Hafizzz
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Mexicans in China - The New 'Model Minority'?
Mexicans in China - The New 'Model Minority'? - NAM
Ill be honest with you: its going to take something exceptional to keep me in the United States. No, Im not talking about a general amnesty. Im not an illegal immigrant. Never was.
Allow me to explain. I lived and worked in Shanghai, China for several years. No, Im not a Communist either. In fact, I cherish democracy, freedom and equality as much as any other patriotic U.S. citizen. And I would never give up my U.S. passport.
The funny thing is, I didnt feel truly free until I lived in China, a closed authoritarian country. Oh how sweet freedom is!
I worked as a teacher in China, where I was seen with different eyes than in the United States. Everywhere I went, I received kind treatment, from shops to jobs to restaurants to bars. I was rich; I was educated; I was handsome. Women loved my eyelashes and my nose. Often I was confused for Italian or French. Id smile and correct them: Im Mexican American, while going on to explain that the United States is a land of immigrants a fact the Chinese are very aware of.
In China I felt especially safe because someone else did all the dirty work. All the Mexicans and Mexican Americans I met were educated and bilingual. Could we be the new model minority in China of all places?
Its not that the Chinese are more enlightened than Americans concerning race and culturethey have plenty of issues with other Asian cultures. What made my life in China so enjoyable was their mistaken belief that all Westerners were wealthy. I suppose that, to them, I was just another exotic big-nose with lots of money. I was reminded of this when I recounted to Hispanics in Los Angeles that Mexicans dont do the dirty work in China.
I lived another life in China. One night, for example, a small group of sailors were sitting at a coffee bar in Shanghai. I overheard them speaking Spanish so I started talking to them. They said they were the commanding officers of the Mexican navys tall ship the Cuauhtemoc, which had docked in Shanghai on a worldwide friendship tour. They gave me a poster of the ship.
Another night, near a street lined with seedy bars, I met a group of musicians. They belonged to a visiting orchestra from Vienna, Austria. One man, a violinist, and a soloist at that, was from Mexico. He talked about his hometown and asked a lot of questions about China.
And on a plane flight, a young Mexican man told me about his familys shoe factory in Mexico. He was on his way home after meeting his Hong Kong broker and visiting a shoe factory in Guangdong, China. He proudly showed me his college class ring.
Other Mexicans and Mexican Americans I met who lived in China (and were not just visiting) were also educated: business people, artists and teachers. They carried passports and designer suitcases. They were well spoken and confident.
I have returned to the United States since. And quite frankly, I dont want to be here anymore. For one, its turning increasingly undemocratic: Youre either with us or youre against us.
Mainly, though, I have come to loathe how this country looks at me and makes me feel feelings I thought I had permanently laid to rest returned from the grave as soon as I got off the plane at LAX.
I am no longer confused for Italian or French. No, here I am just Mexican. And to be Mexican in the United States comes with serious consequences. I am poor. I dont speak English. Im ugly. Im illegal!
I have tried everything to gain acceptance. I learned English, wore surfer t-shirts, graduated from college, became a U.S. citizen and voted. But nothing I do is ever good enough.
In China, whenever I said to a Chinese woman in Spanish, Your hair is beautiful. I love your soft skin, my Spanish was met with a lovely smile and a compliment. In the United States I am harshly told, Speak English!
Here I am the doe-eyed man on CNN sneaking across the U.S. border with black trash bags for luggage. I am the little girl in a Los Angeles classroom with bad breath and a painful cavity. I am the short, plump woman selling flowers in a sushi restaurant. I am the day laborer loitering outside the hardware store.
Waiters at Chinese restaurants arent even nice to me here!
I was at the post office sending query letters to New York literary agencies one day. Suddenly, before I had a chance to react, a confused and disheveled Mexican-Indian lady asked, Do you speak Spanish? It was like looking in a mirror.
I hate seeing myself like this. And more than that I hate being seen like this.
The Mexican man choose China over USA.
