight several particular intertwinements in the following pages: extramural education as collaborative praxis, aspirational learning in political literacy, critical education with place-based and mobile culture, and a reflexive sharing of why and in what ways I am concerned with cultural studies of education. With these, I seek openly and modestly to make a case in contributing to and resonating with larger, entwined projects of mutual (re)turning (Maton & Wright, 2002; Wright & Maton, 2004): turning critical education to cultural studies, and turning cultural studies to education. The need for the former turn was not only making critical education more productive as an interdisciplinary or even post-disciplinary academic field, but also bringing the disruptive and creative forces of cultural studies to innovate educational research and practices. The need for the latter turn was not only acknowledging a 149 necessary (extramural) adult education origin of cultural studies, not only understanding a reality of its present location in higher education institutions, but also further pushing cultural studies towards more reflexive, praxis-oriented paths, supported by educational sensitivity on methods and practices. 6.2.1 Extramural education as collaborative praxis Extramural education is a way to create knowledge and relationships beyond the limits of particular institutions. It had been the case that Anglocentric language and culture characterized much of the professional work in Vancouver’s social service institutions: that was the 1970s context when May Kei collaborated with her professional colleagues to start S.U.C.C.E.S.S as a new social service/immigrant community engagement model. The newness was in providing local knowledge and professional services in accessible languages and appropriate cultures, in order to reach (the then primarily Chinese) immigrant communities, which were otherwise underserved within the existing social service structure. In Greater Vancouver area and even in British Columbia, S.U.C.C.E.S.S had been quite a success, covering a significant part of the local landscape of social service. But now Tse, who had graduated with a Bachelor in Social Work and been a social worker, considered that many institutional blind spots remained. Belonging to an action group of volunteer collaborators, Tse’s extramural work in social work was to support low-income Chinese-speaking seniors in Chinatown and the Downtown Eastside – in particular, educational projects with the seniors who needed affordable housing. The projects included sharing knowledge about the economics of housing and neighbourhood developments, learning about antiracism, designing petitions, and organizing protests in the street/city open house/city hall. Some of these seniors were also related to Chanel, who knew Tse and who was also a part-time social worker in the Downtown Eastside, with connections to organizations such as Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre and Single Room Occupancy Collaborative. But given the understaffed situations and the insufficiency of bilingual social workers within the existing organizations, language and translation remained a key site in need of extramural education, with 150 and besides politicization. Chanel’s extramural work was her organizing of bilingual/trilingual volunteers into a group called Youth for Chinese Seniors, which supported seniors’ everyday needs such as accompanying them to medical appointments and providing language translations. There were also more pedagogical aspects that enabled low-income senior women to tell their stories and voice out their concerns to the public, through organizing storytelling events and a short documentary film based on seniors’ perspective. With both Chanel and Tse, who did different extramural work and sometimes collaborated, the senior support groups also provided more welcoming and mixed spaces for volunteer folks (including seniors and youth), who might be otherwise too often and too simply stereotyped into narrow dichotomies, such as between ‘local’/‘foreign’, Chinese/non-Chinese, or ‘Hong Kong-Cantonese’/‘Mainland-Mandarin’. There were also convergences. In the affordable housing petition and protest at city hall organized by Tse’s action group, Chanel and Kathryn also participated. When Carven and Lily organized Asian Dialogues, Tse participated and Chanel was also one of the organizers and collaborators. It was worthwhile to note that some of the Chinese youth-senior collaborative praxis in Chinatown and Downtown Eastside was not only extramural to established social service organizations, but also extramural to the historical Chinese benevolent societies based on kinship and regional ties, which remained a heart matter that held the fabrics of Chinatown Chineseness together. Of these benevolent societies, the institutional limit had to do with sometimes a fragility of intergenerational cultural inheritance, when many youth did not have a strong sense of membership as their previous generations did, or might not took the benevolent society as a necessary model of solidarity-building as it used to be. Sometimes, the