Chinese Identities, Ethnicity and

Cosmopolitanism
Chinese Identities, Ethnicity and Cosmopolitanism explores the ever-changing personal
and cultural identity of Chinese migrants and the diverse cosmopolitan communities they
create. Within these communities migrants face a fight between departure and destination
cultures. This book considers the consequences of this conflict of identity and the
numerous possible outcomes from cultural assimilation to the emergence of mutually
developed hybrid cultures.
Using extensive case study material, various models of newly-forged communities are
examined. The book analyses the individual’s place in society, as well as the conflict
between personal ethnic identity and migration, integration and cultural conversion. Chan
highlights the point that communities are not homogeneous but composed of an array of
motives, aims and degrees of receptivity.
Chinese Identities, Ethnicity and Cosmopolitanism emphasises the changing face of
Chinese ethnicity. Drawing on extensive experience and knowledge in the field, Chan
delivers a fresh, fascinating and ultimately very human analysis of migration, culture,
identity and the self.
Chan Kwok-bun is Professor and Head of the Department of Sociology and Director
of the David C.Lam Institute for East-West Studies at the Hong Kong Baptist University.
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Chinese Identities, Ethnicity and Cosmopolitanism

Chan Kwok-bun
Chinese Identities, Ethnicity and
Cosmopolitanism
Chan Kwok-bun

LONDON AND NEW YORK

 First published 2005
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX 14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
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© 2005 Chan Kwok-bun
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or
by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission
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To my family, Kate, Nin and Yoan
 Contents

Acknowledgements x
Preface xii
Foreword xv

Prologue 1
1 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 14
2 Civic identity and ethnicity 34
3 The migrant family drama 60
4 The ethnicity paradox of immigrants 77
5 One face, many masks 88
6 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 110
Epilogue 122

Notes 132
Bibliography 142
Index 153
 Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Gregor Benton, editor of the Chinese Worlds series, for asking me
in 2000 to write this book. I would also like to thank Herbert Tsang, Stephanie Rogers,
Terence Gomez, Vivienne Luk, Heather Hynd, April Chia, Pam Summa, Karamjit
Sandhu Kaur, Anna Lo, Christie Tang, Nicole Lee, Jennifer Law, Carmen Lau and Karen
Lau for their help in bringing this book out.
The David C.Lam Institute for East-West Studies (LEWI) of the Hong Kong Baptist
University has provided me with a grant during the book’s revision and editing stage.
The prologue is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in Steven Vertovec
and Robin Cohen (eds.) Conceiving Cosmopolitanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2002) under the title ‘Both Sides, Now: Culture Contact, Hybridization, and
Cosmopolitanism’, pp. 191–208. It is reproduced in this book with the kind permission of
Oxford University Press.
Chapter 1 is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in International
Migration Review, 1993, vol. xxvii, no. 1, pp. 140–68, under the title ‘Rethinking
assimilation and ethnicity: the Chinese of Thailand’. Co-authored with Tong Chee-kiong,
it is reproduced in this book with the kind permission of the Centre For Migration Studies
of New York.
Chapter 2 is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in Tong Cheekiong and
Chan Kwok-bun (eds.) Alternate Identities: The Chinese of Contemporary Thailand
(Singapore: Times Academic Press; and Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2001), pp.
227–70, under the title ‘Wang Thong: civic identity and Chinese ethnicity in a Thai
market town’. Co-authored with P.Tarkulwaranont and Tong Chee-kiong, it is
reproduced in this book with the kind permission of Times Academic Press and Brill
Academic Publishers.
Chapter 3 is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in Sojourn: Journal of
Social Issues in Southeast Asia, 2003, vol. 18, no. 2, pp. 171–200, under the title
‘Migrant family drama re-visited: a study of the Mainland Chinese immigrants in
Singapore’. Co-authored with Seet Chia Sing, it is reproduced in this book with the kind
permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies.
Chapter 4 is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in Ronald Skeldon (ed.)
Reluctant Exiles? Migration from Hong Kong and the New Overseas Chinese (Armonk:
M.E.Sharpe, 1994), pp. 308–21, under the title ‘The ethnicity paradox: Hong Kong
immigrants in Singapore’. It is reproduced in this book with the kind permission of
M.E.Sharpe, Inc.
Chapter 5 is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in Diaspora: A Journal of
Transnational Studies, vol. 10, no. 3, pp. 361–89, under the title ‘One face, many masks:
the singularity and plurality of Chinese identity’. Co-authored with Tong Chee-kiong, it
is reproduced with the kind permission of the University of Toronto Press.
 Chapter 6 is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in Diaspora: A Journal of
Transnational Studies, 1997, vol. 6, no. 2, pp. 195–214, under the title ‘A family affair:
migration, dispersal, and the emergent identity of the Chinese Ccosmopolitan’. It is
reproduced in this book with the kind permission of the University of Toronto Press.
The epilogue is a revised version of an essay that first appeared in John Rex
and Gurharpal Singh (eds.) Governance in Multicultural Societies (Aldershot: Ashgate,
2004), pp. 227–44, under the title ‘From multiculturalism to hybridity: the Chinese
in Canada’. It is reproduced in this book with the kind permission of Ashgate
Publishing Ltd.
 Preface

This book is a compilation of ten years of sociological research on migrants, immigrants

and migration. The chapters form a diary of my intellectual life, a sort of ‘sociological
autobiography’, to borrow a concept from Robert Merton (1988), and even, in some
ways, of my psychological reality as it evolves.
I was born a refugee. I was born in 1950 when my family, along with hundreds of
thousands of other Chinese people, was making its way from China to Hong Kong. My
father, a self-made man and a landlord in his village, lost everything practically
overnight. As a child growing up in Hong Kong, I experienced poverty, but not
refugeehood in the sense of feeling myself to be far from ‘home’ and an outsider in
society subject to discrimination and hostility, probably because there were so many
others like us in Hong Kong. Also, my family had remained intact. In 1969,1 left Hong
Kong and went to Canada to study.
While I was a university student in Canada, I did not spend much time thinking about
the life of a ‘stranger’ and his encounters with society. I was interested in sociological
theory, social thought and philosophy, on the one hand, and literature, drama and creative
writing on the other—or, to put it another way, ideas and emotions and their role in
human conduct and society. My interest was abstract and theoretical. The more tangible
aspect of it was simply that I wanted to acquire the tools of my trade, to learn the theories
and ideas that would help me become a sociologist. As a foreign student in a cold,
unfamiliar, faraway land, who lived among other Chinese students in a kind of ghetto, I
led a stranger’s life. But I was not aware of it at the time, and I was certainly not
interested in examining the plight of the stranger in an intellectual way. I cannot recall
having written, as a student, a single essay even remotely related to the subject, although
classical sociologists have written much about alienation, anomie, self-estrangement and
exploitation (by the self and others). Simmel’s (1908) classic essay ‘The stranger’,
Schuetz’s (1943) essay of the same title and the works of Park (1928) and Stonequist
(1937) on the marginal man were not part of my reading then. As a student in Canada, I
was not bothered by my marginal status. You cannot be upset by what is outside your
consciousness.
This book consists of nine chapters (including this preface) on identity and ethnicity,
concerning the Chinese in Thailand, Singapore, Hong Kong and Canada.
Such analyses of identity and ethnicity are central to sociology; they required me to
rethink many of my former ideas about identity and the self. I discovered that there was a
new kind of migrant, one who ‘made up’ a way of life out of moving between a place of
departure and a place of arrival, who built and maintained ties in both places and who set
the stage for transnationality and cosmopolitanism. Travelling in a global circuit, such
migrants negotiate political, geographic, social and psychological borders, exploiting the
resources of both places. At the same time, their very existence poses serious questions
about such old concepts as ‘nationalism’ and ‘patriotism’. I also found that contemporary
migrants do not necessarily have to choose between the two classical options that
sociology has presented them with for decades—either rigidly adhering to past traditions
and becoming ossified, or assimilating and losing themselves in the new culture of the
host society. Instead, many migrants have managed to hang on to both cultures—that of
departure and that of arrival—and alternate between them. Some migrants have gone
even further, transforming their biculturality or sense of a double identity into
cosmopolitanism.
In the prologue of this book, I ask a question that has intrigued sociologists and
anthropologists for decades: what happens when strangers meet? I outlined several
possibilities, each one representing a particular way of theorising identity and its relation
to the self and the other. Identity is an elusive thing. It has a knack of transforming and
slipping away, even as the sociologists think that they have grasped it. Despite this
slipperiness, I find the possibility of identity renewing and re-inventing itself to be
exciting. I return to this excitement in the epilogue, with a critique of multiculturalism, a
popular idea then and now, and a theory of inner hybridity. Although this inner hybridity
initially creates turmoil within the individual, the psychological entanglement of what is
familiar and what is different, of self and other, may give birth to something fluid,
something new. Its very fluidity, its flow—its ability to cross boundaries, break apart and
then re-integrate—is positive, a sign of hope in a world that seems profoundly divided by
uncrossable boundaries, into opposing camps of ‘us’ and ‘them’. Despite the dark side of
being a stranger, and despite the sense of personal marginality that may always be the
stranger’s fate, the beginnings of hybridisation in new migrants seem to offer a solution
to the dangers of polarity, to suggest a way out and a way forward.
If ethnic persistence on the one hand and assimilation on the other represent two
options to the ethnic person, then ethnic Chinese overseas are faced with a dilemma. As it
happens, the dilemma turns out to be more apparent than real upon a discovery of the
complexity of ‘the Chinese problem’ in the contemporary era—and perhaps of most
instances of ethnic group relations. What has emerged is a third idea, a third image of the
Chinese, a third ethnicity, which is a product of structural and cultural integration. Born
out of an intellectual heritage that speaks vehemently of pluralism and a variety of
multiculturalisms, this third wave stresses the multiple faces of ethnicity. In contemporary
Thailand, Canada, Singapore and different parts of South-east Asia, there are many ways
of being Chinese and, for that matter, of being a citizen in one’s adopted land.
Several core concepts inform this third wave, this third ethnicity. First is the discovery
of one’s multiple rootedness; this conjures up an image of plurality, not singularity. A
related concept is that of hybridity born out of multiple rootedness and consciousness.
Ethnic actors are forever mixing and mixed, forever crossing, traversing and translating
linguistically, culturally and psychically. They are not either/or, but both. Being Thai,
Canadian, Singaporean or South-east Asian interacts with being Chinese. The third
concept, that of positionality, is ‘enabled’ by the first two. Because of their plural
consciousness and hybridity, to ethnic actors, identity is about positioning. Their ethnic
competence is in what Berger (1986:68) calls alternation, which is ‘the possibility to
choose between varying and sometimes contradictory systems of meaning’. In alternating
their identities, the ethnic Chinese person develops ‘the perception of oneself in front of
an infinite series of mirrors, each one transforming one’s image in a different conversion’
(Berger 1986:77). A Chinese person thus has as many selves or faces as the number of
mirrors that he cares to look into.
 Identity is a slippery thing. It is elusive, hard for the theorist to pin down; it is complex
and multifaceted because it is sometimes displayed depending on the nature of the
audience. As such, the form or style of identity as intended by the ethnic actor should be
as interesting as its substance.
As a personality type, cosmopolitans interest me a great deal. For them, home is where
they hang their hat. The compression of time and places in a post-modern world lands
them inadvertently in a multiplicity of circumstances. Adaptability and pragmatism is
their ticket to survival. Before the theorists get too carried away with the romance of
cosmopolitans, they are best reminded that, while such a manifestation of post-modernity
has its charm, others may find this way of life not so endearing. Moralists or nationalists
demand ‘authenticity’, ‘sincerity’ and commitment. They may find the cosmopolitans’
indeterminacy morally wanting, if not offensive. Hybridity is enabling because it puts one
in the best of all possible worlds. Much has been written about this, but hybridity can also
be disabling because the hybrid person has to live with others, which sometimes leads to
discrimination. Hybridity as identity thus has its own psychic costs. Although expanded
in their intellectual horizons and unstrained in their movements, hybrid people have their
moments of nervousness. Others must ask questions about their identity or, more
precisely, their allegiance, their loyalty. A study of identity is as much a study of the self
of the person, as of the other—and the latter’s capacity to tolerate difference. The
question of identity is thus first and foremost political.
Modern societies are as heterogeneous as the sociologist can imagine. What happens
to a multirooted identity in an ethnically heterogeneous society? There is not a singular
ethnicity for one to assimilate into—thus my ‘discovery’ of the complexity of the
problem. An ethnic person alternates, changes, mutates in form and structure, oscillates
between positions as identities—or, positionality as identity, positionality to replace
identity as concept. I thus have this rather graphic, dramatic image of one face, many
masks—Chinese now, not Chinese later; one type of Chinese now, another type later,
depending on the nature of the audience. The Chinese cosmopolitan is forever ‘on stage’,
always engaged in some form of performance. I now have an idea of identity firmly
grounded in heterogeneity and hybridity that fascinates as much as it abhors the
nationalists who insist on borders, boundaries, purity, loyalty, oneness and singularity.
At the time of this writing, I am living in Hong Kong once again, having come full
circle, so to speak. At this point, sociology has become, for me, more than an occupation;
it is a way of understanding the various life experiences of many different peoples. The
nine essays collected in this book represent my personal, sometimes admittedly self-
indulgent, attempt to make sense of the stories of those who are ‘strangers’—among
whom I now count myself. Through my life’s work, sociology and autobiography have
merged and become one. Meanwhile, the migrant and the sociologist continue to ask
‘Who am I?’ ‘What am I?’ ‘What can I be?’
 Foreword

I met Chan Kwok-bun in 1999 when he was engaged with Robin Cohen in a series of
comparative studies on globalisation and transnationalism at the University of Warwick.
He came to see me and I realised that we had much in common. At that time, he was
based in Singapore. He moved to Hong Kong in 2001, and we kept in touch. In 2002,
Gurharpal Singh and I organised a conference at Warwick with the support of the British
Social and Economic Research Council under the title ‘Governance in Multicultural
Societies’, and I invited Chan to attend. Those invited to the conference to give papers on
theoretical, historical and empirical aspects of multiculturalism came from fifteen
countries, and it seemed to me that Chan would make a significant contribution because
he would be well aware of the problems of living in Hong Kong, now that it was
operating under the slogan ‘One Country, Two Systems’. In his paper and his chapter in
the book1 that we published (Rex and Singh 2004), he went beyond this brief, talking
about his experience as a migrant and a student of sociological theory and of ethnic
relations in Canada, and looking critically at the concepts of cosmopolitanism and
cultural hybridity.
In introducing the present volume, I find it convenient to set out the position that I had
arrived at as a result of my own studies. This was articulated in my book Ethnic
Minorities in the Modern Nation State (Rex 1996). The essays that I collected could be
said to involve critiques of the two notions of essentialism and diaspora. Against the view
of cultural diversity, I presented my own view of migrant cultures as having three points
of reference: a changing homeland culture, the culture of the migrants in their land of first
settlement and their culture in lands of onward migration. Against the loose usage of the
concept of diaspora,2 I suggested that, far from envisaging a return to their homeland,
migrants had accommodated themselves to living in a permanently transnational
community.
Looking more closely at the three points of reference of the migrants, I argued that the
first was to a homeland that was itself changing. It was changing because the migrants
had left it and might return temporarily or permanently to challenge the role of traditional
elites. In the land of first settlement, they had to deal with the culture and institutions of a
modern society, which often took the form of some kind of welfare state. In such
societies, individual migrants and groups of migrants had to live in two cultures. One of
these was the public culture that they shared with their hosts; the other was that of their
own communities with their own languages, religions and family practices. I saw that
there were difficulties in this two-domain thesis. On the one hand, there would be
attempts to extend the public domain to cover or replace communal institutions, and
attempts to extend the values of the communal cultures into the public domain. On the
other hand, there appeared to be a third domain in the areas of cuisine, literature and,
more generally, the arts that was the product of interaction between the public and private
communal domains.
 It seemed to me that the nature of the public domain had been indicated by the British
sociologist T.H.Marshall (1951), who had argued that earlier forms of identification
based on class were being superseded by an identification with citizenship, first based on
equality before the law, then on a political franchise and, finally, on social rights within
the welfare state. This, however, said nothing about the position of immigrants and ethnic
minorities. The integration of these minorities was discussed in Britain in the light of a
statement by the Home Secretary, Roy Jenkins, who defined integration ‘not as a
flattening process of uniformity’ but as ‘cultural diversity coupled with equal opportunity
in an atmosphere of mutual tolerance’.3 Migrants and ethnic minorities thus have an
interest in participating in this way in the public realm. However, ways of dealing with
the crises of birth, marriage and death do appear to survive for several generations,
drawing upon religious celebrations in synagogues, mosques and temples. This makes for
complex identity problems.
Some migrants may stay within this milieu in their land of first settlement, and some,
after several generations, may even become assimilated. Others, however, may make a
further move. They may see better prospects in moving to a third country. There, they
will have the recurrent problems of class and identity that they had during their first
migration, but they will also have the problems of feeling themselves, and being seen as,
strangers.
In this complex situation, the concept of diasporas is inadequate. These are much
better described as transnational communities of migrants. I thought about this problem
with the example of migrants from the Indian subcontinent in mind, including Indians,
Pakistanis and Bangladeshis, who were Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus and who spoke
Punjabi, Gujarati or Bengali.
When I turned to Chan’s work, I was interested to see whether there was any parallel
with my understanding of South Asian migrants in the case of Chinese migrants. Some
comparisons were suggested in his contribution to the Rex and Singh volume. The essays
contained here, however, go much further and raise many new issues. They look at the
diverse experience of Chinese migrants in Thailand, Singapore, Hong Kong and Canada.
They take up questions of socio-logical theory and the sociology of ethnic minorities as
Chan encountered them as a student in Canada. They look at the theoretical
understanding of Park and the Chicago school, Mead and Zangwill, and the way in which
these have been represented, as well as significant European theories such as those of
Stuart Hall, Rath, Schierup and Alund.4 Importantly, they look at psychological questions
and the possible responses to the pain and the advantages of migrant status. They also
draw upon literature and the arts, as well as the social sciences. In this last respect, they
bring sociology into touch with the sorts of personal and social interaction that novels
record.
Overall, Chan has deepened and enriched my understanding of what is involved in the
migration process.
John Rex
University of Warwick
 Notes
1 This paper has been revised and included as the Epilogue of this book.
2 By loose usage, I mean the way in which the concept was used to refer to the experience of
the Jews who, having experienced a traumatic event, now sought to return to Zion, and of the
descendants of African slaves who sought to return to Africa.
3 This is reported in a comparative study of integration in the United States, Germany and Great
Britain by Joppke (2000).
4 The comprehensive bibliography at the end of this book is a valuable and comprehensive
guide to the theory of migration.

References

Joppke, C. (2000) Immigration and the Nation State; the United States, Germany and Great
Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Marshall, T. (1951) Citizenship and Social Class. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Rex, J. (1996) Ethnic Minorities in the Modern Nation State; Working Papers in the Theory of
Multicultural Societies. Basingstoke: Macmillan.
Rex, J. and G.Singh (2004) Governance in Multicultural Societies. Aldershot: Ashgate.
 Prologue

The term cosmopolitanism may not have been in popular use until the twentieth century,
but the phenomenon itself is quite old. In his 1928 essay on ‘Human migration and
the marginal man’, Park stated that ‘the first cosmopolite and citizen of the world [was]
to be found in the emancipated Jew’. Since the twentieth century, the opportunities to
become cosmopolitan, a ‘citizen of the world’, have multiplied as the spread of
capitalism and the rapid growth in the technologies of communications and transport
have compressed time and place. This phenomenon, called globalisation, generates an
intensified consciousness of the world as a whole and of the interconnectedness of the
people within it. Globalisation sharpens our sensitivity to people and things different and
foreign, setting up a context in which we begin to develop a certain attitude, tolerant or
not, towards others.
Central to this awareness of being connected to other people in the world is the sense
of those people who are ‘other’—who are not like ‘us’, but who live in our midst—and
the attendant fascination and antipathy one feels for the unfamiliar. The wife can be other
to the husband, or the parent to the child, but in this book I focus on the ‘other’ as
someone who leaves his country of origin in order to live, for a while at least, in another
country—the other as migrant or refugee. Sometimes, this traveller is an ethnic other and,
sometimes, as in the case of the expatriate returning home, he is other simply because he
chose to leave home.1
In the past ten years, empirical works on transnationalism have narrated the migrant’s
dilemma—the dual nature of feelings attached to where one finds oneself (‘destination’)
and where one is from (‘origin’). These works show that a person can be, in a certain
sense, in more than one place at the same time; in this way, simultaneity is a defining
characteristic of transnationalism. The sense of belonging and loyalty to both places gives
rise to a dual identity, a ‘doubleness’, that is also a critique of the nation-state and of the
old, sometimes dangerous, idea of a singular loyalty to one place, one regime—thus the
prefix ‘trans’ before ‘nationalism’. Cosmopolitanism extends transnationalism in that it
goes beyond loyalty to the physicality of a place; the word suggests a bone-deep attitude
of receptivity towards people and places that are different from one’s own.
More and more migrants of the twenty-first century will have—or will strive for—this
receptivity that is called cosmopolitanism. Transnationalism and cosmopolitanism seem
more likely to occur in large cities, where there is a greater propensity for different
cultures, ethnic groups and religions to co-exist, where contradictions must be resolved or
at least accepted, where conformity is discouraged, at least ideologically, more so than in
rural areas, where tradition tends to prevail and conformity is expected. In metropolises
such as Hong Kong, Tokyo, New York, London, Paris and Shanghai, encounters with
those who are different are part of the fabric of everyday life, evoking feelings of
curiosity and hostility simultaneously. In such places, many immigrants have become
cultural hybrids because they must adapt their transplanted culture to the daily, practical
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 2
exigencies of living in the new culture, thus transforming themselves and the milieu in
which they live.
The large number of transnationals in the cities has raised the question of whether
their ‘doubleness’ or even multiplicity of ethnicity can be put to good use—in economic
terms, but also in terms of facilitating cross-cultural and crossnational understanding. In
this book, the Chinese (and occasionally Indochinese) provide a case study for such
questions, as well as for interrogating a number of sociological concepts around
cosmopolitanism, including what it means to be a marginal man, a stranger, a refugee,
an ‘other’.

Culture contact and its dialectic

What happens to one’s identity, ethnicity and culture as a consequence of migration or,
more precisely, as a consequence of transnationalism? The question is an age-old one:
what happens when different cultures—and their carriers, such as people, images and so
on—meet?
There are many possibilities, at least conceptually speaking. Following but also freely
interpreting an essay by Femminella (1980) on the dialectic of culture contact, I will
designate the culture of the place of departure as A and the culture of the place of arrival
as B2 and describe the five possible outcomes of the encounter between A and B.
1 Essentialising: A↔B=A/B. Both A and B polarise and ossify upon their encounter with
difference, each retreating to his ‘unchanging same’. This possibility is particularly
real when it happens at the group level. The group is a breeding ground of prejudice,
discrimination and racism because groups in contact manufacture and exaggerate their
differences by constructing stereotypes of the ‘other’ and themselves.
2 Alternating: A↔B=A+B. B is internalised by the person and co-exists side by side with
A, the culture of departure. Both are compartmentalised and kept separate. The person
uses A or B depending on the occasion and the presence of others. He alternates
identities, practising mental migration in order to ‘pass’. He becomes an identity
juggler who lives in perpetual fear that he might drop a ball. Identity is thus a matter
of positioning.
3 Converting: A↔B=B. This option is perhaps the most talked and written about, and has
been called assimilation, acculturation, anglo-conformity or conversion. The image
here suggests a replacement of A by B, usually because of the loss or negation of one
culture because the person is uprooted and has buried his ‘old self’.3
4 Hybridising: A↔B=AB or Ab or Ba. The upper case A or B designates which label has
greater significance to the person. In this option, the airtight compartmentalisation of
the identity juggler is removed if the person can relax about his culture of departure
(A) while striving not to be overly critical about the culture of the place of arrival (B).
This kind of mental agility and tolerance can open up many exciting possibilities.
Immigrants live in the midst of neighbours who are initially unlike them in many
fundamental ways, but a process of entanglement between them occurs as foreigners
and locals learn to work through their differences. After years as co-residents, they
share a common identity based on a shared sense of history and community. This
 Prologue 3
hybridisation or syncretism takes many forms and is now increasingly reported in
scholarly writings by sociologists, anthropologists and theorists in cultural studies.
One can find and prove hybridity in other cultural carriers such as cuisine, music
and architecture, for example. The term hybridisation is a theoretical throwback
to the Chicago school of sociology, when Robert Park (1921, 1937) first wrote
about assimilation to refer to a mutual interpenetration of cultures, a two-way
fusion of ideas, beliefs and manners. Although Park is often remembered as the
social theorist who defined assimilation as A↔ B=B (B replacing A), that is a
misconception perpetrated by those who have not read his original text. Park was
one of the first theorists to look upon immigrant institutions, such as the clan
associations in Chinatowns throughout North America and Europe, not as closed,
isolated entities (another misconception that persists among laymen and
academics even now), but as collective attempts to adapt to a new milieu, and
thus being fully, often painfully, aware of what B stands for and embodies.
Adaptation is about dialectic and transformation; and the influence that passes
between A and B is reciprocal. The migrant transforms himself while also
transforming his milieu. It is a first-order theoretical challenge to figure out what
exactly happens in the hybridising process, e.g. are there stages to the process, is
there resistance to change, are there pleasures in change, is there a dark side, how
rhetorical is such a discourse, and can we demonstrate all this empirically? What
methodology is at our disposal, or do we need to invent one by using a variety of
research methods? In the process of hybridisation, there is plenty of selective
remembering and forgetting of the migrant’s first culture; this goes hand in hand
with the desire to pick and choose among the identity options on offer in the place
of arrival (Rex 1973). Immigrants of the twenty-first century are likely to be
sojourners on the world stage many times over as their mobility is often
experimental and open-ended—a kind of emergent ethnicity. This fourth
possibility may lead to innovating, a fifth possibility.
5 Innovating: A↔B=AB or Ab or Ba→C. In this symbolism, the entanglement and
collision of cultures within a person’s mind may take the form of trauma. It may cause
existential pain, a dialectic of opposites, and even degenerate into pathology; or it may
give birth to C, a new culture.
The foregoing analysis is constructed in purely abstract theoretical terms; it can be
complicated or corrupted by the politics of difference and power between A and B. When
B is the majority culture and A is the minority culture, the carrier of A must learn
strategies for entering the institutional landscapes of B, and often will be a target for
discrimination, being pushed out while trying to find a way in. Acute ambivalence is
often the result. Assimilating the rhetoric, or the ideational part of the dominant culture
that rejects him in practice, the minority immigrant experiences turmoil and anxiety.
What separates the ideal and the real is experienced as a deep psychological and spiritual
chasm that tears the mind and the body apart. The minority immigrant thus casts himself,
often involuntarily, in the role of a stranger, a marginal man, an outsider looking in, and
such a role comes complete with feelings of inferiority and tension. These emotions are
the downside of hybridisation, its psychic cost. The cultural hybrid often feels tentative
and insecure about his conduct even while striving to be firm in his faith. Yet the
sociologists of the Chicago school insist that the hybrid has wider and higher intellectual
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 4
horizons because he carries an existential problem of race on his back. The marginal man
must try harder and take himself more seriously—he is condemned to be free.
I imagine the migrant of the twenty-first century as someone who is relentlessly in
motion, stepping out (Chan and Chiang 1994) of a social structure to experience ecstasy.
He is caught in a migrational spiral that spins without cease. As the philosopher and
social psychologist George H.Mead (1934) imagined him, he is a provident man. He lives
out of a suitcase. He socialises his children into an existence that accepts, or even
celebrates, the portability of just about everything as an ontological given, a prerequisite
of modernity. A family can be disassembled—its members going off to live in a variety
of places—and then re-assemble. The cycle of separation and reunion may repeat
numerous times, due to individuals in the family taking on their own personal projects
and/or because of politics and economics. Seen in this way (in the fifth possibility of
A↔B=C), C, as the new product of cultural hybridisation, can theoretically go on fusing
and amalgamating with new culture(s) forever, thus engendering D, E, F, G, H and so on.
This takes our imagination about hybridisation to a completely new theoretical plane. We
may here imagine a continuous widening of the interior space of body and mind. Perhaps
this will offer a way forward into a new poetics of location.
Several theoretical elements can be discerned in Femminella’s (Postiglione 1983:
149–73) analysis of what transpires when two different cultures, A and B, are in contact
with each other. In the first stage of this culture encounter, dialectic would predict that,
man being a territorial animal, B’s anxiety over defending his space and resources would
cause him to perceive his absolute, polar opposite in A in the form of the ‘estranged
intruder’ or the stranger. This is a stage of boundary crisis, to see and experience the
different other as the stranger, someone to be kept at a distance. In the second stage, A
enters into conflict and competition with B over resources in the marketplace, with B
demanding that A submit and A stubbornly resisting. The conflicts thus generated, and
the mutual entanglement of A and B, can be resolved only through a synthesis in the third
stage, which Femminella calls ‘impact-integration’ or ‘emergent culture’, as ‘it is out of
this impacting that new syntheses evolve’ (quoted in Postiglione 1983:170). He goes on
to say that, ‘Assimilation then must be seen as having two directions—toward the core
culture and then back to the ethnic subculture’ (quoted in Postiglione 1983:172).
Meanwhile, ethnicity and ethnic communities persist in a form of voluntary
segregation because A does not want to assimilate totally into B. A has a need to be both
a part of and simultaneously apart from B, and it is out of this tension that a new culture
and community evolve. As Femminella says, ‘The conflict is in a cultural integration that
changes not only the persons involved, nor even also their groups, but the whole society
itself (quoted in Postiglione 1983:170).
Femminella’s theory of human nature is that people are not merely territorial; they are
also migratory, which inevitably leads to conflict. But man is not only a tension-ridden
animal, he is also a tension-reducing one, through the synthesising function of his
dialectic, which continuously creates and invents new social forms. Femminella’s
writings have a particular logic that privileges the mixing of things different,
encompassing those confrontations between individuals, groups and cultures that are only
temporarily resolved by synthesis and unification. A dialectical process articulated as
such can seem rather brutal because conflicts and competitions are a given.
 Prologue 5
The third stage of the impact-integration process is similar to Park’s idea of
assimilation, that social process whereby people of different races and cultures are drawn
into ‘the ever narrow circle of common life’. Park goes on to say that:

It referred to the erasing of external differences, the development of

superficial uniformities particularly in manners and fashion but also in
language which enables newcomers to participate in the new life, in a
‘practical working arrangement’, so that like-mindedness in individual
opinions, sentiments and beliefs may eventually accrue.
Park quoted in Postiglione (1983:160)

What perhaps sets Femminella apart from other social theorists is that he forces a
rethinking of the straight-line, one-way, linear theories of assimilation by solving the
problem of unification through dialectic. It is a dialectic that unites and changes but does
not homogenise the groups concerned. Femminella always keeps both sides, A and B, in
full view, even while placing them at opposite poles. Postiglione (1983:164) gives this
interpretation of Femminella:

A point of intersection, although always focused upon by both groups, is

never reached. A group may move in the direction of another but never
merge. This is similar to the idea of walking toward a wall by continually
cutting the distance in half. One never reaches the wall.

Conceptually and empirically, the entanglements of migration are displayed within the
hub of the modern-day city. To study how such entanglements are resolved, one must
study human nature, the dialectic of its very character. In this, it will be useful to invoke
the early theoretical as well as practical concerns of the Chicago urbanists.

The dialectic of Chinese culture

In a short but thought-provoking essay (text in Chinese), the contemporary Chinese

philosopher Tang Yijie (1990) interrogates classical Confucian texts to read Chinese
history and culture. From a series of dialectical exchanges in the Confucian texts, he
invokes the idea of ‘harmony/integration in difference’ or he’erbutong. By integration,
Confucius did not mean B totally obliterating A, or vice versa; rather, he referred to A
and B finding a point of confluence during their interactions, resulting in change that was
mutually beneficial.
When two cultures, A and B, encounter each other, Tang reasons, there are at least
four possible benign processes that can occur. In the first instance, A and B, upon
communicating with each other, discover that they are not all that different, that they
have something in common. For instance, there are variants of the concept of selfless
love in Christianity, Buddhism, Confucianism and Moism. On a generalised, abstract
level, all these concepts of ‘love’ provide a common ground for discourse, while each
preserves its own uniqueness, or difference from others.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 6
In Tang’s second instance, A interacts with B and discovers something new in B that
is not, upon deep reflection, antagonistic to A; and it is ‘worked into’ A, thus enriching
A. The psychological principle of selective attention and inattention is at work in this
process. Tang cites the absence in China of the concept of the supreme realisation of the
Dao, which was imported by Cheng and Zhu and by Lu and Wang during the Song and
Ming dynasties.
In Tang’s third instance, A interacts with B and discovers a new concept in B that is
oppositional to an essential concept in A. To incorporate the new concept from B, the old
concept in A must go. (This process is similar to that of displacement or replacement in
culture contacts.) Tang cites the example of the transplantation of the concept of
democracy into China, which required the abandonment of the old Sangang idea of the
paramount importance of one’s duties to a higher authority (on the part of the official to
the emperor, the son to his father and the wife to her husband).
In Tang’s fourth instance, A interacts with B, and both discover concepts that had
been non-existent in their own cultures, and invent new concepts. Examples include
peaceful co-existence, critical pluralism and multiculturalism.
When a foreign (in the sense of being new) idea from A is incorporated into B, it
either gives birth to something unique or assumes an adapted form because it must take
the B culture into account as the prerequisite for being incorporated. This new idea from
A, when imported into B, may facilitate the full expression and realisation of something
in A that would otherwise remain dormant because it is not adequately ‘released’. This
idea of release is like a sudden burst of understanding: I heard you; I now see what I
didn’t see before.4 This is yet another form of cultural change, following the principle of
being ‘harmonious but not the same’. Tang articulates this most elegantly: Harmony in
diversity engenders growth, while sameness results in degeneration. Harmony can be
found when the encounters between A and B are conducted with ‘deference’, each
yielding to the other, as well as postponing their need to react until a later time, when
communication can bring something beneficial to both sides. Following Hall (1990:
222–37), the verb ‘defer’ thus has a double sense: I defer my actions till a later time
because I must act with deference to you and, hopefully, you will do the same. It is an
etiquette that requires a willingness to wait and see, the capacity to listen and a desire to
understand the other, which is crucial to conciliation.