limit was about space and inter-community relationships, such as the affordable space of housing/recreation to accommodate more folks and in particular seniors who might not belong to the membership based on kinship, clan, and/or regional ties. In this context of doing extramural education in relation to/outside of the walls of Chinese benevolent societies, the youth activists’ projects – compared to explicit articulation of oppressions and struggles in Tse’s and Chanel’s social work 151 context – tended towards a soft and flexible cultural grounding, focusing on the aspects of protecting Chinese cultural heritage. Kathryn co-organized Youth Collaborative for Chinatown with significant supports from the Chow sisters in Hoy Ping Benevolent Association, a young director in the Wong’s Benevolent Association, as well as Hua Foundation which was headquartered in the building of Mah’s Benevolent Association. Bringing the activity of Mahjong out of the benevolent associations’ recreation rooms into public space was meant to make Mahjong a public art/performance/everyday culture that practically and symbolically stood for the everyday liveliness against invasive Chinatown development projects. At the very least, some intergenerational, intercultural, and inter-city dynamics in Kathryn’s organizing of public Mahjong were not easy to achieve within the existing walls and structures of benevolent associations. For example, the public Mahjong participants included Richmond queer youth activists such as 阿風[ah-fung] and Lily, who were not particularly comfortable with the predominant paternalistic, heterosexual familial norms that were not invisible in Chinese benevolent associations. The further development of partnership among the organizers also enabled a case where the benevolent association could become an extramural education space, in relation to university. For example, with the collaboration of the Chow sisters and the Wong’s Benevolent Association, a Cantonese Saturday School was (re)opened, with a more grassroots, intergenerational, and place-based learning approach, compared to/complementing the institutionalized Cantonese program at UBC Asian Studies. One advantage was such extramural approach was the grounded teaching and learning of Cantonese language with Chinatown history and everyday living culture (e.g., bringing students to grocery markets and clan associations), not only using Chinatown to bring liveliness to the Cantonese, but also using Cantonese learning/everyday usage to facilitate students’ deeper understanding of Chinatown complex life textures rather than taking Chinatown as an exotic thing. In these contexts of collaborative praxis, there was a common pedagogical, organizing strategy of claiming youth, that is, to enable knowledge sharing and care about communities in 152 the name, positions, and methods of youth/youthfulness. This brings a more readily available sense of creativity to translate heritage, to challenge norms, and to initiate hopeful (re)imagination of the future: not only in the abovementioned youth collaborative where youthful articulations work as an intergenerational, positive intervention into problematic social current, but also – speaking to the other side of the coin – in the voice of Lily who feels culturally uninspiring and institutionally disempowering about the (implicitly) disciplinal terms of adulthood and education. In whose struggles, with whose knowledge, and what policies could do to support youth, when Lily mobilizes resources for transgender women support and feels frustrated about existing institutions and in particular municipal politicians, when 阿風 applies for city funding for community organizing while rejecting terms like multiculturalism and citizenship, and when Tse organizes protests to push municipal government to redesign urban development and rezoning policies? The youth claiming is a collective political consciousness of power relations, and it widens communication through more digitalized engagements. Considering youth as a social construct (e.g. White & Wyn, 2008), this pedagogy of youth might offer a potential cultural studies ingredient in mixing adult education and youth studies: as Kathryn speaks to her activism work that “the common thread there is finding ways as a young person to be present in the neighbourhood, in the community, and to work with other young people there to find out how we can help.” But such pedagogy of youth involves spatial unevenness. The local born youth community organizers/leaders often have privileges in English language education, housing, social network, Canadian citizenship status, and traveling mobility – compared to others who are also involved in the community organizing and activities, such as international students of color from the ‘global south’ speaking English as a second/third language and illiterate elders of color in need of social housing. Why and in what ways would the local youth activists care about the different global locations of politics that some international students concern and the knowledge/epistemologies they bring? Why and in what ways could international students learn 153 deeper into local issues and take leadership positions in organizing communities? In the future, how to have more diverse approaches to youth leadership, in growing more nuanced empathy and thicker solidarities, is a practical question alongside the local urgency of doing specific social justice work. 6.2.2 Aspirational learning in political literacy: language and citizenship One aspect of political literacy is language itself. In a multicultural context, some multilingual pride is signalized as and around the speaker’s ability/aspiration to live diversity: maintaining heritage culture on the one hand, and disrupting essentialization of place and territorial identity on the other. Born in 1952, multilingual speaker Tung identifies his familial and educational backgrounds from Ho Chung village, Sai Kung, New Territories, with cultural groundings much more mixed than the already complex construct of Hong Kong-Canadian: “I grew up speaking Da Peng at home. The dialect is a mixture of Hakka and Mandarin. Hanging out with my childhood friends I spoke Ho Chung, a local native village dialect spoken in New Territories. When I started school at six, I started to speak Cantonese. At Grade-10 at high school, we had Mandarin classes. Also, unlike the usual Hong Kong way of speaking Cantonese punctuated by English phrases, I speak sentences in full Cantonese. I’m quite proud of that, I think it’s very important.” For some, linguistic pride is signaled for its urgent utility: activist youth Tse emphasizes the importance of translation, and in particular of speaking Cantonese and in some cases Mandarin, with his ongoing intergenerational work for seniors and low income groups in Chinatown and Downtown Eastside areas. While non-Anglophone alternatives plays a substantial role in the everyday life of these and various other neighbourhoods (as Hwa’s multilingual service in Richmond also testifies), Anglophone privilege remains in terms of government leadership. Speaking fluent English, additionally tied to the status of being local born, almost already commands some convenience to speak. Colin speaks to his own case of making connection with government people in Richmond: “People are extremely supportive of the food work, a huge part is because that I think, particularly for local decision makers and senior staff, has largely been 154 because they like to have this, um, a sort of hometown boy, it’s optically very good. And I’m very deeply invested in my community, for some strange reasons, love Richmond” Colin is English/French bilingual, a linguistic match between personal learning and official representation of the state, although he has not yet considered direct involvement into government and electoral politics. The English/French bilingual capacity has some potential leadership privileges, commented by Tung from his rich experiences in electoral politics as a former Vancouver city councillor and with other endeavors: “In Canada, civil servants reaching certain levels are required to be bilingual. For those who are eligible for further promotions, it does not matter whether you are 30 or 40 years old, English-speakers will be sent to Quebec spending one year learning French, or French-speakers spending one year learning English. The individual has to be totally functional, for public speech and expressing yourself.” Reflecting on his position as an ethnicized foreign born, Richmond city councillor Wilson places hope on the future generations of local born Chinese-Canadian leaders: “For our generation as new immigrants – well not new immigrants, I should say first-generation immigrants – there is actually a limitation, that no matter how good we are, we’re always labeled as immigrants, and more or less viewed as foreigners. As for our youth born and growing up here, that label isn’t that strong, and they could speak out loud ‘I was born here, so don't you talk shit with me.’ In the long run, we have to support this second tier of leadership. I always feel, that the best our first-generation immigrants could do is to get to the frontiers, to push, and to break through the lines. But in the long run, stronger Chinese-Canadian voices will very much need the second and subsequent generations.” And now among 1.5-generaiton and second-generation youth doing different grassroots work, their respective empowerment strategies/leadership roles are inseparable from an educational context of English literacy and higher education, as well as a yearning for more informal, alternative learning: as Lily feels the confinement of English literature, as 阿風[ah fung] is eager to learn other cultures and epistemologies partly afforded by his Chinese literacy, and as Kathryn and Claudia hope to speak to a diverse audience. Besides its utility in grassroots and government work, language learning is entwined with a softer, deeper search for heritage. This pride in reflexive learning, with diasporic language 155 heritage commingling with more contemporary transnational economy, finds a sensitive expression in some aspects of May Kei’s stories. Working in Richmond school board as an ESL teacher since 1979, May Kei was the founding chair of B.C. Heritage