China’s migration saga

In an outstanding essay (text in Chinese), which attempts to re-interpret Chinese history,

An and Wang (1992:3–13) take a rare position of examining historical occasions of
‘booming collision’ between the myriad cultures in China. During the two Han dynasties,
the Yellow River culture ‘collided’ with the Mongolian culture from the north and the
Qiang culture from the west. The agriculture-based Han culture met with ‘foreign’
nomadic cultures, resulting in the importation into China of cattle-breeding techniques, as
well as the entire culture based on such knowledge. The Great Wall was only a military
barrier; it did not stop interactions between the agricultural and the nomadic cultures.
 Prologue 7
An and Wang note that, by the Han and Wei dynasties, tribes north and west of the
Yellow River were beginning to move into the region, and these ethnic minorities then
lived amidst the Han people. By the end of the West Jin dynasty, political corruption
resulted in sharp social contradictions during a period called ‘Five Barbarians and Sixteen
Kingdoms’. To An and Wang, what appeared from the outside as monumental ethnic
chaos among tribes was in fact ‘internal culture wrestling’ among the plural communities.
What classical historians called ‘Five Barbarians Throwing the Han into Chaos’ was a
‘booming collision’ between Han and ‘barbarian’ cultures. The consequence was that the
Han culture incorporated the ‘barbarian’ emphasis on athletics and martial arts, and
frugality and modesty, along with a forward-looking, adventuresome spirit, an ethic of
mutual aid in interpersonal relations and equality among nationalities—while slowly
banishing from its culture core things such as cronyism, decadent materialism and
prejudice against ethnic minorities. The famous Chinese historian Chen Yingue described
this transformative process as the injection of vigorous alien blood into a sickly Han
body. Chen and An and Wang attribute the cultural brilliance of the Tang dynasty to this
‘transfusion’.
The massive internal migrations from the north and the west into the Yellow River
region continued throughout the Song, Yuan, Ming and Qing dynasties. During the
Eastern Jin period, as a result of wars, natural calamities and severe food shortages, tens
of thousands of refugees headed south, providing the labour and production technology
for the development of the lands south of the Yellow River. These massive southward
migrations took place periodically after the Invasion of the Year of Jingkang; it was also
at this time that famous poets from Shandong, such as Li Qingzhao and Xin Qiji,
undertook their southward movements. In the subsequent 500 years of the Yuan, Ming
and Qing dynasties, such migrations led to a structural merging of the Yellow River
culture of the north and the Yangtze River culture of the south. Generations of Chinese
historians believed that all these large-scale migrations led to mixing, conflicts and the
eventual accommodation of peoples and cultures.
As the Yellow River and Yangtze River cultures engaged in thousands of years of
interactions and exchange with each other, they formed the culture that is called Chinese.
As An and Wang put it, the end-result was that ‘I find myself in you, and you find
yourself in me’. Culture change is thus a long process of forgetting—and remembering—
this or that part of oneself, of picking and choosing, of mutating and transforming.

The stranger’s dark side

Sociologists have exercised their imagination on the attributes of the stranger—the

person from outside a culture who approaches those who live within it—for nearly a
century. Like Robert Park’s (1928) marginal man or Howard Becker’s (1963) outsider,
the myth of the stranger has achieved a sort of cult status in the sociological literature, as
a modern and post-modern product that is mystified and eulogised. In his classic 1908
essay entitled ‘The stranger’, Georg Simmel (1908) characterises the stranger as someone
fond of wandering, the sociological opposite of the man who lives a settled existence.
The stranger is here today, gone tomorrow. He lives out of a suitcase, not in a house. The
stranger is no ‘owner of soil’; he is not rooted to a particular bit of ground, or even to any
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 8
ground at all. The stranger is an outsider to the group he is approaching and, as Simmel
puts it, in terms of his relations with the group, he is near and far at the same time. The
stranger must confront the group, make demands of it and require a response from it, with
the possibility of transforming both himself and the group, for better or for worse.
Simmel implies that the stranger has the potential of transforming the group by the fact of
his confronting it. While he is there, he has a temporary membership in the group and, for
the duration of his membership, is simultaneously outside and inside the group. The core
of Simmel’s essay is his insistence on the stranger’s objectivity and freedom because he
is ‘bound by no commitments which could prejudice his perception, understanding, and
evaluation of the given’. His actions are not tied to habit, piety or precedent. He does not
share the group’s tradition or heritage; thus he is free of their prejudice. He may look at
intimate relationships from a bird’s-eye view. In fact, his objectivity and freedom stem
from his tendency to regard social relationships in the abstract, to generalise rather than
personalise them. As an example of how the stranger’s detachment can be useful, Simmel
points to the practice of Italian cities calling in their judges from the outside, because ‘no
native was free from entanglement in family and party interests’.
Simmel’s stranger is by definition freer and more objective than the group he
interrogates because he does not share their past. The pleasure of wandering lies in the
wanderer’s theoretical or intellectual autonomy. But in the hands of another social
psychologist, Alfred Schuetz, who in 1943 wrote an essay also entitled ‘The stranger’, the
outsider remains outside the group’s experience of its past: ‘Seen from the point of view
of the approached group, he is a man without a history’ (1943:502). The flip side of
Simmel’s objectivity is Schuetz’s alienation. Quoting from Dewey, Schuetz insists that
the stranger has only a knowledge about, not a knowledge of, the group. The latter is
knowledge taken for granted, like the air one breathes. Schuetz (1943:505) goes on to say
what it means to be linguistically competent as an insider:

In order to command a language freely as a scheme of expression, one

must have written love letters in it; one has to know how to pray and curse
in it and how to say things with every shade appropriate to the addressee
and to the situation. Only members of the in-group have the scheme of
expression as a genuine one in hand and command it freely within their
thinking as usual.

The stranger relies on translation; his speech is not natural, not genuine—not free. The
stranger lives at the fringes of the insiders’ shelter. His field is a field of adventure, in
a problematic situation that is difficult, although not impossible, to master. He exists in
a ‘labyrinth in which he has lost all sense of his bearings’ (1943:507). Schuetz
(1943:506) offers us another chilling paragraph of the psychical abyss the stranger has
found himself in:

Hence, the stranger’s lack of feeling for distance, his oscillating between
remoteness and intimacy, his hesitation and uncertainty, and his distrust in
every matter which seems so simple and uncomplicated to those who rely
on the efficiency of unquestioned recipes which have just to be followed
but not understood.
 Prologue 9
While members of the group live a life they don’t understand because they can follow it
without thinking, the stranger lives a life of otherness, which he seems to understand but
cannot simply follow. The stranger’s existence is devoid of the insider’s ‘habituality,
automatism, and half-consciousness’ (1943:505). He lives an unwarranted life, a life of
no guarantees, no tested recipes. The insider’s life is much of the time dream-like, only
half-conscious, as a matter of course. The stranger is always intense and alert because his
life is so problematic. His theoretical objectivity or unbiasedness is in tension with a
nagging sense of being accused of disloyalty and ungratefulness. All this is the stranger’s
existential cost.
In 1944–5, Schuetz wrote another essay entitled ‘The homecomer’, which ad-dressed
what happens when the stranger returns to his home group, his place of departure. The
wanderer’s separation from home interrupts the community of space and time in that
‘both sides, instead, build up a system of pseudo-types of the other which is hard to
remove and never can be removed entirely because the homecomer, as well as the
welcomer, has changed’ (1944–45:369). The homecomer, ironically, suffers a form of
culture shock on his return: home means one thing to the stayer, another thing to the
leaver, and still another to the homecomer (1944–45:370). As Schuetz reminds us, ‘we
cannot bathe twice in the same river’ and ‘What is here in question is nothing less than
the irreversibility of inner time’ (1944–45:370). If ‘to feel at home’ is an expression of
the highest degree of familiarity and intimacy’ (1944–45:370), the deep paradox is that
the homecomer feels ill at ease in his own home. Such is the fate of the modern stranger:
he is exiled by time, a stranger in his own skin—and that is the shadow side of what it
means to travel.
In 1928, Park constructed his marginal man as a person ‘on the margin of two cultures
and two societies, which never completely interpenetrated and fused…’ (1928:354). The
conflict of the two cultures on the outside is the reflection of the inner turmoil of the
marginal man—the divided self manifesting as restlessness, hesitation and intense self-
consciousness. Park narrates the ‘spiritual distress’ of Heine, who struggled to be both a
German and a Jew, by quoting Lewis Browne, Heine’s biographer, who wrote that: ‘His
mind lacked the integrity which is based on conviction: his arms were weak because his
mind was divided; his hands were nerveless because his soul was in turmoil’ (1928:355).
Thus, the marginal man’s mind is a place where cultures encounter each other.
Stonequist, in his 1937 book The Marginal Man, would call the marginal man’s mind
‘the crucible of cultural fusion’. Park sees intelligence, like consciousness, as ‘an incident
of action’, just as ‘the intellectual attainment of an individual or a race is a function of
their activities’ (1937:387). Restlessness is ‘the first and most elementary response to a
problematical situation that requires reflection’ (1937:387). The conflict of the two
cultures in which the marginal man is caught is now taken up as his personal cause. It
becomes his psychic obsession to resolve the conflict; in this way, he has enhanced his
intelligence and intellectual life. It is in this statement that Park is in agreement with
Schuetz and perhaps Simmel, although Schuetz is quick to remind us that this intellectual
enhancement has profound social and psychological costs. The stranger remains lonely
everywhere. Understanding both sides, he is trusted by neither.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 10
Alexander’s subway incidents

Meena Alexander (1993), an Indian poet teaching English literature in the United States,
uses poetry to describe the experience of being a sojourner in a strange land. She likens
the feeling to that of being crushed between the closing doors of a subway car. She
experiences the present as a chasm that seems to hollow out and swallow the body,
sucking it into the void. Reliving the past has become a trick the poet plays on herself,
because the present is so unbearable.
The psychiatric literature has two concepts to describe this kind of experience:
nostalgic illusion and nostalgic fixation. In the former, the rainbow colours of nostalgia
overlay the past, distorting it, and this distortion is a critique of the present. In the latter,
the rainbow-coloured past has become part of the person, like a second skin. The person
is haunted and possessed, living in a past time and place—and feeling state—that is
constructed like a scaffolding on sand, and which never stops threatening the dreamer’s
physical and psychological existence.
In an unpublished poem called ‘Cosmopolitan’, Alexander repeats her imagery of
being crushed between the closing doors of ‘the metal train’, but concludes the poem on a
note of hope: ‘That ancient sage whispers in my ear:/I have seen the sea changed three
times/into a mulberry field/and back into the sea’. In these lines, Alexander has envisaged
the possibility of a unity that can be maintained in flux. The vision is one of beauty,
which may make the pain worth it.5

The way forward

In the discourse of the social sciences, sympathy refers to ‘the capacity to apprehend the
pain, suffering, or signs of negative emotions in man or animals and to respond to these
with appropriate negative feelings’ (Wispe 1968:441–7). Thus, sympathy is not just the
apprehending of suffering, but also the attempt to share it, to try to feel the other’s pain.
To feel sympathy is to experience pain as a kind of communion, ‘an entering into and
sharing the mind of someone else’ (Cooley 1956:102).
The antithesis of sympathy is what the philosopher William James (1992) calls ‘the
blindness with which we are afflicted in regard to the feelings of creatures and people
different from ourselves’. When people become preoccupied with their own ‘vital
secrets’, they build walls to keep others out and keep their secrets safe. In this way, the
pain of the other is absolutely excluded from consciousness, and therefore is impossible
to comprehend. The secret becomes the ‘vital’ thing, the basis of one’s inner identity, but
guarding it prevents one from reaching out to and understanding others (Park 1966:
167–77). Thus, no one knows anyone except himself, and that is in total solitude, because
everyone is busy building and repairing the walls that imprison them.
How does one cure oneself of this blindness? Park suggests that encountering those
who are different from ourselves may sharpen our consciousness and increase knowledge
of self and other. This, in turn, may lead to sympathy, ‘since the attitudes and sentiments
which we find in ourselves we are able to appreciate and understand, no matter how
indirectly expressed, when we find them in the minds of others’ (Park 1966:176). The
deep human paradox is that it is as a result of conflicts and contradictions that
 Prologue 11
understanding of both the self and the other is achieved. The authenticity of what I have
discovered about myself is strengthened because I have found affirmation of a bit of
myself in you, through scrutiny and imagination.
Ancient Chinese philosophy offers another way out of blindness, in its concept of
cosmic harmony or taihe. Confucianists believe that taihe is realisable in four stages, or
moments: the first moment begins with moral self-cultivation to achieve peace with
oneself; this leads to the second moment of peace between self and others; followed by
the third moment of harmony between humans and nature; and, finally, the fourth
moment of partaking of nature’s own harmony and peace. Such a processual view
stresses the importance of self-cultivation and self-awareness as the starting point.
According to Confucius, in encounters with those who are different, the first
behavioural imperative is to recognise and respect the difference between self and other,
not to make one become the other through coercion or assimilation. The ancient Chinese
sages wrote that the discourse that will lead to self-knowledge is one that stresses that
‘turtles are without hair and rabbits have no horns’. This delineation of the self and the
other contributes to the awareness of what makes—and marks off—the self, and can lead
to making peace with one’s limitations. It is also the first moral injunction against the
violence of hegemony, of making the other the same as self. The ancient Chinese word
he, in its verb form, meant to reconcile things or people that are different to achieve
harmony, without striving to make them similar. To he is to allow different things to
co-exist, ‘to live and let live’. Such interactions contribute to growth. He leads to growth
and newness, while making or keeping things the same can lead to decay or stagnation.
The ideal of the ‘taihe of tens of thousands of things’ stresses diversity and spontaneity.
Taihe is the spirit of things in their multiplicity, not their oneness or unity. Metal, wood,
water, fire and earth are five different elements, which, when combined, engender the
birth and growth of all matters and people. Confucius states that, ‘The gentleman strives
for a peaceful order among things different; the petty man, a disharmonious, conflictual
order among things similar.’
For immigrants, who combine different cultures within themselves, one way to resolve
the conflict between the divisions within the self may be to treat them as various and
equal, and in this way find—or at least move towards—some inner peace. For those who
meet with strangers, it may help to heed the advice of the Chinese, who say: ‘Treat
anyone who passes by your door as your invited guest.’

Conclusion

In this prologue, I explore the psychically and existentially threatening idea of difference
as personified by the immigrant, the stranger, the marginal man, as well as the
discriminatory treatment he often receives from the settled other. The experiences and
treatment of immigrants show that their new country may be hostile, alienating and even
violent towards those who are different. Moving to another country may feel like visiting
a modern shopping centre, where multiple floors of long pedestrian corridors are the
distinguishing architectural feature, and potential consumers are eternally mobile objects
who pass each other by, without speaking, making eye contact or slowing down. At the
individual, psychological level, the stranger experiences the torment that occurs when
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 12
one’s existence is denied by others—and this is the dark side of cosmopolitan encounters.
The cosmopolitan is in a condition of boundless loneliness, tentative about himself,
frightened and self-conscious.
The Chicago school sociologists portrayed such personalities and their psyches with a
visual and graphic intensity, as well as a compassion and understanding rarely equalled in
the history of sociological writing. However, competent social theory cannot stay at the
level of the individual and of the mind, no matter how fascinating it promises to be. There
is another side to these encounters between the stranger and the group—at the historical,
and structural levels. Again, the Chicago school brand of urban sociology on the subject
of ethnic or racial encounters has an optimism and a sparkle. Its analysis is focused on the
mutual entanglement of two different groups.
In this prologue, I have articulated one narrative of such mutual entanglement: China’s
social history when read as moments and sites of culture contact because of massive
migration and population dispersal. The analytical gaze is at the unspectacular, everyday
life fusion and hybridisation that happens when groups share a neighbourhood, a history
and memory based on simply living together and solving practical problems of living that
requires a certain transcendence of group identities, important as they are. As it happens,
one culture sort of ‘slips into’ another culture,6 half-forgetting itself, and half-changing
the other; ‘one is allowing oneself to be inhabited by the other, while still recognising
the other’.7
In narratives of such cosmopolitan encounters, it is also important to stress the
continuing salience of group difference itself. Difference or strangeness or unfamiliarity
attracts because it offers something new; it makes the dialectic possible in the first place.
Strangeness arouses and excites, not only in a sensual sense. Cosmopolitanism thus does
not, and should not, absolve attachments based on locality, because such attachments
provide the individual, however cosmopolitan, with a spiritual anchor; thus, the
seemingly self-contradictory ideas of ‘rooted cosmopolitanism’ or the ‘cosmopolitan
patriot’ (Appiah 1998:91–114), the local cosmopolitan, the Chinese cosmopolitan and so
on. The global does not exclude the local. Difference matters because it makes the person
feel important and passionate. Or, as Stuart Hall (2002:26–31) puts it, family cultures
support you as you leave them and you know it. That may well be the reason why we
keep coming back to the family, at least in a metaphorical sense. Most people want both
roots and routes, tunnels to the past and corridors to the future as a sensible articulation of
the present. The past stifles but comforts, and the future frightens but fascinates.
A discourse on cosmopolitanism cannot dispense with diversity and difference.
Difference reminds us that there are many ways of doing one thing. These many ways
underline Berger’s (1963) fascinating, almost magical world of makeability. Things can
be made, unmade and remade in a world of continuing enchantment. Meanwhile, the
humanities and the social sciences are forging forwards to look for a language in which to
imagine cosmopolitanism. Our social imagery of cosmopolitanism suffers from being too
thin and casual.
The cosmopolitanism idea is nothing new; it is found in classical Chinese texts, in the
many historical encounters of China’s Han people with other ethnic groups from the
north and the west, in the many everyday life strategies of generations of Chinese
immigrants overseas coping with living with others culturally, in the social psychology
and urban sociology of America in the 1920s, and onwards.
 Prologue 13
Yet, as Nussbaum (1997a: 45), the Chicago philosopher, reminds us, a cosmopolitan
attitude is not a given; rather, one must labour against habits of ‘mental blindness’.
Indeed, it takes a lifelong, relentless labour at mental alertness. The Confucianist must be
self-reflexive, asking himself, as Confucius did, ‘Do I do to others what I don’t want to
be done to myself?’ Would I exchange my condition with that of the stranger whom I
have mistreated? How else does sympathy come about if not through self-cultivation8—
self-awareness as part of a continuing moral education? The stoic philosopher, the
Confucianists, the American sociologists and social psychologists in Chicago, as well as
the contemporary philosophers, sociologists, anthropologists and poets pose the same
question and under various guises advocate the same behaviour: educating the mind by a
language that has yet to be found. Even though there are no guarantees that understanding
will result, parent and child, man and woman, foreign and native, migrant and settled,
must try to understand each other. And then perhaps we can, as the poet Meena
Alexander puts it:’…be at home everywhere/in this moving world’.9
 1
Rethinking Chinese ethnicity

Assimilation and ethnicity

Two important aspects of assimilation are its directionality and the influence differential
between the assimilator and the to-be-assimilated (Teske and Nelson 1974:363–4). Much
of the classical American literature on the subject either implicitly or explicitly treats
assimilation as a one-way process, suggesting ‘an essentially unilateral approximation of
one culture in the direction of the other’ (Siegel et al. 1953:988), typically in a context of
unequal status and power. Accordingly, it is alleged that assimilation operates in the
direction of the dominant group exerting influence on the less dominant group—a
unilineal process of social change. Such a view, elegantly articulated in Park’s (1950)
influential theory of race relations’ cycle, contains a sense of inevitability and
irreversibility. The eventual absorption of minorities into the dominant culture and the
gradual disappearance of ethnicity are to be understood and accepted not only in terms of
what they are and what they will be, but also in terms of what they should be. A theory of
ethnic relations and social change becomes an ideology in disguise which, in spirit and in
practice, prescribes rather than describes. What is prescribed here is the vision of one
country, one culture, one ideology, one way of feeling, thinking and doing—a loopback
into a tribal existence of oneness and homogeneity.
This dominant view of assimilation in the social science literature evokes images of an
eager majority group intent on moulding, shaping and, if necessary, coercing minority
groups ‘to become alike’ and ‘to fall in line’, so to speak. This view is based on one
assumption: the assimilator and the to-be-assimilated are both willing game players, the
former to affirm his sense of cultural superiority and racial homogeneity, the latter to gain
cultural acceptance and structural integration. In van den Berghe’s (1981:217) words:

…it takes two to assimilate. Assimilation is sought by members of the

subordinate group—granted by members of the dominant group… For
assimilation to take place, therefore, it takes a convergence of desire for it
from the subordinates and acceptance by the dominants.

This willingness to be assimilated thus cannot be taken for granted either theoretically or
empirically. As van den Berghe argues, a desire for assimilation must be motivated, often
from an initial position of inequality, so that assimilation confers some benefit.
While hypothesising that ‘the more unequal their relative position is, the more of an
incentive members of the subordinate group have to be accepted into the dominant
group’, van den Berghe (1981:216) is cognisant of a contending hypothesis that points to
the persistence of ethnicity and ethnic sentiments and the propensity to feel an emotional
bond with those presumed to be kindred. Contrary to the American model of assimilation,
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 15
this contending hypothesis makes it theoretically imperative not to take assimilation and
the demise of ethnicity for granted. Understood in this sense, assimilation is problematic
and demands explanation when it happens, as is the disappearance of ethnicity.
In striving towards a realistic model of assimilation—realistic in the sense that it
addresses theoretical queries as well as observed empirical variations—the theorist needs
to develop a good grasp of the concept of ethnicity and its role in model-building. What
then is ethnicity? Van den Berghe (1978:403) advocates a sociobiological view:

My central thesis is that both ethnicity and ‘race’ (in the social sense) are,
in fact, extensions of the idiom of kinship, and that, therefore, ethnic and
race sentiments are to be understood as an extended and attenuated form
of kin selection.

This view is based on his interpretation of the sociobiological concept of ‘inclusive

fitness’ (Hamilton 1964), a phenomenon associated with the propensity to ‘prefer kin
over non-kin, and close kin over distant kin’ (van den Berghe 1978:402). Van den
Berghe’s view of ethnicity in terms of maximising individual fitness by behaving
nepotistically and, therefore, ethnocentrically is essentially in consonance with that of the
primordialists, who see ethnicity as ascribed, ‘deeply rooted, given at birth, and largely
unchangeable’ (van den Berghe 1978:401). The primordialists, accentuating the
‘subjective’ feelings of the ethnic experience, argue for the irreducibility of ethnic
membership to class membership. As van den Berghe (1978:404) argues:

[e]thnic groups, for nearly all of human history, were what geneticists call
breeding populations, in-breeding superfamilies, in fact, which not only
were much more closely related to each other than to even their closest
neighbours, but which, almost without exception, explicitly recognised
that fact, and maintained clear territorial and social boundaries with other
such ethnic groups.

This conscious and intentional preference for members of the same ethnic group as well
as the deliberate attempt to maintain clear spatial and social distance from other ethnic
groups is at the root of one anthropological school, which sees ethnicity as a phenomenon
that deepens as one moves from the boundaries to-wards the centre (Rosaldo 1988). It is
at the centre, in the middle, not on the outer edges, where things or events ethnic
‘concentrate’, ‘gather together’, ‘thicken’ and ‘pile up’—some strong concepts used by
the Ilongots of northern Luzon in the Philippines in describing and explaining ethnicity
(Rosaldo 1988). In this view, ethnicity is cumulative over time, maintaining and
preserving the condition prior to the point of culture contact as well as resisting and
defending attempts at cultural penetration, dilution or absorption by a dominant group.
Collectively, members of ethnic groups enjoy the experience of gathering together. By so
doing, in ‘a state of healthy vitality and well-being’, using Rosaldo’s phrase, the group
becomes ‘strong and thick’.
In contrast to the primordialist and sociobiologist views of ethnicity are those of the
situationists, who suggest that ethnicity is a phenomenon emerging from ‘a constantly
evoking interaction between the nature of the local community, the available economic
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 16
opportunities and the national or religious heritage of a particular group’ (Yancey et al.
1976:397). The theoretical focus here is on how members of a particular ethnic group go
about manifesting themselves while in full view of the opportunity structures in the wider
society. In due course, ethnicity emerges, unfolds and takes shape. The human being is an
active agent selectively and strategically displaying his ethnic emblems. Ethnic identity is
merely ‘a thing’ subject to manipulation and differential presentation; it is not a reflection
of the true self. As Rosaldo (1988:164) puts it, ‘Ethnic identity, a thing that groups put on
and take off to signify their difference from other such groups, comes to resemble
clothes, masks, emblems or badges’. The situationists view ethnicity more as form and
process than as content, and most empirically expressive and visible along ethnic
boundaries, not in the ‘centres’ (Earth 1969:15). Thus, Nagata (1974) would argue for the
plausibility of a model of ‘ethnic oscillation’ whereby individuals, with no single or fixed
reference group, interpret situational requirements, adjust and display themselves for
social affinity, expediency and social mobility. Foster (1977:114) completes this line of
thinking:

An ethnic identity is not necessarily an all-or-nothing, permanent thing.

One may claim one identity in one situation and a different identity in
another situation, depending on the relative payoffs.

Nagata, like Foster, argues that some individuals, in coping with particular exigencies of
survival, develop a double identity and lead a double life.

Concentrating within and crossing ethnic boundaries

Rosaldo (1988:161) is disinclined to see these two anthropological views as necessarily

contradictory to each other. Neither does he think that the two conceptions completely
explain the empirical phenomenon of ethnicity. To him, ethnicity is neither completely
expressive (and primordial) nor completely instrumental (and situational); rather, it
‘usually is both instrumental and expressive, and theories that oppose the two
perspectives have posed a false dichotomy’. On occasions of cultural ‘get-together’,
ethnic identity ‘thickens’ while the traditions are selectively re-enacted, not simply
repeated.
Rosaldo’s attempt to ‘reconceive’ ethnicity—by criticising the distinction drawn by
the primordialists on the one hand and situationists on the other as being ‘more analytical
than empirical’—was anticipated by De Vos and RomanucciRoss’s (1982:378–89)
analysis of the instrumental and expressive uses of ethnicity. The vectors of
expressiveness and instrumentality of ethnicity interpret, define and regulate
interpersonal relationships both within and between ethnic groups. Instrumental
behaviour is essentially goal-oriented, a means to an end, while expressive behaviour is
an end in itself, ‘a result of a prior need or emotional state’ (De Vos and Romanucci-Ross
1982:379).
It is not clear from De Vos and Romanucci-Ross’s formulation whether instrumental
ethnicity in terms of the five thematic concerns of achievement, competence,
responsibility, control-power and mutuality applies to interpersonal relations both within
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 17
and between different groups. Nevertheless, their ‘expressive ethnicity’ in terms of
harmony, affiliation, nurturance, appreciation, pleasure and fortune clearly and explicitly
denotes social relationships within a particular ethnic group. In combining and
synthesising the formulations of Rosaldo and De Vos and Romanucci-Ross, as well as
those of the primordialists and the situationists, one may observe that interpersonal
relationships ‘in the centre’ are characterised by an excess of ‘expressive’ over
‘instrumental’ ethnicity. Within the centre of an ethnic group, in such private places as
homes, community halls or clan associations or on such ritualistic occasions as festivals,
religious worship and holidays, ethnicity is manifested mainly expressively to meet the
emotional need for appreciation, affiliation, harmony and pleasure. The individual is
subsumed willingly within a larger whole (which is invariably more than the total of its
parts) to find and express his sense of belonging, and of continuity with a tradition. Yet,
as De Vos and Romanucci-Ross (1982) and Rosaldo (1988:169) are quick to point out,
the persons and the group are also conscious of pleasure turning into suffering or even
death when the gatherings are penetrated by outsiders, threatening loss of their own
identities and possibly, eventually, of group survival.
Yet, in such private places, on such ethnic ritualistic occasions, there is no shortage of
manifestations of instrumental ethnicity either. Rituals not only explain but also affirm
group and, therefore, personal origin. As De Vos (1982) puts it, they solve the perennial
human problems of where we are from, what we must do and how we are different from
others. In the centre, ethnicity is primarily primordial and expressive at the personal level.
Yet it is also constructed and used at the group level, noticeably towards group cohesion.
In answering the question of why humans co-operate, van den Berghe (1978:409)
identified three main principles of human sociality: kin selection, reciprocity and
coercion. By kin selection, he means that humans are expected to co-operate within the
same kin group and, by extension, the same ethnic group. Ethnic groups appeal to
individual loyalty because they are ‘supra-families’. While relations within ethnic groups
are essentially co-operative, intergroup relations are typically characterised by
competition and conflict, which is visibly observable along the fringes, in common public
places where boundaries intersect and overlap. Sometimes, competition and conflict are
muted. As van den Berghe (1978:409) puts it, ‘ethnic groups may enter a symbiotic,
mutually beneficial relationship based, for instance, on the exploitation of two specialised
and noncompetitive niches in the same market’. Reciprocity can occur between non-kin
and between ethnic groups. It is co-operation for mutual benefit, to exploit, and there is
an expectation of exchange and return. Co-operation within and between classes, and
between non-ethnically based trades, occupations, associations, organisations, institutions
and communities, is typically in the realm of reciprocity.
At the fringes of ethnic boundaries, in common public places, where materialistic
transactions are negotiated and completed, the instrumental use of ethnicity emerges. It is
also in these places where the situationist view begins to gain plausibility. Ethnicity
becomes changeable, culturally and ecologically defined and situationally sensitive. The
classical view holds that it is at the boundaries where ethnic action happens, more
dramatically so when either co-operative or conflictual relationships between ethnic
groups need to be strategised and enacted with obvious political and economic
consequences.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 18
It is at these moments of boundary crossing when Hoadley (1988:504) insists that
enquiry be focused ‘on those aspects of cultural and public life most likely to reveal
ethnic boundaries and evidence of individuals having crossed them’. What then is the
motivation for crossing boundaries? Hoadley (1988:604) argues that, ‘[a] 11 things being
equal, the authority and status enjoyed by the majority group within a society exerts a
natural attraction for minorities’. The situationist view is once again invoked here, that a
member of a minority is strategising realities, constructing and reconstructing them, in
order to profit both psychologically and materialistically.
The next question, for both ethnic actors and students of ethnic relations, concerns
behaviour, or how do ethnic actors conduct themselves in their public lives? In part, the
answer depends on the balance of power between the ethnic groups, on the one hand, and
the fluidity and ease of flow between these ethnic boundaries, on the other hand.
In majority-minority relations, members of the minorities may be tempted to try and
‘pass’, a form of denial of the authentic self. As De Vos (1982:28) suggests, passing
requires maintaining a façade and a variety of intrapsychic and external manoeuvres.
Conversely, in relations of balanced power and relatively equitable distribution of
resources, ethnic actors cross boundaries for different reasons.
Under these circumstances, entry into class-, interest- and opportunity-based relations
does not typically demand a complete abdication of one’s ethnic identity, although one’s
ethnicity is being worked on. At one moment, a person may temporarily submerge it in
favour of a façade closer to and more identifiable with the other group. At another
moment, he may decide deliberately to express his ethnicity when emblematic usage of
the language, clothing, culture and customs of his own ethnic group will favour him in
the transaction. Sometimes, transactions are best negotiated when ethnic boundaries and
stereotypes are maintained.
So, on the fringes as well as in the centre, ethnicity can be instrumental and
expressive, with the ethnic actor being fully aware and alert, and not assimilated. He does
not ‘pass’ as one of the dominant group, nor does he lead a ‘double life’. He is not a
marginal man either. He has a primary, core ethnic identity, best expressed and nurtured
in private. This is his master identity. He also has a secondary ethnic identity, the
acquisition of which is sociologically and psychologically problematic and, therefore,
demands a more vigorous explanation than we presently have. Just like the primary
ethnic identity, this secondary ethnic identity needs to be acquired, nurtured, presented
and validated. Foster (1977:114) maintains that, ‘[validation is accomplished by showing
that the individual in question has certain critical behavioural attributes that define the
ethnic category’. Thus, in this case, the ethnic actor cannot just present a superficial
identity for situational gains. He must have it internalised, yet in a way that will reconcile
with his primary ethnic identity. He must be capable of enacting the many critical and
necessary emblems of the other ethnic groups—language, cultural practices, behavioural
comportment, values, etc.—while remaining most natural and spontaneous in one
language (Sapir 1968), one ethnic group and one community.
Conceived as diametrically opposing assimilation are the related theories of cultural
pluralism, or multiculturalism, and integration. Borrowing John Dewey’s concept of
democratic pluralism, Horace Kallen (1924:122–3) stresses that, ‘[c]ultural pluralism is
possible only in a democratic society whose institutions encourage individuality in
groups, in persons, in temperaments, whose program liberates those individuals and
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 19
guides them into a fellowship of freedom and cooperation’. Pluralism articulates a pattern
of ethnic relations whereby groups that are different from each other in fundamental ways
come to share a common culture and a common structure of institutions within the
confines of a ‘plural society’, while allowing for the preservation and perpetuation of
ethnic distinctiveness in businesses, religions, voluntary associations, clubs and media, as
well as among families, kin networks, friendship cliques and intergroup marriages.
As an ideal and an ideology, pluralism promotes cultural and social heterogeneity and,
therefore, self-awareness and self-direction in the private spheres, as well as unification
and co-operation in the public domain—without necessarily creating ethnic division and
social conflict. Louis Adamic (1938), extending the idea of cultural pluralism, borrows
from the poet Walt Whitman’s phrase ‘a nation of nations’ to highlight the multicultural
character of America as an immigrant country.
In the process of integration, what emerges is a synthesis of two or more ethnic
cultures—such a process unites but does not homogenise the two groups. Following
Glazer and Moynihan (1970), who first stressed the processual quality of integration,
Femminella (1961) uses the word ‘impact’ to describe ‘a booming collision (of two
cultures) resulting in a forced entanglement’. Postiglione (1983:23) suggests that ‘out of
the process of impacting and integration evolves a new synthesis which gives meaning
and importance to the developing nation’—the complex forces of this ‘culture collision’
yield a creative aftermath (Postiglione 1983:22).