Language Association in 1981, and was involved in SFU teachers’ certification program of Asian languages in the late 1980s including specific roles of designing Mandarin Chinese curriculum and pedagogy. Seeing the future role of language in living a globalized life, and with her grandchildren’ self-awareness of learning Cantonese, May Kei’s language passions and work now have wider spaces of discussions. In local media representation as well as international academic conference, Cantonese and Mandarin have stirred up debates around culture/power/status/capital contestations (Vancouver Sun, February 2016; ISSCO International Conference, 2016). This might be called a specific, linguistic case of “glocal presences” (Wright & Maton, 2004); for May Kei, more innovative projects of mother tongue language teaching and learning are (yet) to be done – in her personal case, the cross-cultural Chinese language education: “There is one thing yet to be done. I always want to change the ways children learned Chinese language in Canada. It would not work by simply copying curricula and pedagogies in mainland China, Hong Kong, or Taiwan. I know many schools are teaching, and I have done much work in mother tongue language education. But still not enough, not enough.” Varying but tellingly in the activists’ stories, there is also some pride in learning to become informed citizens in multicultural society and further in negotiating accesses to institutional (decision-making) power. This is another aspect of political literacy: the learning of citizenship.. The establishment of Civic Education Society, in Kenneth’s case, is one example of learning “minimal citizenship” as well as “active citizenship” (Banks, 2008, p.136) in terms of voting, concerning social issues, participating in political debates, and further fostering dialogues between Chinese-heritage youth and Indigenous communities. When some activists eventually entered city government decision-making and policymaking circles, what proves practical was the educational work of translation – literally and deeply as cross-/inter-cultural communication. This practice of cultural translation is where both former Vancouver city councillor May Kei and 156 current Richmond city councillor Wilson emphasize the metaphor of “bridging”: bridging the cultural and informational gaps between their colleagues in the government and their representable communities, almost always everyday but most pronouncedly occurred in public controversies such as tree-cutting and language signs. This multisided space of politics is where a sense of cultural pride is most telling, because cultural knowledge makes the strategies broader and deeper. For a veteran politician like Tung, there remains a very narrow space for alternative non-European cultural articulations of values and human rights. On the one hand, Tung maintains a critical distance from the Mainland China state-sponsored establishment of Confucius Institute in Canada. On the other hand, Tung speaks of the hope for “real” institutional change and empowerment, if, for example, some Confucius cultures (e.g., filial piety) are added to Canadian values. This is where the pride of philosophical, epistemological yearnings enters, and here Tung is speaking with Sor-hoon Tan (2004), with the position that Confucian democracy is possible and in complementary terms to liberal democracy. This location of cross-/inter-cultural communication is also where Tung speaks to the need of using multicultural education as a tool to engender deeper, political changes in “神髓(shen-sui)” – meaning the intercultural ingrained-ness of mutual appreciation and understanding different ways of life. On this latter point Tung sees the need for more educational and translational work in media representation as parallel to government work. The Cantonese radio 華僑之聲(Overseas Chinese Voices), in Hanson’s stories, speaks quite clearly to the power of radio in representing an ethnocultural community, in shaping communicative dynamics between such community and government decisions-makers of particular educational policies, and in speaking with the mixed overtones of antiracism and market orientation. But viewed broadly, communication between English and Chinese media is few and far between, and in this, some major translations between communities are lost. Many local borns like Tung’s own daughters did not read Chinese, the Chinatown News targeting English-speaking Chinese-Canadians did not sustain long after its founder Roy Ma passed away, and the current Ricepaper (a magazine with an Asian-Canadian 157 focus) engaged primarily with local born writers and presented alternative languages minimally. During his time as city councillor, Tung encouraged the translations of editorials and major articles between the English newspaper Vancouver Sun and the Hong Kong-Cantonese newspaper Mingpao. It lasted for six months, and yet stopped because of lack of advertising sponsorship for such exchanges. After all, these educational edges of representing an ethnocultural community are context-sensitive, and prove hard in Richmond undergoing significant agricultural and industrial changes. In 2014, Richmond city councillor Wilson had to invite a local English newspaper reporter to enter the actual space of Chinese malls for field observations, in order to demystify the common perception of Chinese-only signs. The aspiration to transform is in the emergent pride of unlearning (Canadian) citizenship: Lily’s defiance with existing institutional structures and her desire to “do more activism” in creating alternative space, and 阿風’s “building of my own house” that challenges the legitimacy of the exiting state and conventions. Because the will and feeling are strong in seeking to break from existing institutions, these youth activists see the (Canadian) citizenship idea itself as conservative, and multicultural education only as a state co-option, even though their practices might be theorized as “transformative citizenship” (Banks, 2008). This stance is intertwined with a background of post-1990s born, 1.5-generation non-European immigrant youth. Though not to be generalized, it does imply the complexity, and perhaps the awkwardness, of doing (Eurocentric nation-state) citizenship education with the current and future generations of youth with multiple belongings: in what contexts and by whom the transformative citizenship would emerge, and in what forms of multiculturality, as the youth activists are also using non-European cultural representations such as Asian-ness and/or Chinese-ness to do such transformation? Although opening one way of thinking non-European epistemologies, the educational discourses of Chineseness and Chinese citizenship are never always already good and innocent (e.g. Xiao, 2013, 2015): as these discourses increasingly move across national borders through migration, travel, international education, and media, whose ideas of citizenship are being negotiated, for 158 whose interests, and in what ways? 6.2.3 Critical education with place-based and mobile cultures How to use place to teach and learn about power relations? For many activists including social workers, cultural workers, and various other volunteers, the places of Chinatown and Downtown Eastside make a condensed collection of everyday living classes: on the one hand, the politics of social housing, industrial planning, architectural function and representation, construction and displacement, and in the quite academic, generic term, gentrification; on the other hand, the everyday rhythms of affordable bustling food markets, standing and changing neighbourhood restaurants, small stores with different owners, people who visit or frequent these places, (the lack of) open and friendly leisure spaces within walking distance for seniors as some Chinese-speaking seniors utilize spaces in their respective clan associations while still some others need such access, street markets and occasional brawls on the streets, folks across generations moving in and out of the area for different careers and retirements, and various other emplaced aspects of life where economics, language, health, and mobility played a role. Enabled by such material chasms – in and with physicality, built forms, and various occupants of space – is a critical education around the active cultural and historical agency in the spatial relationships of domination. Youth activist Tse has learned much from the area and now hopes to engage/inform wider communities. For him, among others, this critical education involves a twin-project: an overtly political left position/mobilization, and a careful distinction between the urban central location of Chinatown/Downtown Eastside and the island, suburban location of Richmond. A primary expression of such pedagogical project is a culture-mediated, mixed narration of neighbourhood histories, race, language, food culture, and transnational migrations: “I myself live in Richmond. But Chinatown gives me an opportunity to focus on low-income folks, many of who don’t speak English, and rarely have a voice at the table of community development and urban planning. Obviously there is also a low-income population in Richmond, but more disperse, unlike Chinatown 159 where there is a neighbourhood. … Richmond, many call it ‘new Chinatown’, but I still feel like, um, it’s not the same, you don’t have this history, these cultures and lives across generations, from the very first generation coming to Canada and contributing. To know the culture before is important, history is important – how we get here, and not to take it for granted. It’s hard to pinpoint what Chinese culture is. Richmond has lots of Chinese, surely growing with new cultures more connected to Taiwan and Hong Kong, like the popular bo-ba[bubble tea] and cha chaan teng[Cantonese style café], so this is important too.” Another youth activist Lily – migrating as a six-year-old with her family from Mainland China to Richmond in 2000 – brought knowledge of queerness to her praxis. Rather than in Richmond where she once lived and considered quite free from gentrification pressures, Li
UBC Theses and Dissertations
Chinese pride? searching between gendered diasporas and multicultural states Xiao, Yao 2017
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