Skinner’s views of the Chinese in Thailand

It is generally believed that the Chinese in South-east Asia exhibit a strong sense of
cultural persistence and continuity. Mallory (1956:258) points to the ‘amazing loyalty of
the Chinese to their own culture century after century…so that they perpetuate their
language and social customs and hold firmly to them’. More recently, Ohki (1967:5)
suggests that ‘the Chinese culture is highly resistant to being worn down by other cultures
during the acculturation process’. Although there may be some truth in this observation,
it is fallacious to assume that Chinese migrants react in the same way in the vastly
different physical and social environments of South-east Asia. In Thailand, for example,
the literature seems to suggest that the Chinese bear more attributes of social integration
and assimilation than of conflict. Skinner (1963:1) has found that a majority of the
descendants of Chinese immigrants in each generation merge with Thai society and
become indistinguishable from the indigenous population to the extent that fourth-
generation ‘Chinese’ are practically non-existent. He feels that the reason why many
western and Chinese observers grossly overestimated the number of Chinese in Thailand
was in part their failure to see the extent of complete assimilation as ‘they note the large
migration of Chinese, but fail to see that a large proportion of the Chinese migrants in
each generation merge with Thai society’ (Skinner 1963:2). Furthermore, Skinner
(1963:4) suggests that the cultural persistence of the Chinese community in Bangkok is
due not to a peculiar unchangeableness on the part of the Chinese, but rather to a
continual reinforcement of Chinese society through immigration. Scholars studying the
Chinese in Thailand have continued to use the Skinnerian paradigm. Both Amyot (1972)
and Ossapan (1979), for example, argue that the combination of Thai government
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 20
policies and the lack of formal Chinese education has led to the assimilation of the
Chinese. Both authors have made a much-generalised statement.
If Skinner is right and assimilation is taking place regularly, then the Chinese cannot
survive as ‘Chinese’ in Thailand. The gates of immigration have been closed since 1949;
thus, it follows that the Chinese minority would be eroded away and, in two to three
generations, there would be no ethnic Chinese community in Thailand. Yet, in present-
day Thailand, there are still a substantial number of ethnic Chinese. Boonsanong
(1976:57) suggests that ethnic Chinese form one-tenth of the Thai population, or close to
four million persons, and China-born residents of Thailand who are aliens number nearly
half a million. Similarly, Szanton (1983), based on ethnographic data collected in Sri
Racha, has found that many Chinese still maintain themselves as sociologically distinct
segments, and intermarriage between the Chinese and Thai is not as common as has
previously been suggested. Furthermore, in present-day Thailand, especially around the
Bangkok area, there are still many Chinese associations, both economic and religious,
which look after the interests of the ethnic Chinese. In addition, there are still many
private Chinese schools in Bangkok.
What are some of Skinner’s major hypotheses on the assimilation of the Chinese in
Thailand?1 First, he (1963:5) asserts that, other things being equal, there has been a fairly
constant rate of Chinese assimilation in Thailand over a period of a century and a half.
Second, the assimilation rate of the Chinese in Thailand is at least of the same order of
magnitude as that of Europeans in the United States (1963:5). He notes that one may cite
similarities between Thai and Chinese cultures as important pro-assimilation factors:

The Thai cultural inventory has always had many points in common with
that of the South-east Chinese. The preferred food staples for both
peoples, for example, are rice, fish and pork. The Thai commitment to
Theravada Buddhism was no barrier to social intercourse or cultural
rapprochement in view of the familiarity of the Chinese to another form of
Buddhism. In addition, the differences in the physical appearance between
Chinese and Thai are relatively slight.

In his comparison of the assimilation patterns of the Chinese in Java and Thailand,
Skinner (1973:399) singles out certain factors as having a primary effect on the Chinese
assimilation rate in Thailand. First, he suggests that the historical experience of the Thai,
with no direct subjugation by any colonial power, has resulted in the Thai’s sense of
security and pride in the manifest excellence of his tradition. Thus, Thai culture, by virtue
of its vigour and continuity, was attractive to the Chinese, which accelerated the
assimilation process.
Skinner (1973:311) also points out that the Chinese in Thailand were free to reside and
travel throughout Thailand. He observes that:

throughout the new residential suburbs in Bangkok, Chinese are found

residing among the Thai in a random arrangement [and] show no sign of
neighbourhood segregation. Even families headed by Chinese immigrants
have moved to such suburbs. This changing pattern facilitates the
development of social intercourse between the Chinese and the Thai.
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 21
If we accept the hypothesis that the assimilation rate is related to the size and
composition of the ethnic community, then this greater access and contact of the Chinese
with the Thai will result in a faster rate of assimilation. Moreover, the Chinese in
Thailand were free to identify as either Chinese or Thai. One of the reasons for the
acceleration of assimilation in Thailand is the availability of ‘structural avenues’, which
were conducive to and, in fact, encouraged the absorption of the Chinese into the
dominant indigenous culture.
Except for certain periods, the Thai government reacted favourably towards the
Chinese and adopted a pro-assimilationist policy, as can be seen in its educational and
economic policies. Skinner (1957a: 365–72) notes that, as early as 1898, the Thai
government had adopted a scheme that actively sought to integrate Chinese schools into
the national educational system. Bearing in mind that education represents a major source
of socialisation, and at an age when the individual is most susceptible to behavioural and
character moulding, the acceptance of Thai language and education by the Chinese will
greatly accelerate the assimilation of the Chinese into Thai society. As one Thai author
(in Skinner 1957b: 250) puts it:

[w]ithout a doubt, compulsory education in Bangkok, where most Chinese

congregate, is one means of assimilation. In compulsory education lies an
instrument which is infinitely useful for our purposes. It would ensure that
the second generation of Chinese will, to all intents and purposes, be
Siamese.

Economically, the Chinese play a vital role in Thailand. The Chinese migrants were
needed to provide manpower for agriculture, shipping and trade expansion. Skinner notes
that, in Thailand, unlike the Javanese case, mass migration meant that the Chinese were
spread out in all strata of Thai society. This promoted, or at least did not pose a barrier to,
their assimilation. Moreover, the ruling and administrative elites in Thailand were
dominated by Thai, and the Chinese businessmen identified with this group. Thai leaders
also advocated giving citizenship to the Chinese. The Nationality Act was amended ‘in
conformity with the government’s liberal policy toward the Chinese so that all persons
born in Thailand were automatically Thai citizens’ (Skinner 1973:378).
These measures, Skinner notes, assured the Chinese in Thailand that they were desired
and thus gave the Chinese a sense of security. Thus, Chinese culture in Thailand
underwent changes in the direction of Thai culture; gradually, the ‘Chinese way’ became
less sharply distinguishable from the larger Thai society. By the 1950s, the basic
administrative distinction between the Chinese and Thai was wiped out. The children of
mixed marriages grew up as Thai, and the social visibility of the Chinese decreased.
Skinner concludes that first- and second-generation Chinese might be more Chinese
oriented but, by the third and fourth generations, the Chinese in Thailand are, in all
practical considerations, Thai.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 22
Bilingualism and bicultural education

Skinner has overemphasised the forces of assimilation and that has coloured his
perception of the Chinese in Thailand. Anomalies arise when we look more closely in our
study at the situation of the Chinese in Thailand today.2 On the issue of language
acquisition, for example, it has been suggested that the adoption of the language of the
dominant group and the extent of its use are indicative of cultural assimilation, as
language acquisition is often accompanied by the adoption of cultural values and by entry
into the social institutions of the majority. Undoubtedly, many Chinese in Thailand are
fluent in the Thai language. Social and economic survival in Thailand has necessitated
this. But most Chinese in Thailand are not monolingual. In fact, Boonsanong (1971:13)
found that, although every Chinese person he interviewed speaks Thai, nearly all of them
also speak Chinese. Moreover, a large number of his respondents also speak one or more
additional Chinese dialects besides their parents’ mother tongue, although the majority of
them learned to speak their parents’ dialects first and acquired the rest later. This suggests
that, for this group of people, Chinese cultural values are internalised first and Thai
cultural values come later. There is significant proof of the cultural influence of parental
language on the respondents’ early socialisation (Boonsanong 1976:13). During our
fieldwork, when we asked our respondents why Chinese was used, some of the common
reasons given were, ‘It is more natural for me to speak Chinese in my family because we
are Chinese’, ‘Chinese is the business language—if you don’t speak Chinese, how can
you do business?’ or ‘I try to speak to my children only in Chinese so that they can learn
from me’.
During fieldwork, we encountered many Chinese who were bilingual. In one interview
with a family (middle-aged parents with two children, one nine years old and the other
six), we noted that the parents were speaking to one another and to their children in the
Cantonese dialect, but the children answered in a mix of Cantonese and Thai. This was
also true when the siblings spoke to one another, although we noticed a greater usage of
Thai in this situation. In another instance, during an interview we conducted in a mix of
Mandarin and Teochew with a shopkeeper, he spoke to his customers in Thai, but to the
shopkeeper next door in a Chinese dialect (Teochew). These fieldwork observations
corroborated the following statement from one of our informants:

There are many families who still speak Chinese dialects at home. Of
course, this is more so among the older generations, but I know many
third generation Chinese who still know Teochew and speak Teochew to
their parents and grandparents. There are, in fact, shopping centres in
Bangkok where most of the shopkeepers speak Teochew and Cantonese to
one another.

We observed the use of different languages as codes in different environments to signify

and maintain ethnic identity:

Teochew is used between Chinese and among young people you know.
When Chinese businessmen do business with one another, it is in the
Teochew dialect or Cantonese. Because of necessity, I allow my children
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 23
to attend Thai school. This is the fate of an overseas Chinese. It is better if
they know the language (Thai). To get ahead in Thailand, you have to do
this. My wife is Thai. My children speak to her in Thai. However, I taught
my children to speak Chinese (Mandarin) from when they were very
young. So now I can speak to them in Chinese.

In the domestic environment, Chinese had a high percentage of usage, especially when
speaking to parents and older relatives. Chinese language was also more widely used
when talking with other Chinese. Outside the home, especially when dealing with Thai
bureaucrats and Thais in general, Thai was used. Boonsanong’s data indicated that,
among the ‘Group One’ Chinese, over 76 per cent of the respondents said they used
Chinese more than Thai at home.3 Although there was a reduction in the usage of Chinese
at home for the ‘Group Three’ respondents, that is those who were supposed to be the
‘most assimilated’ group, a significant 20 per cent still claimed that, in the domestic
environment, they spoke Chinese more often than Thai.
Closely related to language acquisition is the role of education in the process of
assimilation. We have already noted Skinner’s argument that the integration of Chinese
schools into the national educational system and the influx of Chinese into Thai schools,
where Chinese students are strongly persuaded to speak Thai and pledge allegiance to
Thai symbols, facilitated the assimilation of the ethnic Chinese into Thai society. In a
later study, Guskin (1968:67) arrives at the same conclusion:

[Given] the results of the law of Thailand, the cultural values related to
education, the norms and values related to respect for teachers and the
school regulations which must be followed if the student desires to
succeed, [Chinese children] are committed to attending Thai schools and,
it would seem, are normatively integrated into them.

It is true that Chinese education has been affected by Thai government policies. Many
Chinese parents realise that there are practical values to be accrued from a knowledge of
Thai and that Thai education is an important aspect of upward mobility. But not all
Chinese in Thailand hold this view. According to our informants, there were still some
Chinese parents who deliberately avoided sending their children to Thai schools, sending
them to Chinese schools instead. There were even some parents who kept their children
out of school for their extra labour in business and commercial activities. Contrary to
Skinner’s position, Coughlin (1960:144–68) argues that Chinese education was in a
stronger position in the 1960s than in the 1930s and 1940s. He noted that, although there
was a marked decline in the number of Chinese schools, there were more children
attending Chinese schools: 17,000 in 1938 and 63,000 in 1960. There was also no
evidence that the Chinese community had given up its desire for separate Chinese
schools. The existence of Chinese schools helped to perpetuate Chinese culture and
nationalism. This has been the basis of the government’s opposition to these schools from
the beginning, but it is also one reason for the Chinese community’s desire to maintain
them. Chinese schools provide virtually the only means by which written Chinese can be
learned (Coughlin 1960:158), although the home teaches and reinforces the use of the
spoken language.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 24
What is significant is the fact that, even today, there are many Chinese schools in
Bangkok and even some in the provinces. According to our informants, many Chinese
parents still send their children, or at least some of their children, to Chinese schools.
There are even parents who send their children to Taiwan to receive what they consider a
proper Chinese education (Szanton 1983:109). These can be taken as indications of the
Chinese desire to retain a Chinese identity.
We found during our fieldwork in Thailand that, in 1989, there were 102 Chinese
language schools in Bangkok alone, and 213 in the whole of Thailand. Owing to
government policies, they are no longer called huaxiao (Chinese schools), but minxiao
(people’s schools) or gongxiao (public schools). These schools, ac-cording to one
informant (a school teacher), follow the regular curriculum of Thai schools, but classes
are conducted in both Chinese and Thai. Moreover, other than these public schools, many
parents, especially the richer Chinese, send their children to private schools where
Chinese language is used as the medium of instruction. According to one informant,
Chinese parents who sent their children to Thai schools also engaged private tutors to
teach their children Chinese. Some children attend Thai schools during the day and take
Chinese classes in the evening. Said one informant:

There are fewer Chinese schools today compared to the past. This is due
to government policy. They do not encourage Chinese education. The
Chinese are a very practical people. If they see that it is better to have
their children in Thai schools, they will send them there. But they will
find ways to maintain the Chinese language and Chinese education.

As Chinese education in Thailand is available for only the first six years of schooling
(it is possible for an optional three more years), parents who want their children to have
higher education in Chinese will send them overseas. Said one Chinese:

In the past, many Chinese sent their children back to China or, if they are
pro-Guomindang, they will send the children to Taiwan. Many Chinese
parents today, I don’t know exactly how many, but I think many, still send
their children to Taiwan for higher schooling. Recently, they also send
them to Malaysia and Singapore. It is not because of nationalism that they
want to maintain Chinese education. Chinese is an economic language, a
language of survival. Chinese language is very useful for doing business
in Thailand.

There are really two issues here: affordability and desire. Parents who can afford it will
send their children overseas for higher education, often to Taiwan. Many send their
children to Malaysia, which is not very expensive. But the point to be made here is that
many Chinese parents we interviewed have a strong desire for their children to have a
Chinese education.
It is also important to remember that Chinese schools in Thailand today do not teach
the type of nationalistic Chinese education that was prevalent in the 1940s and early
1950s. There is a growing recognition that education cannot be entirely Chinese if it is to
be of any use in Thailand. Thus, the curricula in these schools are fitted to the needs of
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 25
the Chinese in modern Thai society, incorporating the teaching of Thai language and
history with that of Chinese language and culture. One strategy that is adopted by many
Chinese parents is to send some of their children to Thai schools and the rest to Chinese
schools. This is based on the premise that a Thai education will lead to an administrative
post in the Thai bureaucracy while the children in the Chinese schools can help in the
family business. It is often said that nothing can be more advantageous than for a Chinese
businessman to have a brother who holds a high position in the Thai administrative or
political elite.

Social-economic organisations and occupational differentiation

If Skinner is correct in his analysis of Chinese assimilation in Thailand, the Chinese

would have undergone a process of what Gordon (1964) meant by ‘structural
assimilation’, that is, there must have been a large-scale entry of Chinese into cliques,
clubs and institutions. Coughlin (1960:32–66) argues that the very commercial success of
the Chinese in Thailand was due in large part to the development of tight-knit social and
economic organisations that encouraged co-operation among the overseas Chinese and
provided protection for them in a hostile environment. These Chinese associations, which
tied together individuals with similar interests (familial, economic or religious), were the
backbone of the Chinese community in Thailand. Coughlin (1960:66) further noted that:

these overseas associations in their totality are so influential in

perpetuating social distinctions between the Thai and Chinese population
groups that their continued vitality as growing institutions beyond the
immigrant generation can only be the indefinite postponement of any
major move towards a more thorough assimilation of the Chinese
minority in Thailand.

Many of our informants reported that they regularly send money to relatives in China,
indicating that there are still ties with the homeland (Botan 1977).
Presently, in Bangkok, there are over eighty Chinese associations (based on clan,
region or dialect) that serve important social and community functions. The most
important of these are the economic organisations, such as the Chinese Chamber of
Commerce and occupational guilds. Chinese businessmen still make substantial financial
contributions to these associations. In a sense, this is an indication of their usefulness, as
the Chinese seldom put money into any organisation that has limited utility. Furthermore,
these associations still provide the social prestige structure for the Chinese community.
For example, the top offices in the Chinese Chamber of Commerce are highly valued for
their prestige and power.
Although the persistence of these associations indicates a failure of complete
‘structural assimilation’, this point should not be overemphasised. Most of the Chinese
businessmen who join Chinese associations are also members of Thai associations, such
as the Thai Chamber of Commerce. In order to succeed in Thailand, Chinese
businessmen know that they have to co-operate with the Thai elites, who control the
political, military and administrative arenas, but lack the economic base to bolster their
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 26
political and military powers. Thus, alliances are made between the Thai elites and
Chinese businessmen, a complementary relationship that serves the interests of both.
Chinese businessmen have reorganised their commercial corporations to include Thai
elites with ‘good connections’: many Chinese-Thai ventures have been set up, utilising
the capital and entrepreneurial skills of the Chinese, with the Thai officials providing
‘protection’, official privileges and government contracts.
Not only do many Chinese join Thai associations for pragmatic and economic reasons,
some in fact sit on the board of directors of both Thai and Chinese associations. As an
example of this cross-representation strategy, we noted that Vichien Tejapaibul (from a
wealthy Chinese banking family), in 1989, was the Deputy Honorary Treasurer of the
Thai-Chinese Chamber of Commerce. At the same time, he was Vice President of the
Thai Chamber of Commerce and Treasurer of the Board of Trade of Thailand. Similarly,
Boansong Srifeungfung sits on the Board of the Thai-Chinese Chamber of Commerce as
well as the Board of Trade of Thailand. Even when an individual is not on both boards,
there is often representation through other members of the family. For example, one
member of the Lamsen family (Thai Farmers’ Bank) is represented on the Thai Chamber
of Commerce while a relative is represented on the Thai-Chinese Chamber of Commerce.
There is a strong sense of the division of labour between the Chinese and the Thai in
present-day Thailand. There seems to be a high degree of consensus among our
informants that Thais tend to enter the bureaucracy and the army while the Chinese
remain in the business world. ‘The Thais become soldiers, policemen and teachers’, said
one informant, who continued, ‘In fact, most civil service jobs are taken by Thais. The
Chinese are businessmen and merchants. They tend to engage in freelance activities.’
Another informant said, ‘Eighty per cent of all doctors in Thailand are Chinese. They also
control the restaurant business’. One Chinese said, ‘The value of being a soldier is not
highly regarded by the Chinese’. Boonsanong (1971:26) notes that:

it is clearly evident in the interview responses which point in a matter-of-

fact way to an a priori state of affairs in which some occupations are
Chinese occupations and others are Thai occupations. Furthermore, it
seems largely taken for granted that Thai should do certain kinds of work
and Chinese other kinds.

Close to three-quarters of the respondents in Groups One and Two in Boonsanong’s

survey said that Chinese exhibited greater skill in trade and commerce than did the Thais.
Perhaps more significantly, 58.3 per cent of those in Group Three, the Chinese
government employees, agreed. Similarly, in Sri Racha, the Chinese tended to define
their Chineseness in terms of their degree of commercial orientation and business success
(Szanton 1983:109).
Both Chinese and Thais seem to accept the ethnic stereotypes of Chinese as better
businessmen and Thais as better governmental administrators. Some reasons given by our
respondents were: ‘Trade and commerce fit well with the character of the Chinese
people’ or ‘Chinese are gifted merchants’. On the Thai side, it is believed that
‘government work is the work of the Thai people’ or ‘Thai have contact (phuak) and
relatives (yaat) in the government’. Ethnic prejudice remains a strong undercurrent in
Thai society today and indicates a lack of cultural assimilation. An editorial in the
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 27
Bangkok Post, a major English-language newspaper in Thailand, in 1983 clearly
illustrates this prejudice. Under the headline, ‘Chinese Connection and Money’, it reads:
The true Thai as a race form a typical warrior society with typical conservative values.
They prefer to accumulate position and prestige. They hate to touch and discuss money.
Even Thai farmers with their earthy wisdom would still want their sons to be civil
servants, rather than have anything to do with money… The Chinese take over money
matters. Thai people of Chinese descent continue to have a stranglehold on business and
money. Chinese-Thai pour money into acceptable charitable organisations to get
recognition and royal decorations. All of them search sophisticated dictionaries to find
lengthy Thai names and surnames in order to appear more Thai, with the result that now
one can recognise really the true Thais only by their short surnames.
One Chinese businessman said:

The Chinese are the masters of the business world. When the Thais feel
that they cannot get into business, they say that the Chinese are crude,
only interested in making money.

One Thai person remarked:

People realise that there are differences between the Chinese and the
Thais. The Chinese are the rich people.4

Another Thai informant said:

The Thai government likes to give rank and position to the Chinese. If
you are chairman of a bank, or give money to charity, you will be awarded
titles. But this does not make them Thai… They are simply ornaments.
The Thais feel that they have to work 30–40 years before they get an
award, but when the Chinese give money, they get titles. Do you know
half of those with the title kunying (ladies of the Court) are Chinese
women from rich families?

Coughlin argues that the occupational separation of the Thai and Chinese is a major
source of friction between the two peoples. He (1960:116) reasons that:

this occupational separation has given the Chinese minority immense

economic power, but at the same time has excited fear, resentment and a
growing measure of intolerance on the part of many leading Thai. Their
present economic position, related as it is to so many fundamental
institutions and values, is the major obstacle to the further integration of
the Chinese minority

There is certainly some truth to this statement, especially in reference to the period
between the 1930s and 1950s, when strong Thai nationalistic fervour led to criticisms of
Chinese economic control. The Chinese were perceived as subtly undermining the
livelihood of the Thai people.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 28
Occupational separation, to a large degree, still exists in Thailand today, but the
availability of Thai education for the Chinese has meant that more and more Chinese are
finding jobs in the Thai administrative service. There is also a growing awareness among
many Thais that ‘Thai can be businessmen too’, and more Thais are engaging in
commercial activities.
But it can be argued that, at the elite level, this occupational differentiation is
maintained not with tension, but as complementary functions. As pointed out earlier,
Chinese businessmen, in order to protect their financial interests, have formed alliances
with leading Thai politicians and military men, who in turn retain high remuneration by
serving as directors in such companies. Thus, a case can be made that there is no desire or
necessity for the Chinese elites to be assimilated as this will disturb the finely balanced
relationship between the two groups. On the Thai side, the assimilation of the Chinese
elites could be seen as an intrusion and would threaten their interests. If we were to look
at the ethnic Chinese minority in Bangkok today, it is likely that a large proportion are
the wealthier people who have more to gain by maintaining the status quo. ‘Becoming
Thai’ would lead to a conflict of interests with the Thai elites. In this sense, the Chinese
and Thai elites can be seen as subgroupings of different ethnic categories that assume
complementary economic roles in the local environment. They enjoy a selective
advantage, for they reduce competition between culturally distinctive groups. By
occupying exclusive economic niches, these groups maintain their separate cultural
identities (Golomb 1978:162).
At one level, the wealthy Chinese in Bangkok seem to have much to gain by
remaining Chinese. However, at another level, the fact that they interact with the Thai
elite will have many subtle, although largely unclear, influences on their abilities to
remain Chinese. In reality, the poor Chinese are less likely to change because they have
little to gain by becoming Thai.
Many of the Chinese farmers and small businessmen in the northern and northeastern
regions and in the highlands maintain contact with lowland urban Chinese relatives or
friends to retain their Chineseness. These more marginal Chinese are even less
assimilated than the well-off Chinese in Bangkok.

Religion, tradition and ethnic identification

Skinner suggests that the basic similarities between Chinese and Thai religious life are
conducive to assimilation. ‘The Chinese popular religion, with Mahay ana elements, is
similar to Theravada Buddhism. Chinese religious sentiment is eclectic and syncretic
rather than exclusivistic. Thus, religion is no barrier to Chinese assimilation in Thailand’
(Skinner 1973:408). To say that because both Thais and Chinese practise Buddhism and,
therefore, religion is no barrier to assimilation is like saying that Protestants and
Catholics, as they are both Christians, should get along well. There are significant
differences between Thai Theravada Buddhism and Chinese Mahayana Buddhism.
The Thai, for example, worship at Buddhist ‘wats’, whereas the Chinese worship at deity
temples. The Thai cremate their dead in the wat, whereas the Chinese prefer to bury their
dead. More significantly, the Thai have no ancestral duties, whereas the Chinese are
duty-bound to carry out such rituals. There are other differences as well. For example,
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 29
Chinese Buddhism is less strict with members of the monastic order, putting less
emphasis on asceticism and combining many more Chinese folk beliefs and rituals with
Buddhist ones. Thai Buddhism, on the other hand, places greater emphasis on the purity
of the religion.
Differences between Thai and Chinese religious beliefs are not irreconcilable, but their
similarities should not be exaggerated. In Thailand today, a large number of Chinese
continue to carry out ancestral rituals. This observation receives support from
Boonsanong’s survey, which indicated that nine out of ten Chinese respondents were
engaged in ancestor worship. This figure is for Group One respondents but, even among
Group Three respondents, supposedly the most assimilated, 63.3 per cent claimed to be
ancestor worshippers (Boonsanong 1971:34). The ancestral rituals are central to Chinese
religious life and contribute to the integration and perpetuation of the family as a basic
unit of Chinese social life. Moreover, ancestor worship is linked to the idea of xiao or
filial piety, according to which children owe their parents obedience and are committed to
perpetuating the family name and lineage. Our own informants said that many Chinese in
Thailand still practise ancestor worship; many continue to go to the temples for worship.
There are numerous Chinese temples in Bangkok, particularly in the Savatburi area.
The Chinese in Thailand also celebrate Chinese religious festivals. The Chinese New
Year continues to be celebrated on a grand scale in Bangkok, Phuket and the southern
provinces. Other important festivals are the Qing Ming, Chun Yuan and Mid-Autumn
festivals. One Thai informant noted:

The Thai people know that Qing Ming (during which is practised a
Chinese ritual of cleaning the graves, like the Christian’s ‘All Souls Day’)
is around, because at that time, there will be bad traffic jams as the
Chinese make their way to the graveyards to pray to the ancestors. This is
especially true in the Saratburi and Chonburi areas, where there are many
Chinese cemeteries. The Chinese festival of ‘praying to the moon’ is also
popular. We Thai know about this festival because we eat the mooncakes
too. Almost everywhere you see mooncakes. In fact, I think the biggest
mooncake in the world was made in Bangkok. I think it is in the Guinness
Book of World Records.

Another informant asked a rhetorical question:

If there are no Chinese in Thailand today, who are those people

celebrating Chinese New Year and praying to the ancestors?

The continued practice of ancestor worship and the widespread celebrations of religious
festivals point to the persistence of Chinese cultural values in presentday Thailand.
Chinese religion and rituals have emerged as important markers of ethnic identification in
Thailand. One of our Thai informants said that he could easily tell whether a person is
Chinese or Thai simply by observing the way the person carries out religious rituals.
Many Chinese continue to hold on to the tradition of having reunion dinners and handing
out hongbao—money in a red packet to signify a gift of good luck. However, the very
same Chinese who practise Chinese religious rituals also perform rituals at Thai wats.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 30
Many Chinese claim that they make regular donations to the Thai wats. The Chinese
celebrate both the Chinese New Year and the Thai New Year. Even at funerals, the
Chinese perform rituals that are distinctly Chinese in origin and content but are carried
out in Thai ways. Undoubtedly, Chinese ritualistic behaviours in a Thai setting testify to
an overt mixture of Chinese and Thai customs. Yet, this mixture does not mean the
demise of Chinese rituals nor their replacement by Thai ones, but a modification and
adaptation of both customs to become ‘part Chinese and part Thai’.
There are six Chinese daily newspapers in present-day Bangkok, with an estimated
readership (not circulation) of over 500,000 people daily. The oldest, and probably most
influential, is Sing Sian Re Pao. It was originally founded by Aw Boon Haw, who was a
leading Chinese merchant with business connections in Hong Kong, Singapore and
Burma. The second largest paper is Universal Press. According to one informant, this
paper is funded by the Republic of China and its editorials are slanted towards Taiwan.
Chinese newspapers in Thailand are either pro-PRC (People’s Republic of China) or
pro-Taiwan. Most readers of the Chinese papers belong to the older generation. However,
many young people continue to read them.
Finally, we turn to intermarriage and family life. Here, we find some discrepancies in
empirical observations. On the one hand, Skinner notes a high degree of intermarriage
between Chinese and Thai, especially before 1893, when there was a dearth of Chinese
women immigrants. Likewise, Boonsanong (1971:57–8) has found that between 30.3 per
cent (Group One) and 63.7 per cent (Group Three) stated that they had Thai members in
their households. However, Coughlin (1960:75–83) argues that intermarriage between the
Chinese and Thai, especially in Bangkok, was not as prevalent as many had been led to
believe. In his random survey of 145 marriages, representing a full range of socio-
economic levels, he found no instance in which a Chinese girl had married a non-
Chinese, and only two men who had married Thai girls. He suggested that the reason for
this was partly the trend towards numerical equality of the sexes and also the cultural
differences between the two. ‘The Thai consider the Chinese uncouth and raucous in
public…and…grasping, excessively materialistic, interested only in making money’
(Coughlin 1960:75–83). Conversely, the Thai are characterised by the Chinese as
indolent, untrustworthy and slippery in business dealings. More specifically, there are
cultural differences between the two ethnic groups regarding marriage rules. Chinese are
generally patrilineal and patrilocal, whereas Thais are matrilineal and neolocal. Marriage
rituals are also very different, with different values and expectations between the two
groups. Such cultural differences underpin and intensify feelings of ethnic prejudice.
Chinese consider Thai girls marrying into Chinese families as a form of upward mobility,
giving the Thai better economic conditions as well as business linkages. Chinese girls
marrying into Thai families, except for royal and military connections, are often
considered to be marrying ‘down’. A large percentage of the Chinese in Thailand today
claim that they would prefer to marry another Chinese instead of a Thai. Boonsanong
noted that over 60 per cent (Group One) said that they preferred Chinese spouses. Some
reasons given for this attitude were: ‘My parents would approve of it and would be happy
with a Chinese in-law’ or ‘As Chinese, we would understand our customs better’.
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 31
One Chinese informant of ours, sixty-five years old, asserted his ethnicity in this way:

Many Chinese have acquired Thai citizenship (he also estimated that
about 200,000 have retained PRC citizenship). In legal terms, they are
Thai. Even in public, most of these people will say that they are Thai. But,
in cultural terms, from their way of life, they are still Chinese because
they retain many elements of Chinese culture. It is like milk and coffee.
When you pour milk into coffee and stir it, they mix. It is very difficult to
distinguish the milk from the coffee. But, they are still two different
things. I can speak Thai like any other Thai, but I am Chinese. To be Thai
is not to deny my Chineseness. To stress Chineseness is not to deny my
Thainess.

Conclusion

Contrary to Skinner’s assertions, as far as the Chinese in Thailand are concerned,

assimilation, as defined and prescribed in the sociological and anthropological literature,
has not taken place. Neither does it seem to be a useful, sufficiently dynamic concept to
delineate and make sense of the complexity of relationships between the Chinese and the
Thai in Thailand. Theories of assimilation often overexaggerate the absorptive powers of
the majority group and its culture, over-simplify the process of social change in terms of
its directionality and dimensionality and tend to view minority groups in terms of the
simplistic dichotomy of either having been assimilated or not. Conceptualising
assimilation as a one-way, unilineal, unidimensional process, the theorist fails to come to
grips with the tenacity of ethnicity and therefore fails to account for its persistence.
Any theoretical attempt to disentangle majority-minority relations needs to incorporate
a rigorous treatment of the dynamics of ethnicity and ethnic identity. In the same vein, we
argue that ethnicity is both primordial and situational, not either or. Ethnicity is self-
maintaining, cumulative, self-affirming and most vividly used in the centre of one’s own
ethnic group, in the private place. It resists outside attempts at dilution or penetration,
i.e. assimilation (or, using a more graphic term, ethnocide, following van den Berghe’s
(1981:2171) analysis. In its primordial sense, ethnicity resists assimilation and holds its
own. It derives its nourishment and vital energy from its primary identity, a psychosocial
core formulated since birth in the family, nurtured and maintained before, during and
after contact with a foreign culture. A person thus usually and typically has one primary
ethnic identity, one reference group, one heritage.
Ethnicity is also amenable to construction and presentation on the part of both the
ethnic actor and his observers. In the ‘fringes’, where ethnic boundaries intersect and
overlap, ethnic actors enter into co-operative (or, under other circumstances, conflictual)
relationships. In such a public place, minorities strategise and manage their ethnicity;
situations and exigencies of survival need to be defined, constructed and acted upon with
caution. Ethnicity is instrumentally used: it either (more likely) feeds on one’s secondary
ethnic identity, ‘an identification with the other,’ thus minimising differences and social
distance between the majority and minority groups, or will not.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 32
Most Chinese in Thailand today adopt Thai values, speak Thai, go to Thai schools,
join Thai associations and celebrate Thai religious festivals. They consider themselves as
Thai, not citizens of China. They pledge allegiance to the Thai flag and monarchy. All
these attempts at integration into the Thai society facilitate everyday life interactions as
well as administrative, political and economic transactions in the public place. Their
secondary ethnic identity is not just momentarily conjured up and then displayed for the
occasion; it has been acquired, as an integral part of the individual’s own definition
of ethnicity.
Two other markers of expressive and instrumental ethnicity are the use of language
and ancestor worship. Chinese, especially shopkeepers, talk to one another in Chinese,
often Teochew. However, in their dealings with Thais, they use Thai. Similarly, Chinese
is most often used in the home, as opposed to Thai in public. Unlike Thais, the Chinese
worship their ancestors. This is used by many Chinese to maintain their identity as it
differentiates them from the Thais. It also acts as a reinforcement of their historical
linkage with China.
Most Chinese businessmen in Bangkok enter into symbiotic relationships with the
Thai political and administrative elites. These relationships are typically class or interest
based, mutually beneficial to both parties, and are intrinsically precarious in terms of
power balance maintenance. The prevailing stereotype of the Chinese is, as one Thai
succinctly put it, ‘All the Chinese in Bangkok are rich’. The Thai elites have political and
administrative control while the Chinese have financial and economic resources. These
ethnic stereotypes separate the Chinese from the Thai and retard assimilation. In actual
fact, we argue that wholesale assimilation of the Chinese upper economic echelon into
the Thai political and administrative elites would lead to a relational imbalance.
Assimilation would result in an overlap in roles and, therefore, threaten the interests of
both groups. It has been suggested that the Thai economy is dominated by a handful of
large commercial banks owned by leading Chinese families. One of the biggest banks in
Thailand is owned by a Chinese. Many seats on its Board of Directors, however, are
occupied by Thai political and military elites (see Gray 1986).
While the Chinese elite in Bangkok continue to nurture and manage their relationships
with the Thai in the form of alliances, agreements and contracts, most Chinese in
Thailand speak both Thai and Chinese, worship in both Thai wats and Chinese temples
and join Chinese as well as Thai associations. Yet, a primary Chinese identity survives:
Chinese schools and associations persist, and Chinese religious rituals are still practised
daily. Coughlin (1960) calls this ‘double iden-tity’, an essentially static concept that fails
to view the person as an active being who understands and respects his group allegiances,
uses his ethnicity expressively and instrumentally, conducts himself in ways he sees most
appropriate and advantageous in private and public places, knows the distinction between
primary and secondary identification, and uses the distinction strategically. Such a view
of an ethnic actor must logically consider assimilation as problematic and, certainly, not
taken for granted. It is a view that focuses theoretical and empirical attention on the
human actors relentlessly meeting their own needs while adopting and trying out
strategies in daily social transactions (Whitten and Whitten 1972). It is a pro-active view
in the sense that the theoretical interest lies in acknowledging the individuals and the
group as making the best of the situation, not as mere victims of social forces. This same
ethnic actor recognises and nurtures his sense of belonging to his ethnic group. As
 Rethinking Chinese ethnicity 33
Rosaldo (1988) points out, while members of an ethnic group enjoy ‘piling up’ and
‘concentrating’, they are also conscious of the possibility of these gatherings being
penetrated. The essence of ethnicity is thus one of maintenance and resistance, as much
as one of construction and presentation.
The key question is no longer whether the Chinese in Thailand or, for that matter,
most overseas Chinese everywhere are assimilated or not. The concept of assimilation
has little explanatory utility beyond what has already been used or prescribed in the social
science literature. The more relevant question is: How do the Chinese go about
conducting themselves as a group and as individuals in their daily social transactions with
each other and with ‘the others’? Such a question subsumes under it a constellation of
experiential and phenomenological questions best answered at the level of everyday life.
We believe that the concepts we have suggested in this chapter, retrieved from classical
sociological imagination and utilised by contemporary students of ethnic and race
relations, offer some useful theoretical tools.
 2
Civic identity and ethnicity

The position of the Chinese in Thailand has long been integral to Thai social studies,
given the history and extent of their immigration and the role they have played in Thai
society. Nevertheless, many aspects of the Chinese and their place within the wider Thai
society have not been adequately investigated. Added to these gaps is the sheer speed and
extent of social and cultural change that has affected Thailand, especially after the
Second World War. Many of the older studies (Landon 1941; Skinner 1957a 1957b,
1958, 1963, 1973; Coughlin 1952, 1955, 1960) present an image of the Chinese that is
simplistic and dated.
This study is an ethnographic contribution to the understanding of the Chinese in
Thailand based on our experience of the market town of Wang Thong.1 It examines the
changes in ethnic identity, its capacity to adapt and how the pattern of ethnic relations is
dominated by the ‘past’ and, at the same time, by a local civic identity. The purpose of
this study is two-fold. First, it is to discover the present state of ethnic identity and ethnic
relations in Wang Thong. The common view concerning the Chinese in Thailand is that
they have, to a great extent, been assimilated into Thai culture and society. Many second-
and third-generation descendants are said to have become ‘Thai’ in terms of their cultural
practices and association with the Thai. Skinner’s works, which uphold this view, have
up to now dominated the analysis of the Chinese in Thailand. However, despite Skinner’s
findings, there remain today descendants of Chinese immigrants who, in varying
circumstances, still identify themselves as ‘Chinese’. It is thus a major research problem
to find out whether they have become ‘Thai’ or remain ‘Chinese’. Second, this chapter
analyses the significance of the ‘past’ (local history, myth and ritual) in the context of
ethnicity and ethnic relations.
In Wang Thong, a small rural market town where, in theory, the Chinese are thought
to have been assimilated easily and rapidly into Thai society, we found that Chinese
ethnicity co-exists alongside the so-called Thai identity. The Chinese form an
astonishingly integrated community with the local people. Investigations of the history of
multiethnic associations of the area and different versions of local oral traditions and
rituals suggest that the present pattern of ethnic identification and relations in Wang
Thong is largely determined by the issue of the ‘past’. By reconstructing local history,
myth and rituals, the Chinese have come to possess, when compared with the Thai, a
greater claim to local community. This is an essential resource, which legitimises their
local political and economic rights and is associated with their identity. Furthermore,
owing to the lack of a predominant historical identity and the need for local economic
and social co-operation, the Chinese and the Thai have adopted a new form of common
identity associated with Wang Thong localism, which binds them together within one
economic and social boundary.
 Civic identity and ethnicity 35
For more than thirty years, the dominant explanation for the pattern of ethnic relations
between the Thai and the Chinese was ‘assimilation’. This idea of assimilation was first
developed from experiences in the United States, where various ethnic groups
participated in the creation of a new nation and new identity. Immigrants from various
parts of the world, after a period of residence, have assimilated this new identity of ‘being
an American’. In Thailand, the same idea was applied to Thai-Chinese ethnic relations,
suggesting a cultural transformation of the Chinese and their social integration into Thai
culture and society. However, this idea was developed during the period of unique
political and social conditions and was supported only by data from the Chinese
population in Bangkok.
The period before and during which Skinner carried out his research was a difficult
time for the Chinese in Thailand. Under the two Phibun governments, 1938–44 and
1948–57, the Chinese were placed under severe restrictions. It is simple enough to
suggest that such pressures, along with inadequate support from the Chinese government,
forced the Chinese immigrants and their local-born descendants to assimilate Thai culture
in order to enjoy the privileges of full Thai citizenship. In addition, Skinner suggested
factors that encouraged voluntary assimilation among local-born Chinese in Thailand in
contrast to those in other South-east Asian countries. Unlike other South-east Asian
countries that had experienced colonialism, the elite class in Thailand had always been
Thai. This group of Thai possessed power, privilege, prestige and wealth. If the Chinese
in Thailand aspired to upward mobility, they would have to become Thai. As there were
no distinct cultural or physical differences between the Thai and the Chinese, full
assimilation of the Chinese into Thai society was possible (Skinner 1957b: 299–300).
Although he did not provide a clear definition, Skinner proposed that assimilation here
involved two processes of socio-cultural transformation. First, the Chinese must be
‘desocialised’ (Parsons 1975:53–83) from their Chinese groups and identity. Skinner
offered the closing of Chinese schools as one example. This was to be followed by
resocialisation, in which the Chinese became familiar with the Thai way of life, beliefs
and symbolic identity, and adopted them in practice. This second process, according
to Skinner, can be the result of intermarriage, schooling and other forms of close
intergroup association.
There are three major problems with Skinner’s idea of assimilation. First, one cannot
simply say that the Chinese are absorbed into Thai culture or Thai society. Many aspects
of the Thai culture and social structure have been influenced by Chinese elements as
well. Second, especially in recent years, both the Thai and the Chinese have been
exposed to external western elements during the country’s modernisation and
industrialisation processes. It is not that the Chinese and Thai have become more alike
because the Chinese are assimilated into Thai culture, but because both are (to a certain
extent) being assimilated into a common new cultural and social environment. Finally, it
must be remembered that the Thai and the Chinese are not homogeneous ethnic groups.
There is no single set of Thai cultural practices into which the Chinese have been
assimilated. Neither can one say that all Chinese have followed the same pattern of
relationships with the Thai.
This chapter does not intend to extend the debate on theoretical issues concerning the
‘assimilation theory’, but rather to propose an alternative approach to the studies of the
Chinese in present-day Thailand. This is needed to understand the ethnic relations in this
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 36
particular case of Chinese-Thai relations, and perhaps elsewhere. Our experience in
Wang Thong suggests a strong relationship between issues of the ‘past’ and ethnic
relations—a ‘past’ that includes not just the history of the community but also local
myths and rituals. In recent years, the idea that the ‘past’ plays a significant role in the
conduct of present social phenomena and that it could be largely the product of certain
current interests have been widespread in anthropological circles. This chapter addresses
the current debate on the relations between the past and the present. In addition, the
chapter will show that such relations between the past and the present can be applied to
the study of ethnic relations.
Unlike evolutionists and diffusionists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries, there is an increasing realisation among anthropologists that history is not
merely the reflection of human evolutionary process or the means for cultural comparison
between societies, but is an important issue on its own that needs as much attention as
other aspects of anthropology. An increasing number of anthropologists working on the
less orthodox materials of the past (such as oral traditions and local myth) have gradually
developed anthropological techniques for handling and interpreting such materials. Oral
traditions such as popular versions of local history, once restricted or even considered
conjectural, have gained status. Following the works of Malinowski (1926) and Levi-
Strauss (1963, 1967) on the studies of myth (in the context of history), more
anthropological investigations on this issue have proved that there are significant
connections between the past and many aspects of present social phenomena, particularly
in the areas of social organisation and politics among different social groups (Leach
1954; Geertz 1966; Robertson 1973; Willis 1980; Appadurai 1981; Peel 1984).
This chapter is based on the general theory that, in a society composed of several
social groups, the pattern of intergroup relations as well as domination of the society is
determined by the relevant historical resources (power of the ‘past’) possessed by each
group, and vice versa. In the case of ethnic relations, the pattern of relationship between
(and among) the groups is determined by their claim to the history of the community.
Conversely, the power to manipulate the ‘past’ is determined by the present social
standing of each group in the community. The resources of the ‘past’ include
conventional forms of history as well as oral traditions of narrative history, legends and
local myth. Particular rituals concerned with elements in the ‘past’ are also considered to
be resources of the ‘past’.
The Chinese moved into the Wang Thong area over a century ago. Despite being ruled
by the Thai, they had their own versions of local history and myth, which differed from
the Thai’s. Moreover, in local ritual display, the Chinese have managed to dominate the
community while the other groups’ original ritual practices are fading away. Although
the Chinese have integrated into the local community (both socially and economically)
and shared the local civic identity (chaw Wang Thong), their dominant roles in local
economy and politics reflected their greater possession of the ‘past’ and their power to
manipulate it. Unlike other parts of the country, where economic domination and
differences in Thai-Chinese ethnicity are the major obstacles in ethnic relations, the
Chinese of Wang Thong, through their claim to local history and the dominant ritual
display of their goddess, have integrated with the local community while maintaining
their economic domination and distinct ethnic identity.
 Civic identity and ethnicity 37
This chapter, therefore, investigates the resources of the ‘past’ possessed by each
major group in Wang Thong, namely the Thai, Chinese and Lao. This includes their roles
in the reconstruction and manipulation of local history, myth and ritual. To understand
the domination of the Chinese in this particular aspect of power, we will also look into
the role of local government officials concerning the inclusion of (central Siamese-
oriented) national ritual practices which, to a great extent, affect the Thai in their claims
to the ‘past’.

Wang Thong: setting, history and demography

There are various definitions of Wang Thong. Formally, it refers to the administrative
boundary of the district (amphoe) of Wang Thong. The trading community in Phitsanulok
and the nearby region refer to Wang Thong as the market centre of the district. For
villagers in remote parts of the district, Wang Thong is the district office where they have
occasional contacts with government officials. Other villagers view Wang Thong as the
talaad, the market where they can purchase most of their necessities. In this chapter, the
term Wang Thong refers to both the administrative area and the market town. By the
market town of Wang Thong, we mean the sukhaaphibaan Wang Thong (the sanitary
district, roughly coinciding with the original boundary of Wang Thong village) plus its
six surrounding satellite villages, which have close social and economic ties with the
sukhaaphibaan. The term Wang Thong is also used to refer to local civic identity.
However, the development of identity being dynamic, it is impossible to establish a
geographical boundary where the people identify themselves as chaw Wang Thong, the
people of Wang Thong.
Wang Thong is, by Thai standards, a sizeable market town. It serves the district of the
same name as the centre of economic, social and governmental activities. Having
relatively good transportation facilities, Wang Thong has become one of the biggest
market centres outside Phitsanulok, the provincial city. As market transactions are mostly
handled by the Chinese traders, Wang Thong also has the second largest Chinese
community in the province. The district of Wang Thong is 17 km from Phitsanulok and
covers an area of 1574.6 sq km or about one-sixth of the province. About 55 per cent of
its area in the north and central part of the district is mountainous. The lower central and
southern part of the district consists of highland valleys and lowland. The Phitsanulok-
Lomsak Highway (built in 1956) runs through the district from west to east linking the
district with Phitsanulok, Nakorn Thai district and the provinces in the North-eastern
Region. The south-bound Wang Thong-Khao Sai Highway connects the district to the
provinces in the Central Region. Within the district, travel between each tambon
(commune) is expedited by asphalted roads or well-maintained dirt roads. Some villages
in the hinterland, however, can be difficult to reach during the heavy rainy season.
Regular transportation to the provincial city and other provinces is provided by forty-two
buses daily. Another fifty minibuses ply between Wang Thong market and Phitsanulok.
Most of the villages have at least one or two minibus services to the district market and
provincial city.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 38
Water transportation in the district is of little significance. In the past, traders
transported paddy down the Wang Thong River to Phijit and Nakorn Sawan. Today, the
river has become so shallow that it is used, mainly in the rainy season, by some farmers
to transport their daily garden products to the market.
The ethno-demographic structure of present-day Wang Thong is very complex. The
division of subethnic groups and the different periods of the arrival of both the so-called
Thai and the Chinese make it impossible to discuss ethnic relations in the simple terms of
Thai versus Chinese. By the mid-1980s, the ethno-demographic composition of Wang
Thong could be described in two ways. Using the subethnic divisions and the period in
which each group arrived, there are at least ten distinct groups. These include the
descendants of the Siamese Thai from the upper central region, the Lao Song from
Phetburi province and the Chinese from nearby areas who came during the second half of
the nineteenth century. From the early twentieth century, inflows include the descendants
of the Khon Muang from the Northern Region, the Lao Isan from the North-eastern
Region and the Chinese from Ban Sam Ruan and Phitsanulok. The latest inflow during
the last thirty years includes the Lao Isan, the Chinese of three different dialect groups
and their descendants. However, if we divide Wang Thong into three socio-geographical
parts, the picture of ethno-demographic composition assumes the following pattern. The
market town of Wang Thong comprises descendants of the Siamese Thai who came
during the second half of the nineteenth century; descendants of the Hainanese Chinese
of the early twentieth century; and the Chinese immigrants (Hainanese, Teochew and
Hakka) of the last thirty years who came with their children. In the surrounding lowland
villages are descendants of the Siamese Thai, the Khon Muang, some Lao Isan and some
early Chinese farmers, all of whom arrived during the second half of the nineteenth
century and early twentieth century. Up in the highland villages, the population consists
mainly of the descendants of the Lao Song, who arrived during the second half of the
nineteenth century, and the recent Lao Isan immigrants.

Multiethnic association

It is clear that Wang Thong has experienced two major developments in multiethnic
association and the reconstruction of its local history. First, the history of the area is
marked by social and cultural intercourse among various groups of people. Owing to
Wang Thong’s geographical location, different ethnic and cultural elements, the Siamese
Thai of the central region, the Lao from the north-east and the Khon Muang from the
north, have migrated into the area, including the Chinese of the later period. Thus, the
inhabitants are composed of various groups of people who have migrated as a result of
political and economic forces throughout history. Second, as various groups arrived
almost contemporaneously during the most recent period of resettlement, it is difficult for
an observer to establish the historical primacy of any single group. Unlike other parts of
the country where local history is dominated by a single majority group, the people in
Wang Thong do not accept that any single group has the monopoly in the reconstruction
of the local history.
 Civic identity and ethnicity 39
The ethno-demographic complexity is intensified by the fact that these different ethnic
groups are by no means separate from each other. The increasing scale of economic
interdependence and social involvement link them together. To a great extent, the
majority of the people share the common identity of chaw Wang Thong. This is important
in explaining much of the social relations in Wang Thong. Even in times of great
economic and political conflicts—for example, between the Lao farmers and the Chinese
traders—an emphasis on chaw Wang Thong identity has helped to ease the situation. This
is not to suggest that the groups have abandoned their ethnic or subethnic identity, but
rather that they have developed a communal identity that they can share without
sacrificing their original identities. To become chaw Wang Thong, they were not forced
to adopt the unfamiliar culture of any predominant group as there is no such group in
Wang Thong. They can therefore preserve their cultural practices and original identities,
and yet also maintain local recognition as members of the community.
Among the younger generation, although the consciousness of ethnic and subethnic
identities is still very much alive, there is no fixed cultural pattern to which one must
conform. There is evidence that the present inhabitants no longer see cultural patterns of
each ethnic and subethnic group as being as categorically distinctive as they were in the
past. Moreover, many of the younger generation are adopting the way of life, beliefs and
cultural practices of each other’s ethnic groups. This is not due to assimilation, because
they adopt these practices on a selective basis and without attaching ethnic identification
to them. The society as a whole has become more or less multistranded; there is more
than one pattern of beliefs, values, religion and so on. Unlike the situation in a ‘plural
society’, where different cultural patterns belong exclusively to a particular ethnic group,
these practices can be adopted by other ethnic groups.
The recent changes in the economic and social structure of Wang Thong have had an
effect on the pattern of identity and relations among the various ethnic groups in the
community. The most significant is the expansion of local civic identity and the
emergence of the residential identity of Wang Thong, which brings together the different
ethnic and subethnic groups as well as the market and village communities. The
conception of such an identity has helped the Chinese to acquire local recognition and
establish good relations with the Thai. Thus, Chinese ethnicity in this study can only be
understood together with the other aspects of identity that have been developed in the
community. The development and changes within Chinese ethnicity, in this case, appear
to be the result of a renegotiation process between Chinese and the local identity. It is
thus essential to discuss the pattern of ethnic relations based not merely on the issue of
ethnicity, but also on the changes in ethnicity and local identity. Let us now focus on
three major areas in the development of identity and ethnic relations: the local Chinese
ethnicity, the formation of localism and local identity and the pattern of relations between
different groups in the community.

Local Chinese ethnicity

Like the Chinese in Singapore, who as a group see themselves as racially or primordially
Chinese though individually using a multiplicity of indicators such as language, religion,
education or culture, or none at all, there are many Chinese in Wang Thong who identify
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 40
themselves as Chinese, and yet differ from each other in their religious beliefs and
cultural practices. During the past 100 years of settlement in the area, some of their
cultural practices have remained unchanged, while others have been adapted to the local
situation. For example, many of the younger generation local-born descendants no longer
use Chinese dialects. Those who married Thai wives and raised their children as any
ordinary Thai family would seem even more vulnerable to losing their ethnic identity.
Yet, the majority of these Chinese and their descendants still identify themselves as
‘Chinese’ or ‘having Chinese blood’. The question is ‘What binds them together?’, or
‘What is their concept of Chinese ethnicity?’
There seem to be at least three definitions of Chinese ethnicity. The first group of
Chinese, who came to Thailand before and after the Second World War, emphasise the
ability to speak one of the Chinese dialects and knowledge of Chinese ritual practices,
especially ancestor and deity worship. Other aspects of cultural practices are more
negotiable. For instance, most do not hesitate to participate in the Thai merit-making rites
or private Thai household rituals. Many of them have one of their sons ordained as a
Buddhist monk for a short period.2 Many also adopt Thai food habits and Thai animistic
beliefs. However, this does not mean that they have absorbed Thai culture. Rather, they
see these beliefs and practices as differing little from Chinese ones.
The second notion of Chinese ethnicity is articulated by local-born Chinese (not
necessarily born in Wang Thong) whose parents are both Chinese (immigrants or local
born). Although most in this group could speak a Chinese dialect, they do not consider
language to be an essential element of Chinese ethnicity. Instead, they emphasise the
knowledge of ancestral history and the consciousness of Chinese blood ties. They
encourage their children to marry other Chinese and have ‘pure’ Chinese grandchildren.
Nevertheless, they do not stop their children from marry-ing Thais. This group also holds
a strong belief in ancestral worship, Chinese gods and deities, but their belief is not as
strong as that of the first group.
The third concept of Chinese ethnicity belongs to the local-born Sino-Thai who have
been raised in Sino-Thai families. For them, the central indicator of Chineseness is
having Chinese ancestors. Many claim that the children of a Chinese are automatically
Chinese, regardless of whether they speak Chinese or know Chinese rituals. Equally, the
children of a Thai are naturally Thai. When asked which of their parents, if one is a
Chinese and the other is Thai, has a stronger influence on their identity, most appeared
indecisive. For example, over half the Sino-Thai informants claimed: ‘We (people in
Thailand) all have Chinese blood, only more or less’. It seems then that ethnic identity
does not depend on one single set of cultural traits and can be kept alive by in-group
cultural transformations. Thus, Chinese immigrants and their descendants, as long as they
identify themselves as ‘Chinese’, can be considered as Chinese even though their cultural
practices and way of life differ from those of their origins and of their immigrant
ancestors.
For most ordinary Thai of Wang Thong, the concept of ethnicity seems very abstract;
the majority do not feel able to talk about it. There is, in fact, no equivalent Thai term for
‘ethnicity’. The closest term used by Thai anthropologists is chaad phan (birth race),
which makes sense only in academic circles. Among lay Thai, the whole concept of
ethnicity can only be described in separate terms, such as chya chaad (race), phaa saa
 Civic identity and ethnicity 41
(language) and caariid thamniam (tradition and/or custom). In general, the Thai do not
seem to have an integrated, complete concept of ethnicity.
Only when pressed will the Thai define Chinese and Chinese ethnicity in terms of
immigrant Chinese and the national and cultural identities of mainland China.
Consequently, according to local Thai people in the market and the villagers, there seem
to be only 20 or so Chinese in the whole of Wang Thong. When asked about the ethnic
identity of local-born traders (both of whose parents are immigrant Chinese), most Thai
villagers become indecisive, but finally put them into the category of luuk ciin Wang
Thong (Chinese children of Wang Thong). With regard to visible Chinese ritual practices
in the town, for example, the worship of Caw Mae Thong Kham,3 while the Thai do
recognise its Chinese origin, they see the procession as part of praphenii thong thin, the
local tradition.4
The villagers in Wang Thong, in particular, prefer to identify individuals according to
their occupation, socio-economic status, their relationship with others and, most of all,
their relations with the community. Thus, when referring to one Chinese trader in the
market (as a respondent), most of the Thai villagers identified him as trader (phoo kha),
rich man (khon ruaj), well-known person (khon miinaa miitaa) or market person (chaw
talaad).Only a few villagers actually used the term ‘Chinese trader’ (phoo kha ciin) to
identify him.5

Localism, ethnicity and ethnic relations

Folk concepts of Chinese ethnicity among the Chinese and Thai in Wang Thong suggest
that there has been a process of renegotiation of ethnic identities among different
generations of these two major ethnic groups. Members of both groups clearly recognise
their distinct ethnic identity but are not overly concerned by their differences and instead
emphasise their common residence. Throughout our fieldwork, the term chaw Wang
Thong (people of Wang Thong) was used repeatedly by local people whenever the
question of ethnic identity was raised. Apart from a few cases, there seemed to be no
hostility between the two groups, although the Chinese clearly dominate the local
economy.
Kuwinpant did not report the use of the term chaw Wang Thong during his fieldwork
between 1974 and 1976. There were, however, two common terms used for local identity,
chaw talaad (the market people) and khon baan nok (people of the outer villages)
(Kuwinpant 1980:12, 14). Like chaw Wang Thong, the last two terms seemed, at that
time, to identify people according to residence and not ethnic identity. This suggests that
the emphasis on local identity (and not ethnic identity) had been developing for some
time before another identity began to claim a larger geographical ground, namely the
chaw Wang Thong, which includes the people in both the market and the surrounding
villages. The recent shift in identity from chaw talaad (covering only the market centre)
to chaw Wang Thong (including both the market and the surrounding villages) is likely to
be supported by the development of local transportation, changes in village economy and
the emergence of Wang Thong as a district urban centre.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 42
The construction of roads and communication networks between villages and the
market have brought the ‘market’ (talaad) and the ‘outer villages’ (bann nok) closer
together, forming an integrated community. In addition, the changes in village economy,
especially the expansion of the market network and changes in occupational patterns,
have made the two parts of the community more economically interdependent. A large
number of villagers developed extensive personal and business relationships with traders
in the market and have come to consider themselves as part of the same community. This
consciousness seems to overcome the problem of ethnic or class divisions. During our
fieldwork, we did not witness any major signs of ethnic antagonism between the Chinese
and the local Thai people, nor any serious conflicts between traders and villagers.
Although the Chinese traders are much wealthier than the local Thai, most Thais perceive
them not as alien traders who exploit the local economy, but as friends and relatives who
are successful because they work very hard. Most Thai petty traders and villagers have at
least one or two traders in the market whom they can turn to in times of need. The patron-
client relationship is common among the traders and villages. Traders, especially in
agricultural products, provide low- or zero-interest credit to their regular customers in
order to maintain their businesses. Occasionally, farmers can arrange for advance
payment from the traders, before the sale of their farm products, to meet urgent
expenses.6
In general, interethnic relations in Wang Thong are restricted to two types of
interaction: between the Chinese and the Thai traders in the market town and between the
Chinese and the Thai petty traders and villagers in the surrounding villages. A number of
Siamese Thai and Lao families who own stores or shops in the market have close
personal and business connections with the Chinese traders. Social visits and the loan of
goods when one is short of stock are common practices. Outside business, these Chinese
and Thai (and Lao) families usually know each other well as they live in the same
neighbourhood and most of their children go to the same school. In fact, almost everyone
knows each other well within the market. On the occasion of any household ritual
ceremony (for example, birth, marriage, Buddhist monk ordination), the neighbourhood
joins in without a need for formal invitations. Similarly, at events such as the communal
Buddhist meritmaking rites (ngaan bun or phitii tham bun), the neighbourhood gets
together to organise the ritual. Apart from the functional division of the market and the
neighbourhood, there is hardly any sense of division in the community. Intermarriage
between ethnic groups also helps to establish good relationships between families. With
or without actual kinship relations, most people in the community address each other by
the Thai kinship terms of phii (older brother or sister), paa (aunt: father’s or mother’s
older sister) or lung (uncle: father’s or mother’s older brother) as a way of showing
respect.7
Ethnic relations between the market Chinese and the villagers seem to be based more
heavily on their economic interdependence. Only four Chinese families actually have
kinship relations with Thai families in these villages. The rest establish their relations
with villagers through the marketing network. However, unlike the outer villages, most
Chinese know and have direct relations with a large number of villagers in the six
surrounding villages. Although such relations are based mainly on business, Thai
villagers regard the Chinese as khon ruu cak kan (people who know each other) or khon
kan eng (people of the same group), and invite or expect them to join in village social
 Civic identity and ethnicity 43
events or household ritual ceremonies. During village communal merit-making rites or
festivals (such as the boat race festival), most Chinese traders are approached by villagers
to support the events. However, at market merit-making ceremonies or other market
festivals, only the more affluent villagers feel it appropriate for them to participate.
Contrary to what Skinner and most writers on ethnic relations in Thailand suggest, the
Wang Thong community (the market and the six villages) has developed into an
economically and socially integrated unit. Both Thai and Chinese conceive of ethnicity
not based on differences, but rather as the identification based on common locality. These
two major phenomena seem to lead to the development of chaw Wang Thong, the new
identity that is shared by the Chinese and the Thai, and helps to establish the unique
patterns of ethnic relations between them. How did such a form of local identity develop
in Wang Thong? Why has residential identity become so significant in their lives? How
can the lack of ethnic antagonism in Wang Thong be accounted for? Our study suggests
that this distinct pattern of ethnic identity, the emphasis on the Wang Thong locality and
ethnic relations within the community have, in part, to do with the construction,
negotiation and appropriation of the local history and perception of the past. Each group,
whether Thai, Chinese or Lao, manipulates the past through myth, oral traditions and
rituals to claim dominance and/or legitimacy for their present social standing. The ‘past’
can be seen as a mode of human communication that reveals the underlying structure
of relations and the significant unconscious structure of belief (Kirk 1970:42). Thus, let
us see how the Chinese have been able to reconstruct local rituals, particularly the
worship of the goddess, Caw Mae Thong Kham, to justify existing social arrangements in
Wang Thong.
We suggest that the symbolic content of myth and ritual acts (the dramatic
recapitulation of myth) serve to justify existing social arrangements by validating the
rights of particular members or groups while enforcing social sanctions within that
particular social system. But even within a stable social system, and particularly in a
multiethnic setting, there may be more than one set of myths generated by different rival
groups, or factions, to validate and balance the rights and powers of each group. As
Leach (1954:278) suggests, ‘Myth and ritual is a language of signs in terms of which
claims to rights and status are expressed, but it is a language of argument, not a chorus of
harmony’.
The distinct patterns of ethnic identity, the emphasis on the Wang Thong locality and
ethnic relations within the community have arisen from the unique historical background
of the area. The history of the area and the recent development of the market and its
adjacent villages have been discussed. Let us now explore another aspect of history that
is based on the perception of the ‘past’ as reconstructed by the people in Wang Thong.

Local history, myth and ritual

As in any other society, the people of Wang Thong are both the writers and the readers of
their local history. The past has many benefits, among which are validation of the present
and enhancement of communal identity: ‘If they don’t talk about their past, they will
have no future… Their history is their identity’ (Lowenthal 1985:46). Local history, as
seen through local oral traditions, reflects both the perception of the past based on present
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 44
social conditions and the perception of the present based on conditions in the past. Oral
traditions in the form of history, legends and myth are in fact the living dialogue between
past and present conducted by the living members of the community. Claims over the
past are used to justify social standing in the present, and present social conditions are
used to manipulate and reconstruct the past. In the case of Wang Thong, the Thai, the
Chinese and the Lao each have their own version of Wang Thong’s local history and
myth, which co-exist. Although the Thai (Siamese of Central Region) are the majority
group, there is no sign that their version of local history is dominant.
The existence of these various versions of local history and myth suggests that the
groups share a considerable space in the reconstruction of their local history. In other
words, the Thai, the Chinese and the Lao each possess certain claims to the resources of
the ‘past’. This does not suggest that the resource of the ‘past’ as a whole is
proportionally allocated to each group. In the context of retelling and dramatising their
claim to the ‘past’ (ritual display of certain mythic elements related to the ‘past’), the
Chinese seem to be dominant. Each year, the Chinese traders in the market organise the
festival and ritual procession of their goddess, Caw Mae Thong Kham, who is the major
element in their version of local myth. This festival is one of the major annual events of
the entire community. The original local Thai and Lao ritual traditions have declined in
importance, and new forms of national Thai rituals have been introduced into the
community. The survival of local Chinese rituals has strengthened their version of local
history and myth about their goddess, who is believed to be the guardian of Chinese
economic well-being. Although the goddess today has become less exclusively identified
with the Chinese, the festival and ritual procession, to a certain extent, still symbolise the
Chinese (Hainanese) economic and social leadership in the Wang Thong market as well
as its surrounding villages, which have become more and more integrated into the market
economy. The three major ethnic groups of the community have developed, over time,
different versions of the Wang Thong local history and myth.

The Thai story

The Thai who told the following version of the story of Wang Thong are the Siamese
Thai of the Central Region, who form the biggest subethnic group. Unlike in other areas,
the local history of Wang Thong (according to this group) does not appear to have any
certain form as a narrative, at least in the context of Thai oral traditions. There is no
formal locally instituted body that has kept the story alive to pass on to the next
generation. Occasionally, however, the story is told by older members of the
neighbourhood to a young audience. The story of the local history told on such occasions
varies according to the storytellers and their audience.
The following version of the Wang Thong local history is compiled from stories told
at three different merit-making events by different storytellers, and from the accounts
given to us in interviews with six informants:

A long long time ago, there were two brothers who lived in a small village
far away in the north. At that time, the village was suffering from famine.
One night the two brothers had a strange dream of an old man in white
 Civic identity and ethnicity 45
clothes. In the dream, the old man told them that there was a very
prosperous piece of land waiting for them in the south where the river
runs through a large valley. There they would find themselves a
comfortable home and fertile farmland. The following day the brothers
told the other villagers about the dream and tried to persuade them to
move to the new land, but no one believed them. The two brothers,
however, headed southwards by themselves. After a few days’ journey,
they finally found the piece of land where the river (Wang Thong River)
runs through the valley. They settled down and built a small hut under the
shelter of betel nut trees on the west bank of the river. Since the land was
quite fertile, more and more families settled there and a village grew. The
farmland expanded along the west bank of the river as more families
moved in. The village became bigger, and when it was time to divide the
village, the younger brother moved southwards following the river and set
up a new village. Each brother built a temple as the centre of his village,
Wad Paamaak for Baan Paarnaak and Wad Baangsaphaan for Baan
Baangsaphaan, the new village. The two villages together formed Nakhon
Paamaak Commune (Betel Nut Forest City Commune). The name
commemorates the betel nut forest where the two brothers first settled
down in this valley. As time went by, villagers from Nakhon Paarnaak set
up more and more new villages along the river until it became a big
cluster. There were twenty villages in 1892 when the local government
recognised the importance of the community and set up the district office;
Amphoe Nakhon Paamaak then emerged. By that time, the farmland had
expanded as far as Sup Priwan (about 20 km to the north-west), but
Nakhon Paamaak remained the centre of the area; agricultural products
were gathered here before sending to Phitsanulok. Villagers from
surrounding areas came occasionally to exchange goods and food on the
playground next to the river bank halfway from Baan Paamaak to Baan
Baangsaphaan. This became a marketplace later on. At that time, it was
said that some villagers discovered gold in the river near the marketplace.
Villagers rushed out to the river but no gold was found. However, the
event was big enough to have the river named Wang Thong River (river
of the golden loop). Baan Paamaak, Wad Paamaak and Nakhon Paamaak
Commune were also renamed Baan Wang Thong, Wad Wang Thong and
Wang Thong Commune after the river. The expansion of farmland and the
development of new roads encouraged the traders and the market to move
northwards to set up a new site near Wad Wang Thong known as talaad
Chum (Chum market), which later expanded into the present Wang Thong
market. Wang Thong kept growing, more people came and, since the land
in the valley was already occupied, they headed for the forest on the
highland in the north-east. Wang Thong became the gateway to the whole
remote area in the north and north-eastern part of the province. It grew to
be the centre of at least two other districts: Nakhornthai and Noen
Mapraang.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 46
The Chinese story

The Chinese version of local history is chiefly dominated by the genealogical background
of a Hainanese family whose ancestors are said to be the founders of Wang Thong market
(Kuwinpant 1980:58–9). According to the Hainanese Chinese in Wang Thong, the local
history is based heavily on the commercial history of the market and the significant role
of the Hainanese traders in the development of the community:

About 120 years ago, the area was only a small village of a few families
surrounded by forest. A Laotian family from Vientiane came. On the way,
the only daughter of the family married a Hainanese trader who was on
his way from Phitsanulok to the north. After they were married, the
husband decided to settle down since he was told by the Laotian family
that up north there are only mountains and forest. It seemed to him that
Wang Thong was the marginal river basin village and the gateway to the
remote area up on the north and north-east highland. He was confident
that Wang Thong would one day become an important market centre. He
and his wife, Jaaj Myang, started a small shop, the first in the village and
the surrounding area, selling household groceries to villagers. The
husband spent most of the time travelling to and from Phitsanulok
bringing new stocks for the shop. Jaaj Myang ran the daily business and
dealt with the villagers at her shop. Years after, more Hainanese traders
from Phitsanulok and nearby cities came, more shops were set up and the
place soon became a market. It was then named talaad Jaaj Myang (Jaaj
Myang market). It was the Hainanese who foresaw the changes in the
agricultural market. Instead of waiting for villagers in Phitsanulok, some
of them came and started their agricultural product business in Jaaj Myang
market. Talaad Jaaj Myang grew as its scale of marketing activities
increased. It provided villagers from the nearby area with their everyday
necessities as well as served as a marketplace for them to sell their
agricultural products. Not long after, Wang Thong had the largest
Hainanese community in Phitsanulok province, second only to the
provincial city. When the Phitsanulok-Lomasak Highway was completed
in 1956, Ko Thang, a Thai-born Hainanese, one of Jaaj Myang’s great
great grandsons-in-law, was the first trader to move to the new site close
to the new highway. With permission from the district governor, he built
the new marketplace next to the district office at the corner where Wang
Thong was to become a bigger market for agricultural products.

This version of Wang Thong history, however, is not shared by all the Chinese traders in
the present-day Wang Thong market. In recent years, there has been an ever-increasing
number of non-Hainanese traders in Wang Thong market, particularly the Teochews.
These non-Hainanese Chinese view the history of Wang Thong differently. According to
them, the present-day Wang Thong is the result not of market development, but rather a
geographical shift of a single major market site. Therefore, the present significant role of
Wang Thong as a leading market centre is viewed as part of a wider and longer history of
 Civic identity and ethnicity 47
markets in the area. Their story is that, long before Wang Thong played the role of a
marketplace, and when the former Nakhon Paamaak and Bang Krathum was still one
district, the major marketplace was situated at Baan Saam Ruan in the present-day Bang
Krathum district.8 In 1898, when the district office was moved to present-day Baan Wang
Thong, the market and most of its traders shifted to talaat Chum (or talaak Jaaj Myang in
the Hainanese version) to take advantage of better communication facilities brought
about by the new district office. Finally, in 1956, after the Phitsanulok-Lomsak Highway
was completed, the market was moved to its present site.
In addition to the history of Wang Thong, there is a Hainanese legend of their goddess,
which is related to River Wang Thong and the early marketplace. The Hainanese traders
believe that Caw Mae Thong Kham, their guardian goddess, is of local origin despite her
Chinese appearance. According to the older generation of the Hainanese, the story of
Caw Mae Thong Kham is as follows:9

A long time ago when the Chinese traders first came to Wang Thong,
most of the trade was done along the river bank. Chinese traders from
Wang Thong travelling by boats followed the river to Thalo, Phijit,
Taphanhin, Bang Munnak, and as far as Paknampho.10 They carried paddy
and other agricultural products down the river to major market centres
such as Paknampho and took back manufactured goods to Wang Thong.
Because the river flow was strong, travelling upstream took almost twice
the time and labour compared with the journey from Wang Thong. One
day, a Hainanese trader travelled upstream back to Wang Thong after his
business trip to Phijit. Just before Wang Thong, he and his crew had to
stop the boat to spend the night halfway between Wang Thong and Thalo.
However, none of them could sleep in peace as they were disturbed by a
knocking sound from the rear of the boat. Each time the trader sent his
men to find out what was making the noise, the knocking stopped. Once
the men returned to bed, the knocking started again. Fear of being
attacked by forest bandits or by a ghost kept the men alert all night. The
next morning, they continued the journey. Soon after they moved the boat,
they discovered what had kept them awake the previous night. It was a
piece of wood floating at the rear. But what was strange was that, no
matter how they tried to push it away, the piece of wood kept following
the boat against the river current all the way to Wang Thong. The trader,
having other business to attend to, left the piece of wood at the river bank
and almost forgot about it. The following nights, many other traders in
Wang Thong shared a strange dream. In the dream a young and beautiful
lady in a bright golden dress asked them to build her a house, and said she
would reward them with a fortune. After a long discussion, the Hainanese
traders agreed that what they saw in the dream was a goddess asking for a
shrine to be built for her. Since they had seen the golden goddess in their
dream at the river bank, they decided to take a look at the site. Meanwhile,
the first trader, after unloading his goods, heard about the dream and
suspected that it might have something to do with the piece of wood he
had left at the river bank. Most of them agreed that the goddess in the
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 48
dream must be related to the piece of wood. They had the wood carved
into a goddess image and placed in the shrine built for her. The shrine is
located at the spot where she (the goddess spirit in that piece of wood)
first landed at Wang Thong. From that time on, all the Hainanese
businesses prospered under the protection of the goddess, Caw Mae
Thong Kham (the Golden Goddess). The market (talaad Jaaj Myang or
talaad Chum) developed into a bigger market centre. The market was
finally moved to the Caw Mae Thong Kham at the southern end of the
town, about 500 metres from the present marketplace.

The Lao story

The word ‘Lao’ used here is the general term for three culturally different groups of the
Thai-Lao people in Wang Thong. Of particular concern are the Lao who immigrated from
the provinces of the north-eastern region. In recent years, their numbers have increased
rapidly, so they play a more significant role in the community than the other two Lao
groups. The following version of their story is compiled from accounts by informants in
the villages of Baan Nam Duan and Baan Din Thong. These accounts were related to us
on three different occasions when the villagers were asked about the history of their
ancestors who immigrated to the area:

Hundreds of years ago, there was a great Naaj Hoj from the north-east
plateau who led the buffalo trains from the North-eastern Region into the
upper Central Region. On his last trip, at the age of fifty, he was on his
way back after his sale of cattle when he saw a huge curtain of rain
hanging across the sky. Since the rain was heavy, he and his men decided
to make camp and stay the night at the foot of the Khaw Kayaang
mountain (present-day Kaeng Sophaa area). When they awoke the next
morning to a clear sky, the Naaj Hoj ordered his men to prepare for the
journey. Just after they finished packing and were about to set out on the
journey, the heavy rain started again. This went on for many days even
though it was the dry season. Finally, he decided to brave the heavy rain,
which kept on for three days. Before he and his men could go very far, the
Naaj Hoj fell ill with forest fever. That night, he saw the god of the forest
in his dream. The god threatened to take his life unless he stopped raising
animals to be killed and took up farming instead. In the dream, the Naaj
Hoj made the excuse that his homeland was dry and infertile and there
was nothing he could grow. In response, the god allowed them to settle in
this area. The next morning he told his men the dream and said that he had
made a pact with the forest god to give up leading buffalo trains and to
settle down in the area. The men, after experiencing all these off-season
rains, and all the trouble, agreed with him. From then on, more and more
Lao villages settled in the area.
 Civic identity and ethnicity 49
The distinctive elements in these stories clearly reflect the identities of these people and
their ethnic origin. No matter how strange the Thai, the Chinese and the Lao stories might
be, they were all constructed according to each culture and identity. There are obviously
three major sets of distinct ethno-cultural and mythic elements, as shown in Table 2.1.
Although the stories as told by the three ethnic groups share several common
elements, there are also elements that belong exclusively to each group. For the Thai, the
old man in white garb is generally believed by many villagers to be the ancestral spirit.
The story of Ramayana, from which are drawn the characters of Hanuman and Rama, has
long been syncretised into Thai legends and folktales. For the Chinese, the story of
the Golden Goddess is identical to the Hainanese deity, Shui Wei Niang, worshipped in
Hainanese communities in the northern part of the country. In the case of the Lao, the
term Naaj Hoi and the cattle-trading tradition are obviously of north-eastern region
Lao origin.
These stories share a common emphasis on local geographical elements, such as the
mountain, the lake, the river and the hill route. Each group used these elements to point to
the specific locality. The stories also have the same basic function: they describe why and
how each group came to settle in this area. By using supernatural figures and their
mystical powers, each story also establishes the right of each ethnic group to be in the
community. The Thai were inspired by their ancestral spirit (old man in the dream) to
come to Wang Thong and were promised this fertile valley. The Chinese, who came to
trade, have the blessing of their ‘local’ goddess to stay and prosper in Wang Thong. The
Lao, on the other hand, have their right over their land because their ancestors (the Naaj
Hoj and his team) were granted this land by the forest god.

Table 2.1 Ethno-cultural and mythic elements in

oral history and myth
Thai Chinese Lao
The dream The river trader The Naaj Hoi
Old man in white clothes The sacred wood The off-season rainstorm
Hanuman The dream The dream
Rama of Ayothaya The goddess The forest god
The magic horse The blessing of the goddess Buddhist concept of karma
Giant fish The forest god granting land Buddhist concept of karma

That these ethno-culturally distinct stories co-exist within the socially and economically
harmonious community of Wang Thong suggests an interesting pattern of social
formation: the crystallisation of community where distinct ethnic groups share the same
space in the reconstruction of local history and myth, and the right of each group over the
community. However, in the context of recapitulating the ‘past’ (in terms of retelling and
dramatising the elements of the past in certain versions of history or myth), only the
Chinese have played a significant role. Unlike the Thai and Lao, the Chinese manage to
keep and display the ritual traditions directly related to the major elements in their
version of local history and myth, and thereby surpass the others in their claim to
the ‘past’.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 50
Ritual display of the goddess

In Wang Thong market town (including some immediate adjacent villages), the ritual
calendar comprises three major events: the Buddha’s Footprint Festival at Khaw
Samokhlaeng, the annual procession of the goddess Caw Mae Thong Kham and the boat
race of Wang Thong River.11 Among these, the procession of the goddess is the largest
celebration. Despite its obvious Chinese appearance, this festival has drawn the attention
of not just the Chinese but also the Thai people in both the town and nearby villages. The
festival can be interpreted as a local institution that links different groups in the
community. The social significance of the festival is, first, the transformation of the
goddess from a foreign deity into a local goddess and, second, in bringing together
different groups of Chinese as well as the local Thai people in one common cultural
function.
It cannot be ascertained when and by whom the shrine to the goddess was built. The
older generation of Hainanese Chinese, however, claims that the worship of the goddess
Caw Mae Thong Kham has been a part of the local community since the early days of
Wang Thong market. Among Hainanese traditional deities is a goddess called Shui Wei
Niang, who has been worshipped by most Hainanese boatmen, river traders and boat
builders.12 Shui Wei Niang’s festivals and shrines dedicated to her are found in almost
every Hainanese settlement in the northern part of Thailand. Many of these shrines date
back to the early nineteenth century, and the goddess has somehow adopted the Thai
name of Caw Mae Thab Thim.13 Although the younger generation of Hainanese
descendants might not know the name Shui Wei Niang, it is cross-generational
knowledge that Caw Mae Thab Thim is of Hainanese origin.
As the Chinese community of Wang Thong has been dominated by the Hainanese
from the beginning, it is possible that the early Hainanese pioneers brought this particular
deity with them. As they were mainly river traders and boat builders, the worship of Shui
Wei Niang must have been an important part of their ritual life in the early days. In
addition, many of the Chinese inscriptions in the shrine were dedicated to Shui Wei
Niang. However, instead of adopting the Thai name Caw Mae Thab Thim for this deity
as did other Hainanese communities, the Hainanese of Wang Thong chose the name
Caw Mae Thong Kham for their goddess. This may be because, in the process of
re-negotiating their ethnic identity, the Hainanese of Wang Thong also transformed the
features of their deity, converting her from a foreign deity into a local goddess, who
thereby became a genius loci. The myth of the goddess and the emphasis on her local
name play an important part in validating their identification with the local community
and the consequent rights entailed in such an identification. Thus, here lies the emphasis
and incorporation of specific local geographical elements with the Chinese mythic
elements of this particular deity. The original name of the goddess, Shui Wei Niang,
which literally means ‘the goddess of the lower stream’, was localised and became Caw
Mae Thong Kham, the Golden Goddess (Wang Thong means ‘golden loop’). In this way,
the Hainanese gain both the claim to the community and the protection of a ‘local’
goddess.
Another significant aspect of the festival is that it reflects the changing pattern in intra-
ethnic relations among the Chinese. In recent years, many non-Hainanese Chinese have
settled in the market town of Wang Thong. Although the Hainanese are still the major
 Civic identity and ethnicity 51
subethnic Chinese group, the changing subethnic composition in the marketplace has
affected the long-standing tradition of Hainanese dominance. The goddess has also been
appropriated by her non-Hainanese ‘clients’. Thus, non-Hainanese serve on the shrine
committee, and non-Hainanese rituals are included in the goddess’s procession. For
example, according to traders, the procession of the goddess has begun to incorporate the
Eng Ko dance. The term Eng Ko itself is Teochew, and the dance is a form of traditional
Teochew folk dance imitating the ‘108 Bandits of Liang Shan’ in the Chinese classic Shui
Hu Chuan.14 Many Hainanese recognised this Teochew tradition but did not object to its
inclusion in the festival.
These modifications in the Caw Mae Thong Kham ritual reveal that the two dialect
group identities are merging into a more compromising pattern of Chinese identity based
on their local business and social interdependence. The goddess who was once
responsible for the well-being of the Hainanese has now extended her protection to the
Teochew as well as the Hakka.
But this does not suggest a decline in Hainanese dominance. Although the goddess has
become less exclusive, she is still the symbol of the business interests and communal
leadership of the Hainanese. Thus, the preparation of reception tables and the act of ritual
submission to the goddess by non-Hainanese traders are, more or less, the signs of local
acceptance of Hainanese authority. In 1984, among thirty-six non-Hainanese stores and
service shops on the procession route, thirty-one had prepared their reception tables to
honour the procession.15
The final aspect of the festival is its role in the relationship between the Chinese and
the Thai. The Thai view the festival as either inclusive or exclusive, depending on how
close the individual is to the market community. Thai villagers are divided by their social
and economic connection with the traders; those who consider themselves part of the
market see the festival as a local event. Although they do not participate fully in the ritual
or the feast, many come to the festival to enjoy the fringe activities, such as the operas or
film shows. The festival, therefore, provides opportunities for the Chinese and Thai to
interact, enabling the Thai to become more familiar with the Chinese ritual.
The Thai who do not have a close business connection with the market and those who
reside in the outer villages view the festival as exclusively for the market people. They
refer to the festival as Ngaan Caw Mae Wang Thong, the Festival of the Goddess of
Wang Thong. The main reasons why they feel excluded from the festival are that they are
not the people of Wang Thong, nor the market people, and neither are they rich nor well
known. Only a very small number say they do not join the festival because it is Chinese.
The differences between these two groups of Thai demonstrate quite clearly that, despite
her Chinese origin, the goddess Caw Mae Thong Kham has become an integral part of
the Wang Thong locality. The Thai who consider themselves as chaw Wang Thong,
therefore, see the festival as part of their local social events; implicitly, there is some
recognition that the Chinese are an integral part of the community.

The Buddha’s footprint

Each year commencing on the twelfth day of the third month in the Thai lunar calendar, a
major event is organised at the temple Wad Khaw Samokhlaeng.16 This is referred to by
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 52
the locals as well as those in Phitsanulok as Ngann Phraphudthabaad Khaw
Samokblaeng, the Festival of the Buddha’s Footprint at Khaw Samokhlaeng.17 The
festival lasts at least three days and has drawn crowds of 7,000 to 8,000 pilgrims. Most
come from Phitsanulok city or nearby provinces. According to the abbot of Wad Khaw
Samokhlaeng, only one in twenty pilgrims is from Wang Thong, and fewer than 100
pilgrims are from Wang Thong town itself. Nevertheless, it is still necessary to discuss
the pattern of ritual activities in this festival to understand the changes in local ritual
practices. Such changes demonstrate the decline of original local Thai ritual practices and
the introduction of central, national Siamese Thai ritual practices that have, in the long
term, weakened a sense of local vis-à-vis national identity.
Unlike in most other local Buddhist festivals, the preparation of Ngann
Phraphudthabaad Khaw Samokhlaeng is largely done by the wad in co-operation with the
provincial and local authorities rather than by the local lay community. The festival
comprises four sessions daily. The first is the Phithii Tukbaad Ruam, a collective offering
of food to the monks. The second, Thambun Liang Peen, requires the offering of food
and other necessities (sometimes money) to the monks. The third and most important
ritual is the Wian Thian (circling) and Pidthongphra (gliding) the Mondob and the
Buddha Footprint in the evening. Wian Thian is a ritual practice common in most
Buddhist festivals. Literally, the words Wian Thian mean circling with candles. Buddhist
monks and laymen, holding candles, incense and flowers, circle a sacred building or
place of worship in a clockwise direction.18 Pidthongphra, on the other hand, is a practice
of Thai origin involving the craft of gliding.19 Judging from the number of participants in
these rituals, the Wian Thian and Pidthong session is considered the focus of the whole
festival. It is only in this ritual that the Phuuwarachakarn Cangwad (the Provincial
Governor) and other leading figures of Phitsanulok participate in the festival. However,
as the pattern of these ritual sessions is repeated every day, the Phuuwarachakarn
Cangwad only appears on the first day.
Entertainment is provided after the completion of the formal procession. In 1987,
during each festival night, films were shown until 3 a.m. Like many other Buddhist
festivals, entertainment of this kind is provided partly by the lay community and partly by
the wad. Apart from the films, there are many other activities, similar to those in a local
funfair, on the wad ground. Throughout the festival, this four-session ritual is repeated
daily. The difference is that the formality of the ritual declines after the first day, as does
the number of participants from the lay community.
As far as the local people could determine, the Khaw Samokhlaeng festival started
about twenty years ago. It was not until 1953 that the present monastery was
re-established. Before then, Wad Khaw Samokhlaeng and six other monastery sites on
the mountain had been ruins for more than a century. Some years later, the second abbot
of Wad Khaw Samokhlaeng, with support from Phitsanulok and local authorities,
restored some of the more accessible footprints and built a mondob over the biggest one
near the monastery.
Our own investigations suggest that, before the initiation of rituals in their present
form, there might have been a locally instituted pattern of ritual activities at the Khaw
Samokhlaeng. At the foothills of Khaw Samokhlaeng, right beside the highway, where
the old village of Baan Khaw Samokhlaeng once stood, there is an ancient well called Bo
Chang Luang. Elderly villagers in the nearby villages said there used to be an annual
 Civic identity and ethnicity 53
ritual of Ram Chaang at the well, although we could not find any villager who knew how
the ritual was performed. These local rituals have disappeared and been replaced by the
new form of the central region Siamese-oriented ritual activities. As with most rural
communities throughout the history of centralisation, regional rural communities have
had to sacrifice their local identities under the premise of nation unification. In the case of
Wang Thong, although the introduction of the new state-sponsored ritual is not directly
responsible for the decline of locally instituted ritual practices, such additions make it
harder for a local community to revive rituals that are closely associated with local
history, identity and affiliation with the community.
The festival, as presently celebrated, is a provincial event rather than a local one. The
provincial administration in Phitsanulok has promoted it as one of the major tourist
attractions in the province (especially in 1987, when the central Thai government had just
started its tourist promotion campaign in the ‘Visit Thailand Year’). The extensive
involvement of government officials at the provincial and district levels can be explained
in two ways. First, it is their official duty to participate, as each local office represents the
political power of the central government. As Buddhism is the state-sponsored religion, it
is the task of the government and its local agents to ensure that the best facilities are
provided. Unlike other non-Buddhist rites (for example, the Chinese goddess procession),
the heads of government departments have to appear alongside the Buddhist hierarchy.
This may be because, in the traditional Thai political ideology derived from the Phra
Thammasaad, the Anaacak (the state) and Saadsanacak (the Sangha) are described as the
two allied powers of the land. The Phuuwarachakarn Cangwad and the Buddhist
hierarchy of Phitsanulok are therefore local symbols of the dominant political and
religious power. Second, many officials believe that personal involvement in this kind of
major event will improve their popularity. As most of the senior officials did not
originally belong to the local community, they want to gain local popularity. Although
they are more concerned with their superiors in Bangkok, they also have to establish
good public relations with the local community. It is said that the central government
sometimes takes this aspect of public relations as an indicator of successful and
industrious officials, especially among the local governors.
Compared with the procession of the goddess, the festival at Wad Khaw Samokhlaeng
has very different effects in terms of local identity. The Chinese have transformed their
traditional deity into the most dominant local goddess, and she provides them not only
with business protection, but with a claim to local identity (chaw Wang Thong).
Paradoxically, local history, myth and the original local identity of the ‘Thai’ population
have no place in this modern version of imported Buddhist rites. Earlier forms of ritual
activities, which reinforced their identity and legitimised their claim to the community,
have given way to state-sponsored rites. Although the rituals of the Buddha Footprint
festival do not dramatise the entire myth of Buddha’s Footprint, we see it as the mythic
recapitulation of a two-fold story. The first part is the triumph of Buddhism over the
indigenous gods, and the second is the domination of the central Siamese-oriented
identity over local identity.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 54

The boat race

In traditional Thai rural society, villagers hold an annual ceremonial boat race at the end
of the rainy season. Similar boat race traditions are found in other parts of mainland
South-east Asia—Burma (now Myanmar), Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam. However, there
are differences in the ritual and in the degree of significance among these South-east
Asian boat race customs.
In Wang Thong, the boat race has its own unique origin. According to the older
generations, the original boat race was exclusively between the villages of Baan Wang
Thong and Baan Baang Saphaan. Although the race took place in November after the
rainy season, members of the older generation of both villages insisted that the boat race
was a festival on its own and not part of the Buddhist Kathin Offering Festival that comes
after the end of the Khaw Phansaa period (the Buddhist Lent). This original boat race
rite, however, had ceased to exist by the 1940s.
The early Wang Thong-Baan Saphaan communities relied heavily on the Wang Thong
river. Before the construction of the highways, most of the southbound traffic to Phijit
and Nakhorn Sawan was by boat. Even before the arrival of the Chinese traders, villagers
must have had some network of economic exchange among the villages along the river.
The so-called ‘Brotherly Villages boat race’ could symbolise such a relationship. If this
was the case, then the decline of their original boat race tradition might be the direct
result of the development of the overall regional transportation. The construction of
highways and roads changed the mode of transportation and, in some cases, even
changed the physical arrangement of villages and market centres. Most houses in the
villages were moved away from the river bank to be near the roads. The market centre
also moved twice after the construction of new roads and highways.20
The present form of the boat race festival in Wang Thong was introduced only a few
years ago. In 1982, a plan to introduce the annual boat race in Wang Thong River was
discussed by senior local officials, traders of Wang Thong market, farmer organisations
and the abbot of Wad Baang Saphaan. According to some senior officials who attended
the meeting, the main objective of the boat race was to promote Khwaam Saamakkhii Naj
Chum Chon, the unity of the community. The plan, however, did not seem to be based on
the original tradition of the community, as those who were asked to form the racing teams
represented not the Wang Thong-Baang Saphaan community, but farmer and village
organisations set up by the government’s rural policy. The racing boats were sent in by
five major teams representing Wang Thong: the Wang Thong Trader Community (mostly
Chinese traders), the Farmer Organisation of Baan Nam Duan, the Farmer Cooperative of
Baan Wang Phrom, the Khloong Ped Farmer Group and the villagers of Baan Baang
Saphaan.
The race was officially opened by the District Officer, Naaj Amphoe. The winning
team and their sponsors and friends may hold a feast at the close of the event. Unlike the
festival of the Buddha Footprint at Khaw Samokhlaeng, the present form of the boat race
involves few rituals. Apart from the involvement of local officials, the boat race reflects a
different pattern of development. The syncretised form of pre-Indianised and Buddhist
boat-racing tradition (involving both totemic dualism and Buddhist Kathin festival
 Civic identity and ethnicity 55
symbolism) seems to have been replaced by one in which the myth about the origin of the
community and the relationship between the two brotherly villages (Baan Wang Thong
and Baan Baang Saphaan) was dramatised and reinforced. This tradition in turn declined
(because of the development in local transportation) and was replaced by the modern
form of the Siamese boat race tradition. Such a development reflected the decline of local
Thai myth and history (of the two brotherly villages). This contrasts strongly with the
vigour of the Chinese historical tradition, expressed as a thriving ritual.

Discussion and conclusion

This chapter concerns itself with three closely inter-related issues: changes in ethnicity;
the pattern of ethnic relations in Wang Thong; and the role of local history, myth and
rituals in ethnic relations and local civic identity. We suggest three points to consider in
delineating the boundaries of ethnic identity. First, ethnic identity is not necessarily based
on a universal set of cultural or sentimental attachments. Chinese ethnicity, in this study,
derives from various historical backgrounds, different dialect groups and many forms of
cultural practices, although all identify themselves as ‘Chinese’. Second, even among the
Chinese of the same dialect group, there are changes in cultural practice in different
generations, bringing forth a diversity of practices, lifestyles and beliefs among people
who call themselves ‘Chinese’. Third, in any open society exposed to a wide range of
cosmopolitan practices and ideas because of modernisation and development, there is a
tendency for members of different ethnic groups to hold many practices and beliefs in
common, thus becoming increasingly more like each other.
These three points are best borne in mind when defining who is Chinese and the
pattern of ethnic relations. This chapter suggests a broader definition of the Chinese in
Thailand than was found in earlier studies. Taking into account the changes in ethnicity,
we suggest that Chinese immigrants and their descendants by and large still possess their
distinct ethnic ‘Chinese’ identity. Regardless of the practices that differ from their
ancestors’, people are considered Chinese as long as they identify themselves as Chinese
(Bao 1995). In the case of Chinese descendants whose lifestyles appear to be no different
from those of the Thai, this study suggests that such a phenomenon is not necessarily the
result of assimilation. The apparent similarities between the Thai and Chinese
descendants can be the result of both groups adopting wider cosmopolitan practices and
beliefs, chief among which are those related to western symbols and material culture
(Bao 1995).
In the smaller Chinese community of upcountry Thailand, particularly in Wang
Thong, the pattern of changes in Chinese ethnicity seems to confirm this hypothesis.
Although it has been suggested in earlier studies that the Chinese in rural areas are more
easily assimilated into local Thai culture and society, we found that the majority of the
Chinese and their descendants still preserve their identity as Chinese. Like Chinese
communities elsewhere, conceptions of Chinese ethnicity in Wang Thong vary according
to different dialect groups and different generations, spawning a host of mutual subethnic,
intergenerational stereotypes (Bao 1995). In other words, the idea of Chinese identity
itself is dynamic. Adoption of some Thai cultural practices is common among many
Chinese families, but it does not have much effect on their identity as ‘Chinese’.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 56
The definition of Chinese ethnicity among the local-born Chinese is also changing.
The majority see their Chinese identity as related more to ancestral origins and less to
Chinese cultural practices. They see the changes in Chinese cultural practices as adaptive
responses to changes in their settlement—a core argument of the ‘emergent ethnicity’
hypothesis (Yancey et al. 1976), namely that an immigrant group’s ethnicity has more to
do with ‘where one is at’ than with ‘where one is from’ (Ang 1993). Nevertheless, for the
time being, a number of basic original Chinese practices, especially those concerned with
the worship of ancestors’ spirits and Chinese deities, have changed very little.
The effects of cosmopolitan ideas and practices can also be seen in a small community
such as Wang Thong. Almost every aspect of life in the most remote villages of Wang
Thong district has changed rapidly in the last twenty years. Economic development and
new communication facilities have exposed the local population to new forms of ‘modern
culture’ and a ‘new way of life’. Many Thai and Chinese have now become more similar
to each other as a result. On the relations between the Thai and the Chinese, this chapter
offers two significant findings. First, the Chinese have not been assimilated into ‘Thai
culture’, but into a wider modern form of materialist cultural practice that has been
adopted and accepted by both the Thai and the Chinese.21 Second, the present
co-operative relations between the Thai and the Chinese of Wang Thong are based not on
the assimilation of their cultural practices but on their dialectically developed as well as
mutually shared civic identity.
One major problem in any discourse on assimilation is how ‘Thai culture’ is defined.
This chapter suggests a pattern of non-universal Thai cultural identity, that is, the Thai
people are not culturally homogeneous. In present-day Thailand, apart from the southern
region, there are three major subethnic Thai groups: the Siamese in the central region, the
Lao in the north-eastern region and the Khon Muang in the northern region (which are
further subdivided into many more smaller cultural groupings). Each of these subethnic
groups has its own distinct historical and cultural identity. Nevertheless, their
geographical movement, as a result of wars or economic conditions, has reshaped the
boundary of these cultural regions and transformed many parts of the country into a
multicultural society of subethnic groups with a variety of cultural standards. In Wang
Thong, the area at the junction of three cultural regions, the history of multicultural and
multiethnic association can be traced back to the Sukhothai period. Apart from the
Chinese, the area is composed of various subethnic Thai groups. In recent years, many of
their original cultural practices have become less distinct but, at the same time, many
others endure, contributing to the continuity of their subethnic identities. The adoption of
different practices and beliefs across subethnic lines is common among Thai villagers,
but it appears to be selective and circumstantial. A person is free to adopt any practice,
belief or value standard without altering his subethnic identity. In addition to these
subcultural norms among the Thai, other forms of ‘modern practices’ introduced from
Bangkok or western culture are also casually adopted. This pattern of eclectic cultural
adoption is also true of the local-born Chinese.
The pattern of ethnic relations between the Thai and the Chinese is based on a
common identity shared by both the Thai and the Chinese. In Wang Thong, the issue of
local civic identity is more salient than the ethnic identity of the individual members. The
term chaw Wang Thong, the people of Wang Thong, unites members of the local
community regardless of their original ethnic identity. The Chinese are able to become an
 Civic identity and ethnicity 57
integrated part of the community, or even dominate the community, because the local
Thai people acknowledge their chaw Wang Thong identity. To acquire this local civic
identity, the Chinese have demonstrated to the Thai people that (despite their ethnic
identity) they and their ancestors were part of the history, prosperity and identity of the
local community. Consequently, they too have rights in the community.
The final issue of the chapter is concerned with local history, myth and ritual, in an
attempt to explain how and why the Chinese have succeeded in their claim to local
history and the community. We propose three explanations. First, as the Thai, Chinese
and Lao moved into Wang Thong (the present market town and the adjacent villages) at
about the same time during the period of resettlement in the early nineteenth century,
each group has been able to establish its own version of local history and myth without
challenge from the Thai as majority group. Second, at present, only the Chinese manage
to preserve a ritual that was directly related to their version of local history and myth.
Finally, most of the original local Thai and Lao rituals related to their local history
and myth have disappeared or been transformed by the stronger central Siamese
cultural force.
The last resettlement of the area in the middle of the nineteenth century saw a number
of culturally distinct ethnic and subethnic groups moving in. Although some of the
Siamese villagers might have been migrating back to their ancestral homeland,
the majority were newcomers to the area. Each of these groups brought with them their
original culture in interaction with (or in adaptation to) their experiences during
migration, which formed their local history and myth. The Chinese, though fewer in
number, gradually established a small trading centre in Wang Thong and reconstructed
their own version of the local history and myth based on their trading experiences on the
river. The diversity of the Thai versions of local history and myth, resulting from
differences in their subethnic groups, makes their story less uniform. Unlike Thai local
history elsewhere in the country, the Thai versions of Wang Thong local history and
myth have not been dominant enough to supplant the Chinese version or monopolise the
reconstruction of local history and myth. Thus, side by side with the Thai, the Chinese
have preserved their version of local history and myth and passed them on to their local-
born descendants.
What keeps their stories alive is the ritual display of their local history and myth,
especially in their annual worship of the goddess Caw Mae Thong Kham. Although many
features of the ritual are distinctly Chinese in origin, the majority of the local Thai people
acknowledge that the festival is, as a whole, a local tradition. The festival thus performs a
dual task. First, it recapitulates the Chinese version of local history and myth and keeps
the stories alive. Second, it enhances the Chinese account of the origin of the community
and, hence, also enhances their right to membership in the community.
At the same time, many of the local Thai ritual practices related to their story of local
history and myth have declined in recent years. Our study cites two major Thai annual
events which demonstrate the pattern of changes in local Thai rituals. The festival of the
Buddha’s Footprint at Khaw Samokhlaeng shows the introduction of centralised Siamese
Thai ritual practice into the area. The boat race of Wang Thong River shows how local
ritual declined after changes in the economic and geographical structure of the
community, and how a new tradition was introduced by central, tradition-oriented
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 58
government officials. In both cases, changes in local Thai rituals have resulted in the
decline of the Thai local history and myth.
Whereas other scholars have chosen to analyse Thai-Chinese relations in terms of
assimilation, we suggest a new analytical approach focusing on three issues: changing
concepts of ethnicity of different groups; the interethnic relationship between the Chinese
and the Thai; and the use of the ‘past’ in attempts to establish rights in the local
community. Our analysis is based on two main hypotheses. The first is that the ethnic
identity of the Chinese in Wang Thong has been re-negotiated from their original Chinese
identity to a more dynamic and localised identity. Although many aspects of their cultural
practices have changed (as a result of adopted local Thai practices or ‘modern’ cultural
practices), they remain Chinese. The second hypothesis is that the pattern of ethnic
relations between the Thai and the Chinese population of Wang Thong has been
determined by the Chinese claim to membership in the community and the Thai attitude
to that claim. This second hypothesis is closely linked with the use of the ‘past’ by each
group (in the reconstruction and recapitulation of the ‘past’).
Our analysis begins with the resource of the ‘past’—history, myth and ritual. In Wang
Thong, although the Chinese have more or less an equal share in reconstructing local
history and myth, they surpass the Thai in recapitulating their version. The Chinese are
the only group that manages to maintain ritual practices that keep alive the essential
elements in their version of local history and myth. Thus, they have acquired membership
in the local community chaw Wang Thong despite the fact that their ethnic identity
differs. This claim to local community is the key factor that privileges the Chinese in
their relations with the Thai.
There are five direct consequences arising from the Chinese claim to local community
and civic identity. The first two consequences are the right to exploit the local economy
and the right to compete for leadership in the community. In Wang Thong, the Chinese
have been quite successful in both areas. They have achieved greater control over the
local economy than the Thai, and many Chinese traders have been acknowledged as
leaders of the community (within the boundary of the market town and its adjacent
villages). The Thai accept Chinese control because they see the Chinese as legitimate
members of the community. Chinese domination over local economy and leadership in
return enhances their power to manipulate the ‘past’ and to maintain their version of local
history and myth. For the Chinese, the past, the present and the future feed each other.
The other three consequences are concerned with the persistence of and changes in
other aspects of their identity. One consequence is that the Chinese are able to keep their
Chinese identity and many of their cultural practices (although both their identity and
their cultural practices are firmly embodied in their version of local history, myth and
ritual). Moreover, because their civic identity is based on the resources of the ‘past’, the
Chinese are not committed to assimilation to gain local recognition. However, because
the Chinese version of local history and myth is reconstructed in such a way that it can be
identified with the local community, some aspects of their cultural practices and beliefs
have been renegotiated. This process of re-negotiation in their identity does not fall into
the assimilation category, but can be better described as a merger or fusion of Chinese
ethnic identity and local identity. Examples of such processes are the construction of the
local goddess whose name coincides with the name of the river and the community
(Thong Kham and Wang Thong) but preserves all other characteristics of the Chinese
 Civic identity and ethnicity 59
deity Shui Wei Niang; and the adoption of the term luuk laan ciin Wang Thong (Chinese
children and grandchildren of Wang Thong) to indicate both the identity of the Chinese
and Wang Thong. The final consequence of the Chinese claim to local community and
civic identity is in their identification on the national level. Once the Chinese acquire the
civic identity of chaw Wang Thong, they are automatically recognised as rightful citizens
of Thailand regardless of their persistent Chinese ethnic identity, especially among the
local-born descendants. This national identity as citizens of Thailand, in return,
legitimises their economic and political rights.
This study has shown a unique pattern of development in Chinese ethnicity and ethnic
relations between the Thai and the Chinese. Although the Chinese of Wang Thong at
present may not appear as a distinct ethnic group because of the ethnic re-negotiation
process, their identity, to a certain extent, remains Chinese. Also, the chapter suggests
that the present state of ethnic relations between the Thai and the Chinese has been
determined by the issue of the ‘past’. The new approach employed in this study and the
new explanation of Thai-Chinese ethnic relations might help us to increase our
understanding of situations in other parts of the country. However, until more studies on
other communities are carried out, it would be premature to suggest any generalised
pattern of Thai-Chinese ethnic relations for Thailand as a whole. Our own experience in
Wang Thong suggests that developments in ethnic relations in each community operate
within a set of variables that set it apart and have to be considered separately.
For anthropology as a whole, this study sheds light on three particular areas. The first
relates to the studies of ethnicity and ethnic relations. This chapter suggests a distinct
approach to considering the structure of ethnicity. Ethnic characteristics of any ethnic
group have never been a rigid set of static physical or cultural qualities because such
qualities are inherently dynamic. Despite wearing the same ethnic label, each generation
has developed its own concept of ethnic identity—based on what has been passed on to
them and their new experiences. Changes in the identity of any ethnic group, therefore,
could be the result of its internal development as well as its interaction with other ethnic
groups. Given this inherent dynamism and indeterminacy of ethnicity, social scientists
seem to be confronted with a new ethnicity each time a new case is discovered. The
traditional approach of ethnic classification by, for example, culture, language and
education seems to provide us with a picture of ethnic groups that no longer exist.
Conceptions of ethnicity and ethnic groups themselves thus become the core of one’s
research problem rather than the means of research. Second, in the study of history, myth
and ritual, this chapter confirms the functionalist view on the power of the ‘past’. History,
myth and ritual have been used by different groups of people in society as a powerful
resource to secure and legitimise their interests. Moreover, we suggest that, unless it is
retold or recapitulated, the possession of the ‘past’ by itself is powerless. By retelling or
dramatising the story of the ‘past’ (history and myth), the possessor has enlivened
particular elements of the ‘past’ that can determine the ‘present’. Finally, in the studies of
Thai society, apart from Thai-Chinese ethnic relations, this chapter has presented an
original account of local Thai history, myth and ritual that may contribute to an
anthropological understanding of other aspects of the area.
 3
The migrant family drama

Long, a thirty-eight-year-old man, came to Singapore in 1997. He had been an engineer

in China. Through friends who were working in Singapore, he learned of a job opening
there and relocated.1 A year later, his wife, Jian, joined him. Jian, a doctor with more than
eight years of medical practice, was unable to recertify herself in Singapore; she gave up
her medical practice and worked part-time in a Chinese language school.2 Their son,
Guang, arrived with Long’s parents, who had taken care of him since Jian’s departure,
the following year. Guang attended a local primary school near their flat in the eastern
part of the island. After school, Long’s retired parents looked after him.
In 1992, Le, in his late thirties, came to Singapore from Australia, where he had
studied and worked. His wife joined him in Australia in 1988, a few months after his
arrival there. Their daughter, Lydia, who was then only a year old, was left in China with
her maternal grandparents. Le did not know about this childcare arrangement until he met
his wife at the airport.3 When he was recruited to Singapore, arrangements were made for
Lydia to rejoin them. While Le continued to pursue his career, his wife gave up her job as
a human resources manager. The woman who never had any intention of becoming a full-
time homemaker was forced to become one.
Ling came to Singapore in 1997; her daughter, En, followed a year later. Her husband,
the first in the family to move, had made use of his technical skills, which were in high
demand in Singapore then, to facilitate his move out of China. Ling followed shortly after
but, while her husband had maintained his job status, Ling lost hers. Despite a good
degree from a renowned university and years of experience in teaching, she could not
find a job in her previous field. She went back to school to ‘upgrade’ her skills.
Zhen, 27, was engaged to a childhood friend, Shan, who went to Singapore in mid-
1996 for his postgraduate studies. The two did not see each other again until Shan went
back to China for their wedding in December 1998. They used letters, email and
telephone calls to make their marriage preparations. Within a year and a half, they gave
birth to a son. They lived in a flat with their son and Shan’s mother, who came to take
care of the baby. This arrangement enabled Zhen to return to work after her one-month
maternity leave. She worked as an administrative clerk in an insurance company, a job
that she ‘luckily’ found soon after arriving in Singapore.4
Throughout history the Chinese have always migrated. Each migration is the result of
different circumstances and has its own opportunities and constraints. The peak of
Chinese out-migration occurred at the turn of the twentieth century, when massive
numbers flowed out of China to all parts of the world during the ‘coolie trade’, but
Chinese migrations did not begin or end there (Sowell 1996; Pan 1998).5 Migrations have
continued until this very day.
 The migrant family drama 61
Compared with other countries,6 Singapore is a different sort of destination for
Chinese migrants. Unlike other places where the Chinese are a minority and often live
together in the same area as obvious ‘foreigners’, Chinese foreign-ness in Singapore,
where the Chinese majority stands at 76.8 per cent, seems relatively inconspicuous. This,
however, does not mean that the divide is invisible (Clammer 1983; Suryadinata 1985).
In fact, constant efforts to distinguish between each other are made not only by the local
Chinese Singaporeans but also by the Chinese from China.7
Social distance is evident. Despite being so close in physical appearance to the
Chinese ‘natives’ that few can tell the two apart, the migrants from China remain
‘foreign’ and, therefore, at a distance. Like Simmel’s stranger,8 contemporary Chinese
migrants work and live in Singapore, and are ‘fixed’ there as a social type. The migrant
has not ‘belonged there from the very beginning’, and remains foreign and strange.

Some theoretical and methodological issues

Migration studies have become more important than before as the movement of people
around the globe increases in magnitude and frequency, both within and across national
boundaries. With a significant proportion of the world’s population having moved from
their place of birth, and the global volume of remittances estimated at US$71.1 billion in
1990,9 research attention has been focused on the centrality of international migration in
world development.10 The conventional structural approach, emphasising historical
transformations, uses push and pull factors to account for movements between cities and
countries (Pearse 1970; Griffin 1976; Sassen-Koab 1983), hypothesising that pull factors
at the place of destination and push factors at the place of origin induce movement. This
macroscopic explanation, however, lacks power of predictability. Focusing on uniformity
in thoughts and interests, rather than on variations, this conventional approach fails to
explain why some move while many others facing the same conditions stay put. The
conceptual gap between structural conditions and individual actions is thus left
unbridged. Moreover, push and pull factors are not explicit, simple or exhaustive. With
each migrant holding on to his individual list of so-called repulsive and attractive
conditions, how can family migration be explained, where individuals with very different
agendas move together?
Following Ravinestein’s ‘laws of migration’ (1885),11classical economics emerged to
take part in ‘reading’ migration decisions and trends (Sjaastad 1962; Lee 1969). Neo-
classical labour economics, in its endeavour to fill the gap left by the push-pull theory,
suggested that movement can be predicted by taking into consideration all the individual
members’ expected costs and returns. When the present value of net benefits, after
discounting the real interest rate, is positive,12 migration occurs. Stressing the economic
rationality of migrants, this school of thought is not without flaws. To begin with,
estimating non-monetary indirect costs, such as adaptation costs and the loss in affective
ties,13 and converting them into a mathematical equation are highly problematic tasks.
Even if this estimation were achievable, the equation fails to account for the differential
power that each member possesses to affect the outcome. Despite accounting for
everyone in the summation, the meanings attached to these gains and losses will differ
greatly. Plus signs cannot be expected for every part of the equation. Minus signs have
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 62
different results depending on which member of the family they attach to. For instance,
when the father of a family has to pay a price, the impact on the final decision is different
compared with the daughter having to bear the same cost, despite the magnitude being
quantitatively identical. Some family members are always on the side of the equation that
yields returns, while others remain on the other side that pays the price.

The importance of the family

The very idea of the family as a monolithic, harmonious, unitary whole is problematic.
Yet, we are taught from childhood that ‘families are special’:14

A family is a group of people who are related to each other…family

consists of people who not only live together under one roof, but love and
care for one another, and laugh and cry together in good times and bad
times. It is the family sharing and doing things together that makes
growing up special. We are all part of a family even if all the members of
the family do not live together…

As a social institution, the family not only supports us, but also wraps us up like an
envelope, confines and imprisons us. This psychological imprisonment determines how
we in turn approach the family, construct it, study it and comprehend it. Being mindful of
‘an institution as a regulatory agency, channelling human actions in much the same way
as instincts channel animal behaviour…(which) provide(s) procedures through which
human conduct is patterned, compelled to go, in grooves deemed desirable by society’,
the individual is led to ‘believe that the institutionally predefined course of action is the
only one he could possibly take, the only one he is ontologically capable of’.15 We should
be reminded that it is not only the subjects of study who are kept within bounds in this
way—the person studying them is not exempt, hence the imperative for sociologists to be
aware of their own preconceptions.
The traditional functionalist theorist ‘sees the family as universal and holds the belief
that the nuclear family is “fitted” to the needs of modern industrial societies’ (Court
1997:83); in this case, the monolithic construct of the family is deeply implanted in the
individual. On the other hand, feminist research approaches the family as a site of sexist
exploitation where inequalities have a way of justifying themselves.16 Use of the systems
perspective in migration studies has been increasing (see Fawcett and Arnold 1987; Boyd
1989; Pohjola 1991; Kritz and Zlotnick 1992). Family and kin networks provide critical
material assistance to migrants.17 The migration system, with two or more places linked
by flows and counterflows of people, information, material and resources, is
interconnected and interdependent. Focusing on the family and its social networks allows
us to dissect the migration decision at an intermediate level, while striving to connect the
micro-individual level with the macro-societal-global level. Serving as a mediator
between the two levels of analysis, the family can be used as a strategic unit of analysis to
facilitate understanding of the migrants’ experience.
 The migrant family drama 63
There has been no shortage of research on families in migration (see Hendrix 1979;
Perez 1986; Kamiar and Ismail 1991; Hugo 1995) but, so far, most of them have focused
on the male heads of the households. Co-operation and co-ordination within this
‘cohesive’ unit is assumed or alleged—with migration as a long-term strategy for
benefiting the family. Studies on family migration and decisions are conducted on the
basis of the ‘common knowledge’ that the family is a uniform entity. Women, who are
part of a unitary family unit, hence move with motivations ‘similar’ to men, who
represent them and the family (Mincer 1978; Shihadeh 1991). Such studies are indifferent
to the members within the household as distinct individuals and blind to any divergence
in the interests of the different members.
Issues on women in migration have received increasing attention partly due to the
sheer volume of women migrating independently (see Morokvasic 1984; Parmar 1984;
Simon and Brettel 1986; Pedraza 1991; Day and Icduygu 1997). Such a perspective
demands ‘a scholarly reengagement with those institutions and ideologies immigrants
create and encounter in the “home” and “host” countries in order to determine how
patriarchy organises family life, work, community associations, law and public policy,
and so on’ (Pessar 1998:577). Unfortunately, this gendered perspective has not replaced
the more traditional ones. Family migration research continues to thrive under a
conventional, male-biased scholarship.
That the migrant family is a site of oppression and exploitation is not a new discovery
(see Kibria 1993; Khaled 1995; Foner 1997a). Working on ‘an awareness that the family
is not just a haven in a heartless world but a place where conflict and negotiation also
take place’ (Foner 1997a: 961), some studies have acknowledged the intended as well as
the unintended reinforcement of patriarchal relationships within the migrant households.
This is especially evident in the spousal relations, as some individuals, usually the wives,
‘in accommodating the career goals of their husbands, are willing to play a secondary
and supporting role in order to enhance the long term advancement of the whole family’
(Ngo 1994:406). As it happens, the family, although a site of power struggles and
inequalities, is simultaneously also the site of justifications and rationalisations, which
attempt to patch up the disparities between tradition, conventional wisdom and
experience.
By presenting the experiences of the individual members within the family unit, this
study strives to give everybody a voice. However, it should be noted that, in spite of
encouragement to speak ‘for themselves’, many people remain silent because of their
position or location in the family:

Our language is not chosen by ourselves but imposed upon us by the

particular social group that is in charge of our initial socialisation. Society
predefines for us that fundamental symbolic apparatus with which we
grasp the world, order our experience and interpret our existence.
Berger (1963:136)
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 64

Despite sociologists’ efforts to create a space for the woman’s voice to be heard, pauses
and moments of silence are to be expected. After being deprived of a voice for so long,
the woman is no longer capable of speaking for herself without borrowing from the
normally heard voices, replicating them in an analogous language.18 Women as speakers
are still socially located within a patriarchal society.
By listening intuitively, we may hear the inaudible. But, more often, an initiator needs
to generate upheaval from without to hear what has gone unspoken; and there is always a
danger that the initiator is merely picking up echoes from within.
At this juncture, it should be noted that migration is part of a life process. It is not an
isolated experience that can be studied independently, but one that spills over into all
segments of life. Migrants are holistic actors, and researchers should be careful to
approach them as they are, instead of viewing them as objects-of-inquiry in ‘isolated’
conditions laid down by the objectives of a study. Migration does not exist as a unitary
text but is variously intersected by social characteristics such as gender, generation,
ethnicity, class and religion. There is a need to decompartmentalise experience, to read
migration as part of a continuity (or series of discontinuities) and not as a detached event.
The family, as a group of people related by blood or marriage, is to be distinguished
from ‘the family’ as a system of relations and ideologies internalised through
socialisation and then mapped back on to our understanding and interpretation of other
events and structures (Laing 1972). To demonstrate the power of the metaphor of ‘the
family’, several ongoing and recurring family dramas will be shown in this chapter.
Diverging from the conventional approach, we will look at the individual members who
‘add up’ to constitute a family, instead of allowing the lone male to construct and
reconstruct all his assumptions and project them back on to the family.

The study and the sample

Twenty-seven Chinese migrant families were interviewed in Singapore in 2000. Instead

of the usual ‘one-off interviews, contact with these families was maintained throughout
the entire research. This allowed rapport to be built over time and provided insights into
the family. In order to explore the drama of family dynamics, some parents and children
were interviewed together.
Initial contacts consisted of personal friends and informants introduced by friends.
A snowballing technique was also used, but only to a limited extent. This was in part to
prevent crowding the research with respondents grouped by certain characteristics, such
as religion and occupation, which could distort the findings or block out potential areas of
exploration.
Face-to-face in-depth interviews, each averaging an hour, were held at the
respondents’ residence, office or other public places. Conducted mainly in Mandarin,19
the interviews were later translated into English. Primarily unstructured, the interviews
allowed respondents to talk freely about their personal views and experiences,20 and gave
the researcher room to probe.
 The migrant family drama 65
All principal respondents were adults. Children and the elderly informants were
related to them. Despite the obvious methodological importance of accessing alternative
opinions of diverse sources, entry was not immediate and permission to gain contact was
never guaranteed. Out of twenty-five families, only seven children were interviewed.
Similarly, out of eleven three-tier families with fifteen grandparents in them, we only
spoke to five.
During the second phase of our study, we made contact through email with migrants in
the academic field in local universities. We also attempted to find informants in public
places, but as researchers we were not accepted in the ‘natural settings’ of the migrants.
Our efforts to obtain official data and to contact related organisations, such as the
Chinese embassy and a church with a mainland Chinese congregation, were also
unsuccessful.
Relying heavily on the qualitative research approach, the bulk of our data consisted of
transcripts from interviews and observations we made of the migrants’ homes. Familial
relations and personal emotions could be better accessed and assessed while the meaning
of interpersonal conflicts could be grasped from the direct interaction between the
researcher and the family member. To augment these primary data, other sources, such as
letters, emails and telephone bills, were also used.
Before analysing their decision to migrate, we would like to stress that we can only
partially ascertain the migrants’ motivations. The researcher’s understanding is merely
the second tier of a double interpretation process. The researcher interprets the migrants’
interpretations and needs to find ways to check their validity. Motives may be neither
clear nor straightforward, not even for the migrants themselves.

The migrants’ side of the story

Examining the history of the decision to move is one way to make sense of a family’s
migration:

My friend recommended me for this job. His company was looking for
someone with a good knowledge of China and can work here… I was
very displeased with my work then… In China, many of the supervisors
were not concerned about your qualifications at all… Most had never
attended university…so they use people based on practical experience and
relationship… Most recent graduates end up with little chance… I didn’t
like to be involved in all the politics, so I left.
Lin, a man in his early thirties

I came here four years ago, but I left China 11 years ago… I studied in
Canada and then worked in Hong Kong… Opportunities in China were
limited back then, so I didn’t return…but my wife was in Shenzhen… I
came here by accident, I read about the job opening in the newspaper… I
was married but I didn’t have any children yet, so my mobility was
higher… I wanted to try out, so I sent the application…then, I came…Z
Zeng, man, 3321
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 66

I was working in America… Singapore’s Economic and Development

Board (EDB) held some recruitment talks for the Chinese there… I was
informed through the Chinese Student Association… I just went… At that
time, the American economy was bad and I could only get temporary
positions. Singapore was offering a longer term job…
Ao, man, 4022

An ex-colleague introduced me to my current job. I thought that it was a

good opportunity… Anyway, if it doesn’t work out, I can still go back, or
go somewhere else… I had always thought of going overseas after
graduating… But, after I have my own family, it is not very convenient to
move again. Moreover, it costs about twenty, thirty thousand Renminbi
and I need to consider before raising that sum…
Long, man, 38

The efforts of the Singapore government and local recruitment brokers to attract skilled
labour coincide with the migrants’ feelings of dissatisfaction with the status quo, their
desire for adventure, and their hope for better work opportunities elsewhere. Migrants go
where the opportunities are, even though most of them do not know much about
Singapore. They take the risk and hope the new country will offer something better.
The push-pull theory continues to influence the migrants’ own migration discourse.
They strongly believe in the general societal conditions being deterministic. So, why this
rumpus about the classical theory when many migrants are mimicking the structural
theorists and explaining their situation with a similar logic?
Macro-conditions do have a part to play in the context of migration. One cannot study
migration without painting a larger picture. The general political system as well as the
economic climate affect the decision to migrate and, way before that, the ability to think
about migrating. However, one cannot rely entirely upon these macroscopic factors to
predict a migrant’s conduct.
Opportunities are more meaningfully understood as ‘opportunities for whom?’. Access
to opportunities is not equally distributed among the family members. The greater
opportunities fall to the decision-makers in the family, and the negligible, or even
negative, opportunities to those with little power in decision-making. Upon a closer look
at the reasons given for migration, it is obvious that most of those who cite external
conditions as motivations and as if they were matters of fact are men.
We will look at the other side of the story, as reality is not binary nor can it be
dichotomously arranged, to see the fallibility of the structural approach and the falsity of
its generalisations. Those grand explanations, which fit so nicely into the theorists’
hypotheses, pertain only to certain people, usually heads of households, who may be
trying to justify their decision to migrate. Not everyone’s say is given due attention. This
inequality is often perpetuated by researchers, knowingly or not, who muffle the voices
of the rest of the family by recognising only the male voice.
 The migrant family drama 67
Listen carefully

We now turn to another set of reasons for migrating:

It is not exactly that I liked the idea of coming to Singapore; it is because

Shan was here. He planned to work here, and at least stay for some years,
so I came.
Zhen, woman, 29

Lin [her husband] didn’t feel happy working in his unit. It was quite
pointless for him to stay on… Since there was an opportunity here, it
doesn’t make much difference for me.
Rong, woman, 30

In China, there have always been desires among those better qualified and
with the capability, to want to leave the country… I’d thought of going
overseas too, but that was before I got married. It remained a dream…
Depending on opportunities, most would like to go to America. But, for
me, Singapore seems like a better option because it is nearer and there are
many Chinese here… Therefore, when my husband first mentioned that
he would like to work here, I didn’t have many reservations.
Ling, woman, 3223

Because Feng [her husband] was working here and he felt that Singapore
is not bad… His work is here, and there are better prospects here for
him… so I followed… Living apart is not a long-term solution. It is like
separation.
Xing, woman, 3624

My husband came first, after he obtained his PR (permanent residence),

my child and I came over…no definite reason… I was quite passive in the
whole process. Frankly, we already have a family in China, to migrate is
actually very troublesome…but my husband felt that his job in China was
unsatisfactory and prospects weren’t good, so he came out… I respect his
decision.
Jiao, woman, thirties25

Actually, I’d never really given it serious thought… My husband is a

computer engineer. There is a demand for his expertise here and his
prospects would be better… In terms of technology, it is still quite
backward in China… He came over, so I guess that’s why I’m here…
Hong, woman, late twenties

Since he is here, I would not want to stay in China for long. It’s only a
matter of time that either he’ll go back or I’ll come out… Not long after
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 68
he left, I started to apply for my visa… It was not much of a decision…
Of course I was very sad to give up my clinic. I had just started it with a
friend and I cannot even continue my medical practice here… My
credentials and experience aren’t recognised… But my family is still more
important… Anyway, my life is still going on quite well at the tuition
centre. I have made many other friends.
Jian, woman, thirties

The men moved and their wives followed, complying with their husbands’ decision and
trailing their moves. These women had little independent wish to migrate. They reckoned
that, when husbands move, families split, and this split should not be permanent. While
men often acknowledged the sacrifice their wives had made, seeing it as a waste for
women to give up their careers, they usually hastened to add that there had been ‘no
choice’ and that ‘it could not be helped’.
Our women respondents, surprisingly, seemed to take their losses lightly. No one
mentioned being ‘wronged’. Most made sense of their move by seeing it as a way to
improve the living conditions of their families; by ‘following’, they were helping to make
the family dream come true. In spite of job dislocations and personal frustrations, they
upheld the claim that the family benefits, and that this was the most important issue. They
saw the family as a supra-structure, beyond the self, and worth relinquishing their own
‘selfish’ rights for.
For every seemingly rational, calculated move, there are other irrational ones,
especially when families move ‘as a whole’. It is hard to believe that a doctor turned part-
time private tutor, or a manager turned homemaker, can be formulated arithmetically as
an equation of net gain for the family. What is surprising is that none of these highly
educated women voiced any doubt. They still seemed to expect a positive return.
Migration is often talked about as if it were a ‘family decision’. Although most of our
respondents said that a discussion was ‘of course’ held before migration, not many gave
details except for physical arrangements. These arrangements, of who moves first, when
and how, followed by whom, and so on, are the observables or ‘facts’ that the researcher
can reflect upon.26 Through these observables, meaning can be attached to the actors.
These visible ‘facts’ once again point to those whose interests are really at stake in the
course of migration. Power dialectic are uncovered as one slowly unwraps the seemingly
unitary family. In cases where the wife moved first, did she do so for her own sake?

I felt it was right and just went ahead to send in my application. My

husband said nothing against it… If I come to work, he’d object, but I
came to study… My parents were not happy… I had quite a good job and
a stable life…but I hope to widen my horizons…

In the case of Mei,27 she moved first, leaving her husband and son in China, but only to
experience an even tighter bondage with ‘the family’ as an ideal. She is free to leave
home and fly off into the air, like a kite—but not without the family pulling the string.
One part of her was tied to her husband, as she was continually on the lookout for
openings for him to come over. Another part was bonded to the son she had left with her
parents in China, and whom she had totally lost her say over. She wanted her son to learn
 The migrant family drama 69
English before coming over for the entrance test at a local primary school in Singapore.
She entrusted the task of getting him an English tutor to her parents. Dismissing the idea
as unimportant, her parents refused to do so. She could do nothing. These worries and
frustrations had torn her apart, adding to all the problems she had to face in the host
country. When her husband finally arrived, her situation did not improve:

My husband doesn’t like me to go out with friends. He objects to me

going out too often… I seldom join my friends nowadays. Now, my life
revolves around this office.

Now that Mei is alone with her husband, instead of sharing her life with him, she is more
isolated than before he arrived. She is unable to see her friends. She said that the place
that she rented with her husband is not ‘home’ for her. She would rather be in her office.
She used to love the rainy days in China, being at home and just resting and enjoying the
rain. In Singapore, such ease is impossible, with no sense of feeling at home, and
entangled as she is with going along with the will of her husband and losing control over
her son. Her migration opportunity led not to empowerment but to entrapment and loss.
Women who followed their husbands’ moves ‘successfully’ had a different story to
tell. Many of these women, despite a dramatic fall in status, seemed calm and accepting,
at least on the surface. Few of them found work equivalent to their jobs in China. This
is not surprising as ‘a high level of education does not necessarily guarantee high status
in the labour market due to a lack of mechanism to recognise foreign credentials’
(Liu 1994:584).
To give a few examples: Xie’s wife, who used to be a practitioner of Chinese
medicine, now works in a clinic as a receptionist. Long’s wife, also a doctor, gave up her
seven years of training, eight years of practice as a skin specialist and her newly set-up
clinic to join her husband in Singapore and work as a part-time Chinese language teacher.
Zhang’s wife, who worked as a mechanical engineer, now stays at home to look after her
sixteen-month-old toddler, as she could not find a suitable job. Hong, without waiting for
her results in the qualifying examination to get her lawyer’s licence in China, followed
her husband to Singapore and went back to school to ‘upgrade’ her qualifications. Li’s
wife first gave up her post as a financial analyst when she went with him to Australia, and
later dropped out of the degree programme in computing she was halfway through when
Li decided to move to Singapore. Now she stays at home. Jiao never complained about
her teaching job in a secondary school in China. Her relationship with her superiors was
not very good, but she liked her colleagues. Although the hours were long and she had to
travel some distance on unpaved mud roads with heavy truck traffic, she derived great
satisfaction from her job. But her husband asked her to quit and join him in Singapore,
saying that he was constantly worried about her safety during the long and ‘dangerous’
trips to work. Because of his anxiety, she quit her job and joined him. Now working as a
part-time home tutor in Chinese, she has little job satisfaction, and the money only
supplements her household income.
Our account of the women’s work dislocation could go on and on. Besides losing their
self-reliance, these women have forfeited their self-esteem. Blatant discrimination and
subtle prejudices from their hosts along with the loss of marital power must have
occasioned some inner turmoil. But none of them spoke about it much.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 70
When these women did lament, they did so for others. Perhaps they were projecting
what they thought of as undesirable and ‘sad’ on to other women they knew. Most
insisted their own condition was ‘not too bad’, seeing themselves as ‘lucky’ compared
with many migrant women they knew. The other women they had in mind were friends,
acquaintances, friends of friends and sometimes even fictional characters created by
merging reality with imagination. By making up these unfortunate others, they lessened
their own plight.
‘Most people are motivated to justify their own actions, beliefs, and feelings. When a
person does something, he will try, if at all possible, to convince himself (and others) that
it was a logical, reasonable thing to do’ (Aronson 1972:86). The irrevocability of their
decision to move might cause them to justify the move as rational and ‘good’, however
irrational and ‘bad’ it might be before the fact. This distortion in the face of the
irrevocability of the move results in comments such as ‘Every move is a right move’.
Knowing that a sacrifice on their part is inevitable, wives attempt to reduce the
unpleasantness of their situation by convincing themselves that ‘It is not so bad after all’.
When there appears to be an absence of external justification, especially for the migrant
women who so evidently do not benefit from the move, they begin to believe their own
lies. There exists a mechanism inherent in the family that explains away one’s personal
misfortune and suffering. Sacrifices for the good of the family are not tragic, but the right
thing to do.

Children in migration

Children have the least say in the decision to move, although their life chances and
experiences are affected the most. While adapting to a new environment may be difficult
for adults, at least they left home of their own accord. Children usually have no choice
at all:

I don’t like it here… I love to climb mountains with my grandfather

during weekends. We do that back home… Here, there is only school. I
want to go back… Mother says we will go back, but we never will…
En, 6, Ling’s daughter who came less than two years ago

She always asks us to bring her back… My parents came with her initially
and when they were around, things were not so bad. After that she began
to throw temper tantrums…she keeps saying that she has to go back to
Hangzhou… Once I told her if I had time, I would bring her back to visit
her grandparents. She thought we were going back for good and went
back to her school to announce that she’s leaving Singapore… Now, she
only hints at that once in a while, not as frequently… Children forget.
Ling28

Although our respondents appear to abide by the morality of making sacrifices for the
family, and aware of the costs such sacrifices entail, as adults they retain control and
discount the child’s voice. Frequently, those children who are the most honest and vocal
 The migrant family drama 71
about the move are dismissed as being ‘immature’. The parents seem to believe what it
suits them to believe: namely that children are so adaptable that they are the ones who
have the least difficulty in adjusting to life in a new country. The initial period of
throwing tantrums is expected and normal, nothing to worry about. Insisting that
‘children forget’, adults normalise their children’s reactions towards migration. In this
way, the child’s voice is muffled.
Over time, children do stop their ‘complaints’, relinquishing the struggle as a lost
cause, which is read by parents as having adapted to the local culture and lifestyle.
Children’s views are seldom solicited before the move and are disregarded after the
move. Yet most parents insist they migrated ‘for the children’.

A‘blissful’ retirement for grandparents

Another group of migrants whose voices are not heard are the elderly, those grandparents
brought to Singapore by their adult sons and daughters to enjoy ‘blissful family life’. To
those who have been caregivers much of their adult lives, it is allegedly their ‘good
fortune’ to spend their old age babysitting their grandchildren. This hegemonic cultural
image of the elderly in China taking delight in their roles as grandparents leads to their
exploitation by the family.
Some couples come to Singapore first, leaving their children in the care of their own
parents in China. Other dual-career couples bring their parents over to Sin-gapore and
assign them homemaking duties. Most grandparents are on social visit passes, while a
few are on dependence passes. Some eventually obtain permanent residence, but very few
apply for citizenship. They are the least permanent residents of the family in Singapore,
and the most dependent. As domestic helpers, they provide labour which is not rewarded.
Their service is often discounted or hidden behind the facade of the ideal family.

All in the family, all for the family

To be at home is to have the sense of a terrain—spatial, epistemological,

and cultural—which one expects to navigate with smoothness and ease.
But homes, like other civic institutions, are sites for producing and
reproducing bodies, borders, subject positions, discourses and ideologies,
mechanisms of surveillance and discipline.
Sagar (1997:237)

The family presents a disturbing site for investigations into migration decisions.
Exploitations are often accompanied by delicate and subtle forms of justification:

Family oppression is about family subordinates being personal

dependants. It is about their not being able to change to another
husband/father [in this case, son as well] and their having to do whatever
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 72

their husband/father requires rather than specific tasks… Family

dependants do not own their own labour power in the same way as the
heads of households own theirs…
Delphy and Leonard (1992:1–2)

The issue is not simply about oppression. The construct of the family ideal that is
internalised by the individuals acts back upon them. In situations where there are
supposedly choices and options, the individuals do not experience freedom of choice
because the ideal of the family, once internalised, now controls them from within. The
surface ‘common good’ is actually a cover-up for many inequalities, a way to hide them
from the outsider’s gaze and, to a large extent, from the insider’s own awareness of what
is really happening.
‘Irrational’ moves do occur, and may sometimes be described as such when they
benefit only the head of the household, but the family strives to appear harmonious and
functional. For many trailing spouses, children and grandparents, the family ideal
provides justifications the individual can use to make sense of his journey—that the move
benefits the family as a whole, and is therefore good.

Constructing the family in the transnational arena

‘In a transnational perspective, contemporary immigrants are seen as maintaining

familial, economic, and cultural ties across international borders, in effect making the
home and host societies a single arena of social action’ (Foner 1997b: 355). They are the
‘transmigrants’, in Schiller, Basch and Blanc’s words, those ‘whose daily lives depend on
multiple and constant interconnections across international borders and whose public
identities are configured in relationship to more than one nation-state’ (Schiller et al.
1999:73). ‘Simultaneous embeddedness’ and ‘multistranded social relations’ are part of
this ‘condition in which, despite great distances and notwithstanding the presence of
international borders, certain kinds of relationships have been globally intensified and
now take place paradoxically in a planet-spanning yet common—however virtual—arena
of activity’ called ‘transnationalism’ (Vertovec 1999:447). This very much describes the
biographies of Chinese migrants in Singapore, who act out their everyday lives on a
transnational stage.
Many respondents indicated that they maintained contact with people back home
through the telephone, usually weekly. When asked why they would make these calls,
especially when there was very little to talk about and there was no real news, most
simply smiled and remarked that their parents wanted to ‘hear their voice’. Even though
most could not recall the exact content of these conversations,29 they made such calls
rather regularly, as a symbolic gesture to maintain family ties.30
Telephone conversations were held among family members to make up and perform
transnationality collectively. Although physically dispersed, members of the family
regarded such moments of communication as something ‘close to the heart’. Talking to
each other about the mundane details of their daily lives, even though it might mean
 The migrant family drama 73
spending a large portion of their income, is essential for reinforcing and deepening the
idea of the family.
These weekly telephone exchanges, usually initiated in Singapore, were limited
to family members and very close friends, while emails were exchanged among
ex-classmates and ex-colleagues. The latter contacts were maintained for both social and
economic reasons, serving as informal information sources and for work-related
engagements. It was through such links that some of our respondents were informed of
work opportunities in Singapore.
Gift exchanges can also be viewed as a family ritual, performed symbolically to bond
the family together by stressing interdependence and mutual help. Although most of the
gifts exchanged were available in both countries, they continued to shuttle between two
places as if there was a real scarcity of them at either end, or as though the price
differentials were large enough to justify the delivery costs.
The fact of the commodity’s ready availability and the lack of a price gap was
apparently lost on people engaging in gift exchanges, suggesting that gifts were
significant in terms of maintenance of emotional ties and attachments. Gift exchange had
little to do with the need for a specific item, and much with the meaning attributed to gift
giving. A gift represented the ‘heart’ of the sender, and wrapped up within it was the
sender’s love. In this way, gifts were also about the ideological construction and
reproduction of the family.
Migrants made regular return trips to China. Once a year, on average, these migrants
returned to re-establish family ties and to reconnect with the sending coun-try and those
who remained. Contrary to what some might think with regard to social controls having
been loosened for migrants, these visits continued to renew and tighten social bonds
between sending and receiving countries. Although not everyone was enthusiastic about
these home visits, during which having meals together and updating each other about
recent life events were typical, most carried them out like a mission. The mission was to
rebuild family solidarity and tie oneself, one more time, to the ideal of the family.
Sometimes, family representatives were sent over, usually the female adults. Some
migrants had ambivalent feelings about these trips. Although many women found such
home visits ‘exhausting’ or ‘boring’, they also described them as ‘emotionally fulfilling’.
They could have taken their vacation elsewhere but, invariably, they went back to China.
Transnationalism and its practices provide a context within which interpretations of a
migrant’s experiences are constructed:

Now, you don’t think of a family as three generations living together

under one roof anymore… I don’t feel that I’m not part of the family by
being away… I still keep in contact with them as much as I can; it doesn’t
matter where I am… I always visit my parents every year…
Min, single woman, 35

We still do things together… If I have any problem, I’ll discuss it with my

family…although we don’t live together; we are still together at heart…
we still frequently communicate through whatever means…
Dong, single woman, 30
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 74
Migrant families can insert themselves into this transnational space, and the migrants act
accordingly with this sociological or existential knowledge in mind. The migrant’s
conscious conduct in everyday life is articulated against the background of an awareness
of this transnational space. Contrary to what one of our respondents said about becoming
less bounded and controlled by the social networks back home, familial control and
solidarity do not necessarily decrease with distance.
Transnationality manifests itself in the adaptation in a migrant’s everyday life, and in
the migrant’s emergent concept of the two countries. The imagery of uprooting and
assimilating has in fact weakened. The migrant no longer either adapts to fit into the new
society or returns to the old one: the migrant travels back and forth between the two
countries, or may even go on to a third country. Living in the host country begins to take
on a new perspective as the migrant explores, experiments and opens up new options.
‘Home’ is no longer locally restricted nor is assimilation obligatory. While feelings for
the ‘motherland’ continue to influence how these migrants speak of China,
transnationality encourages them to look to strange and unknown places. Transnationality
is about imagination, fantasy and desire.
But transnationality cannot always grant the migrant’s desire. Perceived as a
phenomenon that ‘preceded “the nation”’ (Vertovec 1999:447), transnationalism has
perhaps been glamorised by researchers, who fantasise it as an alternative to nationalism.
Transnationalism carries too many promises it cannot fulfil, at least not yet. Although
some of the pitfalls of transnationalism have been identified and discussed (Portes et al.
1999), its downsides have been by and large ignored.
A transnational lifestyle, although much celebrated in the anthropological and
sociological literature, remains out of reach for many people without the requisite
resources. This discrepancy in ownership of resources might result in a wide gap
separating the transnationalistic and the local, the ‘home bound’.
Access to a transnational lifestyle is not equal for everyone in the family either. The
elderly might not have the skills to connect themselves with the world through the
internet; many don’t know how to make a long-distance telephone call. Access to science
and technology is kept under the control of their adult children. Male adults undoubtedly
predominate in the transnational space; they hold the key to the brave new world.

Conclusion

In this chapter, an effort has been made to make sense of the workings of the Chinese
migrant family. Although there have been family studies and migration studies for
decades, analyses of the family and migration have been conducted separately;
combining these two areas of study would yield fruitful results. In an age of
hypermobility, when migration is part and parcel of everyday life, the scope of family
studies remains limited without paying attention to those who move at speed. The sheer
volume of migrant families is significant, and denying them a place erases one salient
part of the real social world. Likewise, as migration studies begin to proliferate, it is also
important to take into account the family. Intertwining the two social phenomena,
migration and the family, gives birth to this study.
 The migrant family drama 75
From the macroscopic structural contexts, including economic climate, immigration
and emigration policies, to the micro-individual, personal motives, contemporary human
migrations result from a wide variety of forces. The Chinese migrants move with varied
agendas. While migration is not a haphazard but a calculated move, only those with the
resources being able to conceive the idea of moving, no migration is undertaken because
of a simple set of push and pull factors, nor is it based purely on economic rationality.
Individual migrants strive to work out their decisions within the contexts of families,
although the power that each person has to negotiate his position within the family
differs.
In family migration, not everyone benefits, but complaints from some sectors are
almost never heard; most people speak of the positive gain in moving. Those who
disagree with moving, such as children and ‘trailing’ wives, are muted by constraints
within the family structure or sometimes even by researchers, albeit unintentionally.
Family migration has long been studied as a collective move, with everyone in the family
taken as part of a harmonious and integrated whole. Although recently the oppressive
nature of family relationships has been reinserted into studies of migrant families, the
power of the family to generate norms and values for its members to abide by, without
the individuals themselves being aware of it, is still largely overlooked. The family as a
site for oppression and justifications remains understudied.
In family migration, the image of the ‘trailing spouse’ conveys the idea of a wife
willingly following her husband. Husbands ‘trail’ too, but their numbers are fewer. In
our study, the analytical focus has been shifted from the husband’s point of view to
the wife’s.
Like the trailing husbands who explain their situation in order to appear that they are
not trailing their wives, wives who suffer from dislocation or a fall in status, at work or
within the family, may resort to an airtight system of rationalisations to allow themselves
to read their plight more positively.
Like the wives, children and the elderly usually migrate to ‘follow’ their family.
Children are never consulted about migration, whereas the elderly are asked for their
opinion out of respect, but often not until they have already been informed of their adult
children’s plan to migrate. It is no surprise that the presence of the elderly in migration
studies has been insignificant. As dependants, grandparents and grandchildren have little
or no say in decisions being made about migration. Their silence is further glossed over
by images of the cosy and loving family, of adults moving for the good of their children,
and of the elderly enjoying a blissful retirement in the host society.
The idea of family varies from person to person. Women generally have a wider
definition than men of who should be included in it. This family definition in turn
influences how individuals conduct themselves in family-related activities such as
maintaining transnational networks. Such activities, transcending national borders, have
intensified with the use of new technologies, while the traditional modes of bonding and
communication continue to have a symbolic value.
By moving, a migrant supposedly breaks free from the bondage of the family; many
studies indeed celebrate migration as emancipatory. But the idea of the family is
powerful, and becomes more so when the family must stick together as a cohesive unit,
as when faced with a common ‘enemy’—the hostile or at least strange condition in the
host country. Even when the migrant is physically away from the family, he or she is not
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 76
a free-floating individual, but is still tied to the family ‘back home’. Although often
construed as something that transcends national boundaries, transnationalism thus far has
failed to transcend the moral compass of the family. The Chinese migrants in Singapore
spend much time reproducing the ‘reality’ of ‘family togetherness’, thus tightening their
bondage to the family back in China. Making sense of migrant families involves looking
at the family as a unity of interacting personalities; individuals who somehow ‘got lost’ in
the move would have their lost selves quickly reinserted back into the family drama.
 4
The ethnicity paradox of immigrants

On 10 July 1989, the Singapore government announced a modified immigration policy to

offer permanent residence to 25,000 skilled and semi-skilled workers and their families
from Hong Kong. These were to include technicians, craftsmen, white-collar workers and
self-employed people. Prospective applicants needed to have a secondary education, to
earn at least S$ 1,500 a month and to have five years of work experience; or to have at
least five GCE ‘O’ levels; or to have an acceptable trade certificate. The successful
applicants would have five years to take up residence and an option to extend for another
five years, thus effectively giving them an opportunity to remain in post-1997 Hong
Kong before deciding whether to move to Singapore. Previously, Singapore had opened
its doors only to graduates, professionals and businessmen with capital of at least S$
10,000. The Singapore government continues not to impose a quota on this occupational
group, and suitably qualified Hong Kong people may immigrate under this category.
On 11 July 1989, a day after the policy was announced, ‘a line of would-be Hong
Kong emigrants snaked hundreds of metres around the bases of the gleaming office
towers of downtown Admiralty business centre’ where the Singapore High Commission
opened a special booth to hand out visa applications (Asiaweek 1989). In underscoring
the fervent ‘let’s go’ sentiment of this Hong Kong rush to Singapore, the same news
article reported:

In an hour, officials had handed out 8,000 forms. Then a sudden squall
sent people scurrying for cover, and some used the confusion to jump the
queue. Police moved in to restore order and scuffles broke out. The stand
was quickly closed and the crowd told to get forms by post. So anxious
were the applicants, though, that police reinforcements were called and
still needed several hours to disperse them.

Singapore’s modified immigration policy took place on the heels of the 4 June pro-
democracy incident in China’s Tiananmen Square. The Singapore High Commissioner in
Hong Kong described the policy as ‘insurance’ for Hong Kong people and said that it had
been prompted both by their unease and by Singapore’s labour shortage. ‘Special
provisions’ were thus made by the Singapore government ‘partly out of compassion and
mainly out of enlightened self-interest’ (Straits Times 1990, cited in Ng 1991:67).
Singapore also expected to tap the entrepreneurial skills and resourcefulness of Hong
Kong people to boost its economy. One Singapore government minister maintained that
skilled Hong Kong immigrants would mean a larger, better trained work force, help to
attract more investment and provide more jobs. The Straits Times of 11 August 1989
reported that another minister had reiterated that a developing country such as Singapore
needed the skills and new insights of immigrants. The former Prime Minister of
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 78
Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew, referred to Hong Kong people as being ‘superior, adaptable,
flexible’ and went on to say that they could ‘quickly adjust to any condition in the world’
(cited in Ng 1991:67).
It is the intent of this chapter to examine the personal, familial and associational
adaptations of Hong Kong immigrants since their arrival in Singapore. The chapter is
based on three data sources: a re-analysis of data from tape-recorded, in-depth interviews
completed in 1991 with twenty Hong Kong skilled workers’ families;1 a series of
subsequent unstructured interviews in 1992 and 1993 with fifteen professionals,
businessmen, church representatives and ethnic association leaders; and a 1993 Singapore
government survey conducted by the Social Integration Management Service (SIMS) on
Hong Kong immigrants’ adaptation to life in the Republic.2 In the SIMS study,
questionnaires were sent out to 4,000 Hong Kong immigrant families and 1,317 returns
were received (a response rate of 33 per cent). This represented over a quarter of the total
of 4,800 Hong Kong families settled in Singapore from July 1989 to December 1992.
These figures on families suggest that well over 10,000 Hong Kong migrants have taken
up residence in Singapore since the beginning of the scheme. Almost half those in the
labour force who responded to the survey were managers and executives (29.3 per cent)
and professionals (20.3 per cent), while technical, skilled and white-collar workers
accounted for 30 per cent, although they, as an occupational category, make up 64 per
cent of the entire Hong Kong migrant population of working age in Singapore.
Businessmen and entrepreneurs (9.4 per cent), housewives (5.5 per cent) and others
(5.5 per cent) made up the rest of the survey sample.

Theoretical issues

Migrants face adjustment problems which stem from reinforcing their own cultural
identity and adopting elements of the culture of the society of arrival.3 Migrants may
emphasise ‘culture-building’ activities that will identify them as special and different,
reinforcing internal group solidarity and identity and possibly causing social isolation and
separation from the mainstream society; or they may model their conduct on a dominant
group for the purpose of upward social mobility, which necessitates integration and
joining the majority group. The inherent paradox in such dualism may well be the
breeding ground for inner conflict, within both migrant groups and individuals. Migrants
may not know whether to celebrate and retain their former cultural identity, which may
consign them to the bottom of the social hierarchy, or to emulate the host culture for
upward mobility.4 These two contradictory orientations, the ‘separatist’ and the
‘assimilationist’, can be found in individual members and in the group at different times,
or even at the same time. Such ambivalence sets the stage for tension and conflict. Many
theorists writing about ethnicity, ethnic identity and the processes of immigrant
adjustment and adaptation view this dualism as the essence of the immigrant condition.5
Migrants deliberate and decide between competing ‘types of group allegiance’
(De Vos 1982:5–41). Should an immigrant’s priority be with a special heritage, that is his
ethnicity, or with the present, with a profession and the social status such an occupational
orientation will bestow? The latter option may require an individual to keep a distance
from or even renounce heritage, ethnicity or country of origin. The former option
 The ethnicity paradox of immigrants 79
encourages migrants to affiliate with immigrant institutions that ease the transition to
urban life. These migrant associations may provide a ‘buffer’ for rural migrants in the
city, they may serve as social security bodies in urban areas, or they may re-create a
familiar way of life in a strange environment or provide social support to the newcomers
(Skeldon 1990:164–6). The creation or re-creation of an immigrant culture in the host
society can be seen as a collective strategy that allows immigrants to acquire a larger
share of valued, scarce resources.6
Migrants live within and between two cultures, striving to integrate with the country
of resettlement, even while maintaining an affiliation with, or loyalty to, the home
country. Giovanna Compani and her colleagues have called this ‘bilaterality of
references’ in their study of Italian immigrant associations in France (Compani et al.
1987:187). The term refers to an orientation towards two cultures; in a particular
situation, one system of values may be preferred but, even then, the value system of the
other culture is taken into account. When seen in these terms, immigrant institutions
provide the individual with ‘identity options on offer’, according to which the individual
makes his own choice.7 The individual, in deliberating, may feel torn between taking up
contradictory options within the same community, or between options offered in the
community and those offered outside.8
We therefore need to examine the culture-building, social mobility and integration
tendencies of immigrants, as well as the processes by which individuals and groups make
choices out of a range of identity options.9 For many immigrant groups, the incorporation
strategy appears to be an attempt at a judicious balance of ‘full and equal participation in
society of settlement institutions in the public domain and, at the same time, the
maintenance of their own culture in the private domain’, which refers to such matters as
‘marriage and the family, religion, and moral socialisation’ (Rex and Josephides
1987:27). A sociological analysis of an ethnic actor’s differential belonging or
commitment to a group requires us to identify the variables that will tend to increase or
decrease ethnic group membership: for example, group size relative to total population;
degree of residential concentration or dispersion; length of term of residence; ease and
frequency of return to homeland; compatibility with host society in language, religion,
race and culture; entry by forced or voluntary migration; degree of homogeneity or
diversity in class and occupation; education level; experience with extent of discrimi-
nation; and degree of social mobility in the host society.10 This list is by no means
exhaustive, although it includes both structural and middle-range variables. As a stock-
taking list, it is useful to draw attention to the relevant factors at work in immigrant
adaptation while predictions are being made about the future course of adaptation in
terms of relative failure or success.11

Orienting to the past and culture-building

Months or even years after their resettlement in Singapore, there is little evidence yet that
Hong Kong immigrants have relinquished their socio-emotional ties with family, friends
and work colleagues left behind back home. Many letters and telephone calls are
exchanged;12 frequent trips are made back to Hong Kong for social visits, and migrants in
Singapore continue to receive visitors from Hong Kong. Mothers are brought into
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 80
Singapore to help with childcare for young migrant families, and it is not at all unusual
for Singapore-bound migrant families to leave their young children in the care of
grandmothers back home, albeit temporarily.
Migrants’ transactions with the past are articulated by attempts to use ties and
resources in the country of origin as social support, to ease the early transitional phase of
resettlement. The past is held on to in order to cope with the present and the future. This
orientation to the past can take the form of ‘nostalgic illusion’ (Zwingmann 1973:19–47).
The past is glorified, and recalling the ‘good old days’ helps maintain affective continuity
and preserves psychological equilibrium during the stress of relocation. Hong Kong
immigrants in Singapore continue to make comparisons between their countries of origin
and resettlement, invariably favouring the lifestyle now lost, as least for the time being,
and emphasising the need to recapture the familiar past in the face of the unfamiliar
present and the unknown future.
It is this need for historical and cultural continuity that fosters the creation of
community associations for migrants. The ‘associational life’ of immigrants helps in
‘maintaining and developing shared patterns of meaning’, which are invariably based on
a past frame of reference, at least initially (Rex and Josephides 1987:19). In the new
country, immigrant associations seek to reproduce aspects of the homeland culture
through social gatherings, celebrations of festivals, and popular culture such as movies,
newspapers, videotapes, magazines, and so on.
Many Hong Kong immigrants came to Singapore with a somewhat superficial,
unsophisticated perception of a cultural similarity between Hong Kong and Singapore,
both being ‘a Chinese society’. Such a perception is invariably constructed from
information and images in the mass media or orientation sessions organised by ‘migration
brokers’ such as travel agencies, consultancy firms or lawyers. Migrants’ real experiences
in Singapore often call this perception into question. It is the existence of difference
rather than similarity that seems to be the real issue. Hong Kong is an overwhelmingly
Cantonese, and thus relatively homogeneous, society. Immigrants to Singapore
experience cultural as well as linguistic incompatibility in Singapore, where Hokkien and
Teochew are the majority Chinese dialect groups. In addition, the Republic’s increasingly
prevalent usage of the English language and Mandarin in both public and private places
and its multiracial, multicultural and multireligious character emphasise difference.
According to the 1990 census, Singapore was 77.7 per cent Chinese, 14.1 per cent Malay,
7.1 per cent Indian and 1.1 per cent other; it was 53.9 per cent Buddhist or of Chinese
religion, 15.4 per cent Islamic, 3.6 per cent Hindu and 12.6 per cent Christian. Coping
with difference is a real, everyday concern for Hong Kong immigrants. Skeldon views
the cultural and linguistic contrasts between the two cities as being among the major
reasons for the less-than-expected inflow of Hong Kong immigrants into Singapore
(1994a). Our respondents had the following to say about their language and
communication problems:

I have people under my supervision. I have to find a way to communicate

with them. There are a few races in my workplace, and some of them are
from Malaysia. Some people had warned me that I need to learn to deal
with members of other racial groups.
 The ethnicity paradox of immigrants 81

We do not know the roads. We do not know how to take buses or

which stations to alight at. Sometimes we cannot express ourselves
clearly. When we meet others, we cannot speak well. Even if they want to
help, they cannot because they don’t understand our speech.

Our informants told us that Hong Kong immigrants regularly get together for dinner
parties in each other’s homes, or go out for dinner or weekend brunch in local Chinese
restaurants with Cantonese chefs from Hong Kong, just to have an opportunity to speak
‘Hong Kong-style Cantonese’. This is a clear sign of maintaining continuity with the
past, and shows how food and language can re-create one’s culture. In a sense, on social
occasions of this nature, Hong Kong Cantonese are collectively differentiating
themselves from Singaporeans and their various local Chinese dialect groups, including
the Cantonese. Both Hong Kong and Singaporean Cantonese are quick to point out that
they speak ‘different brands of Cantonese’, at a different rate, using very different
linguistic repertoires, hence inadvertently setting forth the processes of group self-
inclusion and ethnic boundary maintenance.
There seems to be little evidence yet that such self-inclusion processes are merely
transitional in nature. The more likely scenario is that they will continue to be among the
enduring, self-reinforcing processes of community and culturebuilding precisely because
they fulfil deep socio-emotional needs:

A group of us meet for lunch every week at a restaurant. Two tables are
booked permanently there. It’s a chance for us to speak Cantonese. We
just turn up. It gets very crowded when more turn up. Cantonese is our
mother tongue. We were brought up in it for the first twenty years of our
lives.
I feel closer to Hong Kong people. I call to invite them over for dinner.
We go to Chinatown, the Zoo, Merlion Park.
It is important to mix with other Hong Kong people. We need to have
news about Hong Kong. After all, our problems are similar, so it is only
natural to have more contact among the Hong Kong people.
My husband’s biggest problem is that he does not quite know English.
So I’ve asked him to learn more English. We have problems with all kinds
of languages, even Cantonese, because the Cantonese spoken here is
slightly different. Sometimes when people speak to me in Hokkien, I
don’t understand. When I speak to Singaporeans in Cantonese, they don’t
understand either. They say our Cantonese is different from theirs.

The Social Integration Management Service (SIMS) study found that more than half
(53.9 per cent) of the respondents indicated that they interacted most often with other
Hong Kong people, although 45 per cent and 43.5 per cent said that they also mixed with
Singaporean friends and colleagues, respectively, thus revealing a mixed social circle
though still favouring members of their own group.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 82
Associational life and the ethnicity paradox

An often neglected aspect of immigrants’ associational life is their participation in the

local religious institutions. Our informants reported a concentration of Hong Kong
immigrants in three local churches offering Cantonese Sunday worship services, namely
the Grace Church, the Queenstown Baptist Church and the Cantonese Methodist Kum
Yan Church. An office worker at the Grace Church reported that Hong Kong immigrants
accounted for one-third (about 100 persons) of those attending the Cantonese services,
while slightly fewer (about sixty) attended the Mandarin services.
In January 1991, the Grace Church set up a temporary unit to collect material on new
Hong Kong immigrants, visit them at home, provide immigrant orientation services and
develop strategies to recruit them to the church. By July 1991, the unit had become
permanent, specialising in working with Hong Kong immigrants. By July 1993, as many
as sixty Hong Kong immigrants had been converted to Christianity. There are twenty-
nine churches in Singapore that provide Cantonese worship services, eleven of which
also provide other activities in Cantonese. It is too early to assess the implications of
Hong Kong immigrants’ involvement in these local churches. Nevertheless, they provide
the new migrants with two identity options: socialisation among themselves, or among
the local Cantonese community, as an initial step towards social integration. Of course, it
is possible that the two options are not mutually exclusive, although, in practice, one may
often be favoured over the other.
Now boasting a membership of seventy, the Friends of Hong Kong is a social club set
up in 1991 by Hong Kong immigrants in the restaurant business. Supper parties are held
monthly after midnight (when most of the restaurant personnel have finished their day’s
work) on a rotation basis in one of the restaurants of the club. To be a member of the
club, one must be in the restaurant business as owner, manager or chef and be from Hong
Kong. Others may attend the club’s social functions as guests. Our informants reported
that the club’s functions were primarily social in nature; the club provided a vehicle for
interaction and socialising among Hong Kong restaurateurs.
In September 1989, the government of Singapore, under the Public Service Division
of the Ministry of Finance, set up SIMS to ‘help new immigrants to overcome the initial
problems of relocation and integrate successfully into the Singapore community’ (SIMS
n.d.: 1). As a government-run ‘one-stop’ immigrant service agency, it uses guidebooks,
question-and-answer format brochures, slide presentations, talks and video shows to
provide information on a spectrum of issues: housing, job placement, schooling for
children, citizenship, taxation, childcare, health care, language (Mandarin and English)
training and community services. In striving to meet immigrant needs, the agency is
mindful of acquainting newcomers with local customs and practices as well as with ways
of settling into the community neighbourhoods of various public housing estates. The
goal is to help migrants integrate into their new home. Two specific strategies of the
agency are noteworthy. First, the agency notifies community centres and residents’
committees of the arrival of newcomers so that they can show newcomers where to find
police posts, polyclinics, libraries, childcare centres, supermarkets and other amenities in
the neighbourhood. Second, single immigrants are referred by the agency to two other
 The ethnicity paradox of immigrants 83
government-run units (the Social Development Unit and the Social Development Section)
so that they can find out about social activities and meet other Singaporeans who
are single.
In April 1990, about six months after its establishment, the agency set up and
subsequently provided support to the Kowloon Club, which now has a membership of
about 1,000 families. The club’s office is located in the youth block of the People’s
Association in Kallang, and it uses SIMS as its correspondence address. Its affiliation
with SIMS is obvious, and the latter supports the publication of the club’s newsletter.
Some of the objectives of the club, as stated in its constitution, are: to act as a focal point
for members to meet regularly and interact with each other so as to strengthen community
spirit among them; to promote friendship and understanding among members and other
Singaporeans; and to assist new permanent residents whenever possible and facilitate
their integration into the Singaporean community. The club regularly organises social
activities for families to get together and, in the past year, women, youth, children and
sports committees have been formed. The objectives of the Kowloon Club are consistent
with those of SIMS in helping individuals to solve their personal problems, overcome
social isolation and integrate into the community.
We can detect an incompatibility between the associational goal of building an
internal ethnic community spirit among the Hong Kong immigrants on the one hand and
that of working towards social integration and assimilation on the other. Our informants
were quick to point out such a contradiction in the associational life, hence the ‘ethnicity
paradox’ of culture building and social integration. One of our respondents articulated his
need for social integration into Singapore society as follows:

I think it is better that we try to socialise with the Singaporeans. It is better

this way than running around with a group of Hong Kong people. This
way, there are more opportunities to understand each other.

In Wickberg’s essay (1994) on overseas Chinese associations as ‘adaptive organisations’,

he emphasises the flexibility and adaptability of such ethnic institutions and their ability
to take on new functions as new needs appear, discarding or de-emphasising those that
are no longer relevant. Given their function of easing migrants’ social, cultural and
economic participation in the host society, migrant institutions can be a springboard from
which to launch one’s entry into the wider community beyond. The paradox between
their reinforcement of home community feeling and their adaptive functions has been
observed in other parts of the developing world.13
This organisational dilemma has its parallel expression in the real choices that
migrants need to make in their everyday lives. Such personal dilemmas are further
complicated by the fact that many Hong Kong immigrants, especially the skilled workers,
came to Singapore because of the unique opportunity presented by the modified
immigration policy. Some would have preferred to have gone elsewhere; Singapore was
not their first choice. In the SIMS study, about 8 per cent (109 respondents) stated that
they had applied for permanent residence in other countries, the most popular being
Canada, followed by Australia, the United States and the United Kingdom. Twelve
respondents had applied for permanent residence in more than one country.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 84
Ties with Hong Kong, whether social or economic, are never completely severed.
Some of our informants reported that they were still maintaining two households, one in
Singapore, the other in Hong Kong. Others were ‘astronaut’ families, with one spouse,
usually the husband, shuttling between the two places. The SIMS study found that 13 per
cent of the 1,317 respondents were such families. Most of the spouses were husbands
who continued to work at better paid jobs in Hong Kong; most of them had no immediate
plans to relocate to Singapore. Still others had not completely relinquished the hope of
migrating yet again to another ‘preferred country’, which might well be back to Hong
Kong itself, depending on how circumstances unfolded before and after 1997. This has
prompted Ronald Skeldon (1994b) to emphasise the highly mobile, circulatory character
of Hong Kong migration. Our analysis of the in-depth interview transcripts revealed a
deep ambivalence among the Hong Kong immigrants, even two or three years after their
arrival in Singapore:

We’ll stay if it is good. If it is not, we’ll go elsewhere, maybe return to

Hong Kong.
I don’t know for sure how long I will stay here. If I don’t like it here, I
will leave. If I like it, I will not leave.
After the Tiananmen incident, the Singapore government started to
distribute application forms. My husband initiated the decision to migrate.
I have no objections. After all, if I don’t like it here, I can still go back.

For many, the move to Singapore is provisional: the migrants have a wait-and-see attitude
and keep their options open on whether to stay, whether to move on elsewhere or whether
to return home.

The private and public lives of the migrant

The analysis of the interview transcripts revealed a tendency for Hong Kong migrants to
intensify their family relationships immediately after their migration from Hong Kong.
Our respondents spoke of spouses and family members being thrown upon each other for
support. Our migrant respondents reported that they spent more time with family
members than before. Having experienced difficulty in Singapore in finding work and
salaries comparable to their Hong Kong jobs, the women spent more time at home doing
housework and supervising children, but certainly not without a sense of role loss. Men
also spent more time than before on household chores and their children’s education, the
latter quickly becoming a major everyday concern:

I think I talk to my husband more often over here because there is now
more time. I am closer to my children over here because I am not
working. So I face them every day. We go out more often here. In Hong
Kong, we seldom had the opportunity to go out. Now the whole family
goes out…my husband spends more time with me.
 The ethnicity paradox of immigrants 85

My relationship with my husband is better in Singapore because when

we came over to a new place like Singapore, a lot of problems arose like
housing problems, finding a school for our child. So in these respects, we
have to discuss things, come to a compromise. After all these, our
relationship has improved because of the time spent together.
I definitely see more of my husband here in Singapore. I speak more to
my husband. My other family members aren’t here any more. It’s the two
of us for everything now.
In Hong Kong, each of us would do our own things, but over here the
family would discuss things more. If there are problems, we would
discuss. We are more closely knit here. In Hong Kong, we did our own
things but we now have to look out for each other here.

Hence, although some families appear to be separated as a result of their migration, with
one spouse in each city, other families are thrown together. Whether there are systematic
reasons behind the development of these different patterns, perhaps based upon income
level, must await future analyses.
Upon their arrival in Singapore between 1989 and 1991, many Hong Kong immigrants
found themselves congregating in certain public housing blocks (mainly Block 41 in
Batok). Since then, some of them have bought private property and moved out. A large
majority of the Hong Kong immigrants still live in public housing estates (Housing
Development Board apartments), which are ethnically mixed because of government
policies towards social integration. The Hong Kongers’ relations with neighbours remain
cordial, though non-committal. Our respondents reported difficulty in communicating
with their neighbours in English, Mandarin or local Chinese dialects, and in getting used
to the multiracial character of the public housing estates.
For many Hong Kong migrant families, the extension into the family of the husbands’
relations with colleagues in the workplace represents perhaps the most salient form of
integration into the host society, and the boundaries separating the public (work) and the
private (family) become blurred. Our respondents reported that they had been helped by
their work colleagues in employment, housing and children’s schooling, and in coping
with a new life in general. Work colleagues thus become the migrants’ ‘cultural brokers’,
and the workplace becomes a platform from which to launch the immigrants into society
proper. One of our respondents made this comment about his work colleagues:

My company’s colleagues are nice. They taught us how to socialise with

people, how to go to certain places. Because of my work, we start talking
naturally. They are very compassionate. They know that we have just
arrived so there will be some problems. I meet them quite often.

By the same token, those who have encountered difficulties in work relations (for
example, middle-level managers or foremen not coping well interpersonally or
linguistically with a multiracial workforce) experience a lesser degree of congruence with
the host society.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 86
Discussion and conclusion

According to the SIMS study, 1,155, or 88 per cent, of the Hong Kong respondents
indicated that they were happy with life in Singapore; they were reported as saying that
the country was ‘safe and secure’, that it offered a ‘good living environment’ and that it
had ‘spacious and cheap housing’. However, there was the oft-made complaint that the
cost of living in Singapore was too high, particularly when the salary earned in Hong
Kong could be higher. The authors of the study went on to observe: ‘Hence most Hong
Kong immigrants, although happy living in Singapore, may have no choice but to return
to Hong Kong to work after they receive their Singapore citizenship, if they are unable to
find a suitable and satisfying job here’. The likelihood of short-term (as in the case of
‘astronaut’ families) or long-term migration, although partially determined by job
satisfaction achieved in the host country, will ultimately depend upon the political and
economic circumstances of post-1997 Hong Kong. At present, Hong Kong continues to
prove attractive, and more and more Hong Kong immigrants to Singapore, once their
immigrant or citizenship status is secured, are going home. However, some family
members may remain in the country of immigration and lead a ‘dual existence’, shuttling
back and forth between the two places.
Conceptually, this pattern of dual existence may reinforce the ethnicity paradox, which
is the result of forces mediating between homeland, immigrant community and host
society. My study has shown that many Hong Kong immigrant families in Singapore are,
at the moment, physically split, with one or more members in Singapore and the others
somewhere else, suggesting a short-term picture of so-called ‘family disintegration’.
However, seen from a more long-term perspective, the analyst may well be witnessing
the emergence of a new form of functionally extended family, a ‘diasporic family’ that
discharges its familial functions globally, across political boundaries. Its maintenance is
not without its problems, however, as my analysis of the familial and associational life of
Hong Kong immigrants to Singapore has shown. Nevertheless, the perceived location of
one’s community in this larger spatial or diasporic context, with all its attendant familial,
clan, associational and economic linkages, can be a source of strength and security. Seen
in this way, the immigrants’ attempts to reproduce tradition and familiarity may not
merely be transitional conduct to ease them through the initial phase of adaptation, but
may be an integral and more long-term part of this global development.
The gradual emergence and growth of an ethnic community among Hong Kong
immigrants in Singapore will continue. On one level, an ethnic community will facilitate
the immigrant’s integration into the larger society; it fulfils the immigrants’ immediate
needs and thus is likely to prolong their stay in the country of adoption. On another level,
it reproduces the immigrant’s culture and heritage and thus retards assimilation. More
importantly, the needs of the immigrants change, and ethnic institutions will themselves
change to meet these new needs—indeed an untold story in the sociological literature on
migration. As a small group, residentially scattered, diverse in class and occupation, but
with a relatively high level of education as well as a certain degree of compatibility in
culture, written language, race and physical appearance with the Chinese of Singapore,
the Hong Kong immigrants should assimilate relatively easily. Yet such a conclusion is
contingent upon the nature of their experiences in the host society, and upon their job
 The ethnicity paradox of immigrants 87
satisfaction, and will take place in the context of emerging realities in Singapore and
other major centres of the Chinese diaspora.
The Hong Kong Chinese have become what Ronald Skeldon (1994b) calls
‘circulators’, moving among not two, not three, but a series of destinations, and giving
shape to an innovative international migration system, the ‘new’ Chinese diaspora. Seen
in this light, assimilation into a host society is not necessarily positive and desirable. And
culture-building, ethnic or migrant associations and continued returns to, or contacts with,
the homeland are not necessarily regressive or conservative. What is important is not
assimilation and the denial of one’s own ethnicity and culture, on the one hand, or the
creation of associations and the reinforcement of culture, on the other, but the
relationship between the host coun-tries and this quickly emerging and expanding
migration system brought about by ‘transilients’ who ‘leap across’ physical boundaries
and barriers (Richmond 1994). Conceptualised in this way, the dualism between
countries of origin and destination disappears and the importance of assimilation fades.
Looking forward several decades, hypermobility involving many forms of population
movement may be the norm rather than the exception, and it is through these
transnational networks that new identities will be forged.
 5
One face, many masks

For many decades now, sociologists have been chasing what Isaacs (1975:30) called the
‘snowman of ethnicity’, otherwise first made known to us by Francis Bacon as ‘idols of
the tribe’. This creature, ethnicity, is as elusive and slippery as it is complex. A plausible
starting point for our discourse on the subject is Weber (1992:389), who sees an ethnic
group as one whose members ‘entertain a subjective belief in their common descent
because of similarities of physical type or of customs or both, or because of memories of
colonisation and migration’, adding that ‘it does not matter whether or not an objective
blood relationship exists’ (emphases added). The strength of Weber’s definition lies in its
embodiment of an interplay between the objective and the subjective, perhaps
analytically favouring the latter—one’s belief or construction.
Traces of the influence of this Weberian accent on the subjective can be found in
Lyman and Douglas’s (1973:350) description of the individual ‘making use of ethnicity
as a manoeuvre or stratagem’. This dynamic, fluid exercise is conducted against the
backdrop of the group engaged in an ascriptive process of recruiting members and
classifying others. Such a fluid and ‘loose’ conception of ethnicity, as Alba (1990:25)
aptly calls it, is well articulated in Fishman’s (1977) insistence that ‘ethnicity is
concerned not only with an actor’s descent-related being (paternity) and behaving
(patrimony), but with the meanings that he attaches to his descent-related being and
behaving (phenomenology)’ (cited in Siddique 1990:40–1). Fishman’s phenomenological
interplay between the ascriptive and self-selective aspects of ethnicity, between
individual and group, albeit again leaning more on the latter, finds a more nuanced
formulation in Smolicz’s (1981:86) concept of personal cultural system, which
recognises ‘the conscious activity of a human agent in selecting values from the group
stock and organising them into a system which suits his own particular purposes and
interests’. As concept and in the empirical world, the personal cultural system mediates
between public group culture and private individual behaviours, the latter always under
the gaze of the sociological eye. Explicit in Smolicz’s characterisation of ethnicity
in terms of the trichotomy of group culture, individual and the personal cultural system
in between is his accent on the consciousness and self-selecting capabilities of the
human agency.
Smolicz’s accent on choice and selection was in fact anticipated by other classical
formulations: Novak’s ‘voluntary ethnicity’, Silver’s ‘individualism as a valid mode of
Jewishness’, Eisenstadt’s ‘Jewish diversity’,1 Yancey’s ‘emergent ethnicity’ and, most
significantly, Gans (1979), who argued that ‘today’s young ethnics are finding new ways
of being ethnics’ and called the most prominent of their new practices ‘symbolic
ethnicity’. Worldwide, among third-generation ethnics, the onset of ‘ethnicity drift’ or
‘cultural erosion’ (which the older generations often lament), leading to little or no
knowledge of their national origin and emigrant ancestry, and to their non-participation in
 One face, many masks 89
ethnic cultures and organisations, is common. Such ethnics are increasingly more
concerned with identity (in a socio-psychological sense) than actual cultural practices or
group relations, with feeling rather than being ethnic; this opens up the possibility of
choosing ethnic role definition, of voluntary, individualistic ethnicity. It is a kind of ‘no
costs’, ‘pick-and-choose’ ethnicity, more voluntary than ascriptive, more expressive than
instrumental, always affording a distinct possibility of the individual altering, diluting or
even dropping entirely many cultural elements of ethnicity without abdicating feeling
ethnic. The internal feeling is externally manifested or displayed in things symbolic,
physical, visible, be they customs, habits, rituals, attire, food or festivals—thus, the
accentuation on the visuality and visibility of ethnicity.
Gans’s voluntarism has recently received vigorous theoretical renewal as well as
empirical validation in Alba’s (1990) study of the ‘transformation of white America’.
Gans’s insistence on the independence of ethnic social structures from ethnic identity, on
individualism and cultural erosion, and on feeling and identity over being and culture, is
retained by Alba (1990:300) while the latter theorises about the ‘privatisation of ethnic
identity’—a reduction of its expression to largely personal and familial terms. The new
view of the new, young ethnics is that their ethnicity is no different from the facts of their
own family history, childhood and personal past. Of course, this new view of new
ethnicity has not displaced the older, anthropological and, if you like, colonialist and, in
turn, folk/lay view of ethnicity as ascription. The latter insists on ethnicity as a given
(Horowitz 1985:56), on name and body (Isaacs 1975:29–52), given at birth, on descent
and appearance, on skin colour and other physical, phenotypical features as badges or
emblems of identity (Isaacs 1975:29–52), as salient ethnic makers because they are
visible, objective, permanent, unchangeable, immutable and, therefore, ‘reliable’
(Horowitz 1985).2
In the case of the Chinese, many observers have remarked upon several Chinese
propensities: first, to stress physical elements in their description of racial others and their
insistence on ‘racial purity’, because breeding with ‘outsiders’ of almost any description
would threaten physical sameness (Isaacs 1975:40); second, to emphasise appearance and
biological descent (Clammer 1981:275) or ‘race’ (Smolicz 1981:81); and, third, to insist
on patrilineal ancestry and transmission as well as an ‘exclusionist’ view of boundaries of
group membership as absolute and non-negotiable (Wee 1988:2–17), which prevents the
entry of outsiders and the exit of insiders. This act of classification as Chinese by birth is
further compounded by non-Chinese as others imposing on Chinese (and Jews, blacks
and so on) their ascriptive ethnicity. Others do not conveniently forget that Chinese is
Chinese; that one is always reminded by others of his Chineseness (Wee 1988:32;
Tan 1993:25). Labelling by self and others thus collides, colludes and fuses. In a brief
moment of ruminating about her autobiography and ethnicity, Ang (1993:8) sombrely
proclaims: ‘Chineseness…to me was an imposed identity…a sign of the inescapability of
my own Chineseness, inscribed as it was on the very surface of my body, much like what
Frantz Fanon (1970) has called the “corporeal malediction” of the fact of his blackness.
The “corporeal malediction” of Chineseness, of course, relates to the more general “fact
of yellowness” characterised among others by those famous “slanted eyes”’.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 90
Research methods

With these theoretical issues in mind, we began in March 1992 and February 1993 to
collect data on the Chinese in Singapore. This study was conducted using qualitative
fieldwork methods. Two major interview methods were used: openended, semi-structured
interviews guided by an interview schedule; and casual, interview-like, ‘everyday life’
conversations during the fieldwork. The interview schedule consisted of questions
pertaining to, among other things, use of language(s), personal and family life histories,
ethnic prejudice and social contacts between groups and, especially, meanings of being
Chinese. The interviews were conducted in English, Mandarin and the main Chinese
dialects used in Singapore, namely Hokkien, Teochew and Cantonese. Field notes were
made during and after interviews, which generally lasted from half an hour to three hours,
with most of them averaging an hour and a half.
A total of fifty-six informants were interviewed; 52 per cent were male, 48 per cent
female. While making no claim to randomness, the study attempted to stratify the sample
by several key criteria, one being the language in which interviewees were educated,
given the close link between language, ethnicity and mental processes. In the sample, 42
per cent were English-educated, 42 per cent were Chinese-educated, and 16 per cent had
no formal education. Another important variable was the age of the informant: 42 per
cent of the informants were between fifteen and twenty-five years old, 34 per cent
between twenty-six and forty years, 18 per cent between forty-one and fifty-nine years,
and six per cent above sixty years. It was also felt that the occupational background of the
respondents may have an impact on their perception of ethnicity. In the end, we had a
wide range of occupational groups in our study: students, journalists, provision shop
owners, school teachers, housewives, doctors, taxi-drivers, clan leaders and engineers.
The interviews were supplemented by a survey of 1,025 Chinese conducted in 1989. The
survey, while concentrating on Chinese religion in Singapore, contained information
relevant to this study. Another source of data was the newspaper and archival collection,
in English and Chinese, at the National University of Singapore. We also managed to
deepen our analysis through discussions with scholars working in this area.

Ethnicity in flux

In the course of an interview during our fieldwork, an informant proclaimed that

‘English-educated Chinese in Singapore are less Chinese’. Perplexed, as if Chineseness
in Singapore is an objective thing that can be quantified and measured, we asked him
what he considered to be the attributes of being Chinese. He was slightly stunned; except
for the fact that he knew he was ‘Chinese’, he confessed he could not articulate what it
was that made him Chinese. In fact, one characteristic of our informants during the
interviews, particularly the younger ones, was the combination of deep confusion, painful
self-examination and rationalisation when confronted with the exercise of defining their
Chineseness. To quote from one informant:
 One face, many masks 91

Because no one thinks of whether one is a Chinese or not, you just take it
for granted and no one usually has to think about whether one is Chinese
or not…but now you are asking questions, that will make people think
about things that they would normally not have to think about. This is
really stressful. I have never thought about these questions. I really have
to think. It is really in the blood to be Chinese, isn’t it?
Man, 26, English-educated, tertiary education, medical doctor

There were many inconsistencies and contradictions in our respondents’ discourse. One
English-educated Chinese informant claimed that the Chinese language is the central
marker of ethnic identity, but she herself does not speak Chinese at all. Yet she saw no
problem in calling herself Chinese.
Whether concerned with gender, ethnicity, religion, occupation, generation or the
problem of one’s own existence, identity questions, when asked, are inherently anxiety-
inducing for many, if not for all. As questions, they are rarely asked by others or by self.
Self-interrogation is a rare thing. One typically does not ask oneself ‘Who am I?’, ‘What
am I?’, except when thrown into acute selfconsciousness during moments of transition
brought upon by such life events as threat of imminent death, acute illness, religious
conversion, forced migration, marriage and divorce, natural disasters or while in
hospitals, transit lounges of international airports, hotels, concentration or refugee camps
and so on. Identity is put behind or underneath consciousness because of its taken-for-
grantedness. It is ordinarily non-problematic, so one ‘moves on with life’.
Yet, for some, perhaps a minority few, ethnic identity is a securely fastened personal
bundle, safely deposited in a mental place, comfortably. It is firmly anchored in one’s
psychological priorities; one thus speaks about one’s place of origin, heritage, homeland
and belongingness with certainty and conviction. Among our informants, the older,
China-born Chinese in Singapore, the first-generation immigrants, had little difficulty in
defining their Chineseness. They called themselves ‘teng-swa-lang’ or ‘Tang people’,
people of the Tang Dynasty. For them, ethnic identity is anchored in territoriality and
grounded in the historicity of China. Their sense of ethnicity is tied to ‘place’, ‘locality’
or ‘community’. Ques-tions such as ‘Who is Chinese?’, ‘What is Chinese?’ were silly
non-questions to them.
Ethnic identity questions become stressful when it is assumed by authorities that one
knows and should know about one’s place of origin—but does not, when asked. One may
not ‘know’ because of unique personal or political circumstances not of one’s own
making. But it does not matter. One is still shamed and annoyed when the sociologist
asks. One should not be in an ethnicity drift, but one is—one is thus exhorted to return to
‘roots’, olden times. Ethnic identity questions are stressful when one prefers to deem
ethnicity as largely symbolic in much of one’s personal life, at a time when the state
seems to think otherwise and insists on its ascriptive primacy. Disjuncture in definitions
between state and self puts the latter under stress, sociologically.
While espousing a policy of multiracialism, the Singapore state constantly intervenes
in the lives of its citizens, both in public policies and in areas that constitute the private
sphere, including birth, choice of marriage partner and education. Given the presence of
many diverse ethnic groups living in close proximity, the state has, since independence,
taken a proactive role in ethnic policies. For example, the government adopts an official
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 92
classification of the population based on racial/ethnic membership: what is popularly
known as CMIO (Chinese, Malays, Indians and others). This official classification is
inscribed on a person’s birth certificate and identity card. Such an inscribed identity often
creates problems for the individual, especially in families with interethnic marriages. For
example, a child whose father is Chinese and mother is Indian would be classified as
Chinese, while a child whose father is Indian and mother is Chinese would be classified
as Indian. The problem is exacerbated when the child enters school. Singapore’s
educational system emphasises bilingualism: a child is required to learn English and a
mother tongue. Children who are officially designated Chinese will have to offer
Mandarin as their mother tongue, even if their home language is Tamil. Similarly,
children who are classified as Indian, and who may be, due to their mothers’ influence,
more conversant in Mandarin, will have to offer Tamil as their mother tongue. While this
policy has been relaxed somewhat in recent years, the disjuncture between self-
identification and the imposition of racial identity creates ambiguities and often bring
stress to the child and the family.
Ethnicity might have gone the symbolic, voluntary path for many an individual, but it
is not the case with society and the state. In the case of Singapore, the institutionalisation
(Clammer 1981) and bureaucratisation (Siddique 1990) of ethnicity through ‘Speak
Mandarin Campaigns’, ‘racially’ based self-help groups and so on has ensured the
stability and constancy of racial consciousness in Singapore society. With the equation of
ethnicity with race in the foreground, the state shapes and directs the ethnicity discourse.
Singaporeans, especially those Singapore-born and younger ones, are coping with this
state discourse in their own ways, certainly not without ambivalent feelings,
inconsistencies or self-contradictions.

Ethnic membership by ascription

Most of our informants tended to use ascriptive elements to describe and to account for
their Chineseness. There was this shared idea that one is ‘born’ a Chinese, into a Chinese
family and is thus ‘naturally’ classified as Chinese. One informant said:

We are Chinese because we are born Chinese and there is no way of

changing that.
Man, 25, Chinese-educated, secondary level-four education, shopkeeper

Another informant reiterated:

If you are born that way [Chinese], you will always be like that. It is all in
the blood. It is all in the human nature.
Woman, 43, English-educated, pre-university education, housewife

In fact, regardless of age, birth place, religion, language, education or socio-economic

status, our Chinese informants seemed to use birth and bloodline as the most important
markers or criteria for ethnic identification and membership. The emphasis was on ethnic
membership by ascription, which was operationalised or ‘indicated’ by phenotypical
 One face, many masks 93
characteristics. That is, people who are Chinese have black hair, dark eyes, yellow skin
and so on:

When you talk about being a Chinese, you look at the colour of the skin.
Now we look at the Singaporean Chinese, it is still the same because your
blood is Chinese blood. How can we say that your blood is Malay blood?
That’s not possible…you look at the colour of the skin. For example, if
you look at the offsprings (sic) of mixed marriages, their skin colour is
different from ours… You have a Malay who speaks Mandarin, you’ll
have to look at his skin colour—if it is very dark, then you’ll know that he
is Malay. Now if you have a Malay who speaks English, which is very
common these days, you won’t have a problem identifying him as a
Malay immediately because he is dark and speaks no Chinese dialect. If a
child is brought up speaking English only and knows no Chinese
language, and you ask if this child is still Chinese, it would be difficult
because from young to old, the child has only been speaking English…but
if you look at the child’s skin colour, you’ll be able to tell that he is
Chinese. You have the exceptions of those who are really dark, then that
will be the minority because most of us Chinese are fair-skinned
people…a bit yellow… Children of mixed marriages are not the same.
Their facial features are different. If you look carefully or closely
enough—because we are so much older than you, we can tell that these
features are different. You can see all through that (even if the child’s
father is Chinese)! Because their skin colour will still be mixed. You see,
if a Malay who is dark-skinned marries a Chinese who is fair, the child’s
skin will never be white as ours. You will see that the colour of the child’s
skin is mixed. Even if the father is Chinese, the child’s eyes and lips will
also be different from a pure Chinese’s. The child will carry the
‘whatever’ of the other people with him in his facial features and the child
will just look different because of this.
Man, mid-40s, Chinese-educated, primary school education,
provision shop owner

Seemingly untroubled by the fact that there is a gradation of skin and hair colours among
the Chinese, our Chinese respondents insisted on the primordial, immediately visual,
phenotypical elements as markers of Chineseness. The colour may be slightly varied, but
it is still Chinese blood. What is not visual or visible, like blood, is ‘operationalised’ or
‘indicated’ by what is, like skin colour and black hair. Of course, such an exercise of
caricature by phenotypes was undertaken without awareness of the fact that the Chinese
were not the first to refer to their own skin colour as yellow—the Caucasians were. The
Chinese describe skin colour as white, or as fair (desirable) or not fair (not desirable).
The language and habits of racial classification of powerful others have in time become
one’s own (Tan 1993):
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 94

Our ancestors had the genes…it has been passed down to us and we all
have yellow skin. Our eyes are black… That is why we are Chinese… Yet
we can’t change our origin—we are really and absolutely Chinese and that
cannot be changed. No one can change us into a European or Indian. We
can’t be changed because our ancestors are from China. They are real
Chinese people—they are our ancestors. We can’t change that… It is a
simple fact. Our ancestors are Chinese with yellow skin and black hair.
Man, 25, Chinese-educated, secondary level-four education, deliveryman

The surname was also reported as a related ethnic marker. Many respondents claimed that
the surname determines who is Chinese:3

You need a Chinese surname to be a Chinese. ‘Tan’, ‘Lim’…these are

Chinese surnames. This is because no matter what, you still have a
Chinese surname. You can’t deny it. If you’re born with a Chinese
surname, that will always be part of you. A child would be Chinese
because of the Chinese surname. But if it is the child’s mother who is the
Chinese, the child will take the father’s surname and not the mother’s
surname. This would mean that the child is not Chinese.
Man, 66, no formal education, retired

How then do we go about making sense of the emphasis among Chinese Singaporeans on
primordial characteristics as the basis of ethnic identification and membership? It may be
because the Chinese in Singapore live in a multiracial society where the other groups, the
Malays (14 per cent) and the Indians (8 per cent), are clearly of different skin colour from
the Chinese (77 per cent), the former groups being predominantly darker in colour. The
emphasis on skin colour affords and facilitates group differentiation: we are Chinese
because our colour is yellow, unlike the dark-skinned Indians and Malays:

Chinese are Chinese because of their colour. The older generation used to
feel that skin colour mattered a lot…the ‘blacks’ were the Malays and
Indians…‘white-skinned’ people were the ‘whites’ and yellow were the
Chinese. So my father used to say that we Chinese are from China… First,
our skin colour is yellow, our language is different…those were the most
important distinguishing factors…then our habits, likes and dislikes, are
all completely different.
Man, 52, Chinese-educated, primary school education, shopkeeper

Through contrastive effects, being in close contact with other ethnic groups in everyday
life heightens differences and creates boundaries between groups. Also, when other
ethnic markers such as language, religion and education are becoming increasingly
amorphous, phenotypical distinctiveness gains functional salience. It is used for
boundary maintenance, controlling an individual’s entry into and exit from the group. It
is thus this constructed ethnic boundary that defines the group, not the culture enclosed in
it (Earth 1969:15).
 One face, many masks 95
Many of our Chinese informants made the point that one cannot become a Chinese if
not born Chinese. Thus, a Malay or Indian who speaks Mandarin or a Chinese dialect,
practises a Chinese religion, its customs or rituals and observes all the cultural behaviours
will still not be Chinese. In fact, such a person is often regarded as an oddity by our
Chinese informants:

Is it possible for a Malay to become Chinese? No, I don’t think you can.
You have to identify with a race. When you are born, they classify you.
Okay, a Malay can adopt the Chinese way of thinking but he will not be
Chinese. Look, how would you feel if a Caucasian tells you that he is
Chinese? We are westernised but, basically, we’re Chinese. That’s how I
perceive who is a Chinese (emphasis added).
Woman, 20s, English-educated, tertiary education, legislative assistant

Many Indians in Malaysia are able to speak good Chinese and can act
Chinese, but the blood itself is Indian. I will say that no matter how, you
can never change nature.
Man, 26, English-educated, tertiary education, engineer

If you are not born Chinese, you can’t become a Chinese.

Woman, 24, English-educated, tertiary education, personnel assistant

If one parent is not Chinese, the appearance of the child would not look
Chinese.
Man, 22, Chinese-educated, secondary education, clerk

At the same time, our interviewees felt that people who are born Chinese will always be
Chinese even if they cannot speak the language or do not practise a Chinese religion, its
customs or rituals:

For me, I’m a bit westernised. I don’t use chopsticks and I seldom speak
Chinese. When my colleagues speak Chinese too fast, I can’t keep up with
them. So they speak to me in English. When I need to speak to them,
sometimes I use broken Mandarin and Cantonese. People say that if you
are Chinese, you have to have Chinese values, [but] mine have
disappeared, I think western. But I think Chinese morals are good… Yes I
still consider myself a Chinese. I think that as long as your face is
Chinese, even if you do not speak Chinese, you are still a Chinese. Only
your ability to speak Chinese has been reduced (emphases added).
Man, 21, English-educated, tertiary education, student

I think that one is Chinese, no matter what. So what if he does not speak
Chinese, his heritage is Chinese! If you are Chinese, you are Chinese. If
you are yellow skin, you are yellow skin, there is no way to change that.
Woman, 30, Chinese-educated, pre-university education, Chinese teacher
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 96
What is clear from these interview excerpts is that ethnic membership by ascription in
terms of racial or phenotypical features is invoked to separate the insider and the outsider.
This perceptual propensity can be gleaned by examining our informants’ attitude towards
intermarriage. The intermarriage rate in Singapore since independence has been constant
and generally low, hovering between 3 per cent and 6 per cent of the total number of
annual marriages. The Chinese intermarry least, followed by Malays and Indians (Hassan
and Benjamin 1976; Kuo and Hassan 1979; S.M.Lee 1988). Our informants insisted that
children of intermarriages cannot be considered ‘Chinese’. Some concessions are
occasionally made if the father is Chinese, given the importance of patrilineage in
Chinese society. By and large, children of mixed marriages are often regarded as chup
cheng or mixed genes—invariably used in a derogatory sense:

If the child’s father is not Chinese, but the mother is Chinese, then the
child cannot be considered a Chinese because the child will become a
Eurasian. The child cannot be accepted as Chinese anymore because the
blood of the child is no longer pure.
Man, 40, Chinese-educated, primary education, shop proprietor

To be pure Chinese, the father and mother must be Chinese. Of course,

there are lots of mixed races, the ‘chup cheng’… If one parent is Chinese,
he might have some traits that are Chinese, for example, looking Chinese
but he is still mixed. It’s important to be pure Chinese.
Man, 21, Chinese-educated, tertiary education, student

Born a Chinese, always Chinese, still Chinese, though having achieved none of the
alleged cultural characteristics. Not born Chinese, still not Chinese, in spite of one’s
cultural adoption or achievement. The singular principle of birth—by ascription, descent
and origin—for ethnic group membership emphasises the ‘fact’ of immutability and
unchangeability of one’s Chineseness. Ethnic membership being a given, it is taken as
something no one single individual can do anything about.
This singular principle of birth implies categorical exclusion and exclusiveness, and
continued insistence on absolute purity of blood and origin, vigilance over and fear of
intrusion, penetration by the other ‘races’, by the genetically different. The opposite of
purity is impurity, and it is feared—contamination by intermarriage is to be guarded
against by the group, to be negated by the anthropology, sociology and psychology of the
internal, self-maintaining forces of the group. Chinese marrying Chinese has become a
moral duty, a ‘must-do’ behaviour; to be otherwise is shameful, not respectable.
Interbreeding ‘gives birth to’ difference, sometimes a sociological stigma: one is lesser,
inferior, an oddity, a bit freakish. The mixed child is, nevertheless, still Chinese, though
an inferior Chinese, contaminated, somehow reduced, in the eyes of the Chinese, the
‘pure’ ones.
 One face, many masks 97
Religious bifurcation

Many ‘traditional’ markers of ethnic identification (language, education, religious

affiliation) have lost their homogenising influence among the Chinese in modern-day
Singapore. For example, religion might have been among the ethnic markers of ethnic
identity for the Chinese because core cultural values regarded by the Chinese as
important—filial piety, duty and the perpetuation of the family line - are encoded in the
religion. The very enactment of rituals, particularly ancestral, birth and death rites,
reinforces values that maintain Chinese identity. As rituals celebrate tradition, they are
links to people’s roots and ties to the homeland. Religion thus provides, through ritual
performance and the belief system, constant reminders, for the individual, of the history,
tradition and cultural values of Chinese society. Rituals affirm the sense of community
and, in the Durkheimian sense, unite the group by bringing together diverse people for a
common purpose. Rituals bind and bond, through heightened activities and common
sentiments, the individual to community. For example, the Chinese celebrate the Hungry
Ghosts Festival. The Chinese believe that souls can be trapped in hell until they are
released or reborn. Adherents of traditional Chinese religion claim that, during the
seventh month of the lunar calendar, the ‘gates of hell’ are opened and ‘hungry ghosts’
are allowed to roam the earth for a month. This is considered a dangerous period, and
people take precautions to avoid offending the wandering spirits. Communal rituals
are conducted, including the offering of food and money. The idea is that these rituals
appease the spirits, and people come together to ward off wandering spirits from
the community.
In modern Singaporean society, however, it is difficult to argue that religion continues
to perform these functions for a majority of the Chinese. In the 1921 Census of
Population of Singapore, 98 per cent of the Chinese population claimed affiliation to a
Chinese religion.4 Then, it can be argued, at least statistically, that religion acted as a
crucial ethnic marker. Recent statistics, however, show that this is no longer the case. For
example, in the 1990 Census, 39 per cent of the Chinese respondents claimed to be
Buddhists and 28.2 per cent Taoists (Tong 1992). Taken together, those who believed in
the Chinese religion formed only 67 per cent of the Chinese population in Singapore. A
significant 14.2 per cent claimed to be Christians, and 18.3 per cent said that they had no
religion. This in fact makes the Chinese the most religiously fragmented community in
Singapore. Religious affiliation for the Chinese in Singapore is marked by heterogeneity
rather than homogeneity.
Moreover, those who claim affiliation to Christianity come from very different socio-
demographic backgrounds from the Taoists or non-religious; a Chinese Christian is a
very different person from a Chinese Taoist. Christianity is more attractive to the
younger, English-educated Chinese, who typically come from more well-to-do families.
In fact, in terms of language competence, over 27 per cent of the English-educated were
Christians, compared with only 6 per cent for the Chinese-educated. Taoists seem to have
socio-demographic characteristics opposite to the Christians. They tend to be older, have
lower educational attainment and speak either Mandarin or a Chinese dialect. In this
sense, it can be suggested that, in Singapore, religion acts as a marker that divides rather
than unifies the Chinese community.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 98
In a study (Tong 1988) on the customary practices of the Chinese, it was found that,
while many Chinese still perform traditional Chinese customs and religious practices,
there is a significant decline in ritual performance among the younger, English-educated
Chinese Singaporeans. For example, for those below the age of 30, only 72.2 per cent
observed the Qing Ming celebrations, compared with 86.5 per cent of those aged forty to
forty-nine years. Similarly, for the English-educated Chinese, a significant 49.1 per cent
observed less than four festivals a year, compared with only 26.5 per cent for the
Chinese-educated. Even among the younger Chinese who claimed to be Taoists, we saw
a decline in the practice of traditional Chinese customs. Chinese customs no longer act as
a binding, unifying force, a cement holding the community together. Rather, there is a
movement away from the performance of Chinese rituals as obligatory to an
understanding of them as voluntary.
When we examine further the variable of religion, an even more dramatic picture
emerges. For those who claimed affiliation to a Chinese religion, 85.3 per cent celebrated
at least five (out of a maximum of nine) calendrical rituals or Chinese festivals annually.
On the other hand, 90.4 per cent of the Christians celebrated fewer than four festivals a
year. It appears that a great majority of Christians perceive Chinese festivals as
superstitious and avoid them. Using multivariate analysis, it was found that religion was
the only predictor of whether Christians will carry out Chinese customs or not. There are
probably two reasons for this. First, the vast majority of Chinese Christians in Singapore
are converts from traditional Chinese religions. Religious switching implies a
dissatisfaction with the Chinese religious system. Secondly, the nature of Christianity in
Singapore is one that emphasises doctrinal and ritual purity. Chinese customs tend to be
perceived as superstitious—there is thus a desire to refrain from practising what is seen as
contradictory to Christian theology. Nevertheless, it is rather important to note that most
Christians, if not all, do not regard themselves as not being Chinese, just because they do
not carry out customary practices. Rather, they feel that religion is not a necessary
condition for ethnic identification.
The point we are making here is that religion might have acted, because of a shared
belief system among the Chinese, as an ethnic marker in the past. But, in modern-day
Singapore, we see a heterogeneity of beliefs and a movement away from obligatoriness
and towards voluntarism in the observance of traditional Chinese customs and festivals.
Of course, we can in one sense argue that the ease with which the Chinese have been able
to switch religions, compared with, say, the Malays, who still remain Muslims, means
that religion may not have been an important ethnic marker to begin with. Such a view of
Chinese religion has always been held by intellectuals, who feel that the Chinese do not
have religions, only ideological systems (Yang 1970).
The assumption that the Chinese community in Singapore was once homogeneous and
is now heterogeneous may well be problematic. One may argue that the Chinese were
never really homogeneous to begin with, only that the factors that used to divide the
Chinese have now changed. Whereas, in the past, the divisions in the Chinese community
were based on dialect, locality, region, politics (pro-Nationalists vs. pro-Communists)
and occupation, they are now language, education and religion. But it is also probably
true that there were more variables holding the Chinese together in the past, be they
territorial identity, cultural factors or historical consciousness, than now when, it seems,
 One face, many masks 99
only the principle of birth, blood and descent prevails as a singular marker separating the
insiders from the outsiders.
Birth, blood or descent is familial—and individual—rather than community based.
One hallmark of modern society is increasing individualism. We argue that, even in
ethnic identification, we have moved towards greater reliance on the individual than on
the community—that is, individual identity rather than the community, personal
identification rather than cultural homogeneity.
The large increase in the number of Chinese Christians between the 1920s and the
1990s is particularly interesting as, in many ways, Christianity had for a time been
viewed by many Chinese, particularly the older ones, as antithetical to Chineseness—as a
western tradition that erodes the base of Chinese customary practices. Such a view is
supported by data from a study (Tong 1988) of Chinese customs, which shows that the
one single factor accounting for why Christians did not carry out customary practices,
including celebrating Chinese festivals and observing the rites of birth, marriage and
death, was their adherence to the precepts of Christianity—along with their view that
these Chinese customs are superstitious, anti-Christian and paganistic. Thus, there is a
fundamental bifurcation in the Chinese community: those who are Christians and those
who are Chinese religionists, along with a group of Chinese who are Muslims or neo-
Hindu groups and those who profess no religion at all. The distinction between Chinese
Christians and non-Christians is complicated by the fact that they are cross-cut by other
divisive factors. Christians tend to be English-educated, while the Chinese religionists
tend to be Chinese-educated. At the same time, Christians tend to have higher socio-
economic and educational status than the Chinese religionists. The observed sociological
correlations between religion, language and education, on the one hand, and socio-
economic status, on the other, have led one to wonder whether the sociology of intra-
ethnic relations among the Chinese in Singapore should include class influence in its
future analyses.
In general theoretical terms, it is probably true that, while the relationship between
Christianity and Chineseness is one of mutual co-existence or, possibly, fission,
affiliation with a Chinese religion would certainly further deepen the meaning and effects
of one’s Chinese ethnicity. Among the Christians, however, we found that the majority
seemed to have found ways to resolve the contradiction between being Christian and
Chinese, while some rationalised their inner battles away or just accepted the possibility
of Christianity making one less Chinese. To quote our informants:

Like in religion…we may vary in our beliefs. You may be Christian, but
you are still Chinese. You may not want to eat what we offer to our gods,
but you are still Chinese. Some Christians at the bottom of it all, they will
still tell you that they are Hokkiens too…that is why, even if they have a
different religion, they are still Chinese (emphases added).
Woman, 73, no formal education, housewife

No, you can’t take religion or food to be the major ethnic marker. For
example, you are Christian, but you wouldn’t say that you are not
Chinese, would you? You are still Chinese. In fact, many youngsters are
now Christians, and you can’t consider them not Chinese. Some even eat
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 100
food that has been offered for worship. I know that some Christians will
not eat this sort of food. They are still Chinese (emphases added).
Man, 66, no formal education, retired

Language and education as contested terrain

During their colonial rule, the British in Singapore, and elsewhere in South-east Asia,
pursued the practice of ascriptive ethnicity, allocating differential and unequal economic
and social roles to the Malays, Chinese and the Indians (Trocki 1992; Lian and Ananda
2002). British colonial administrators viewed themselves and others as members of a
distinct, separate community first, and as individuals second (Stockwell 1982:56). The
ruler and the ruled related to each other as communities, in an interactional mode
symbolised by residential concentrations of different ethnic groups in the city (Hodder
1953). Solidarity, rather than dialectical relations, between human nature, culture,
ethnicity, geography, community, socio-economic organisation and the individual was
thus firmly established. One may venture that the Singapore government’s use of the
official CMIO racial classification scheme in modern-day Singapore bears the historical
legacy of a colonial ideology (Lian and Ananda 2002). One major consequence of the
state’s multiracialism policy is that ‘races’ remain separate and distinct, and a heightened
racial consciousness remains, whereby Chinese are under pressure to become more
Chinese, Indians more Indian, and Malays more Malay (Benjamin 1976)—than they
otherwise would be if left alone by the government.
The formal educational system in Singapore was first set up by the British colonial
administrators, whose aim was to create an indigenous elite, which was Malay. The
Chinese were left on their own; the community, particularly the clan associations,
provided the resources to set up schools. The language of instruction in these schools
was, not surprisingly, Chinese (Mandarin). Textbooks and teachers were drawn from
China and Taiwan. English (pro-British) education was something only the elite,
including a few Chinese, could afford. When the People’s Action Party assumed power in
1959, it set out to transform the educational system. In stages, schools became centralised
and integrated while a uniform curriculum was introduced. Initially, Chinese-medium
schools existed alongside the English-medium schools. By the 1980s, enrolment in
Chinese schools began to decline, resulting in the closure of many.
Chiew (1983) uses the concept of ‘depluralisation’ to explain ethnic relations in post-
independence Singapore. Depluralisation, for him, means the breaking down of ethnic
boundaries and exclusiveness. As the boundaries of the ethnic groups overlap more and
more, an overarching national identity emerges. Using the concepts of broker and parallel
institutions—the former referring to institutions that mediate and bridge two or more
ethnic groups, and the latter to those that are shared but duplicated—Chiew suggests that
broker institutions have become increasingly significant while parallel ones have
declined. The bridging institutions he has identified include integrated schools, bilingual
education and public housing. An example of a parallel institution is the vernacular
language schools. Chiew claims that Singapore society, due to depluralisation, enjoys a
high degree of structural integration and the successful creation of a national identity. In
Singapore, the government adopted a policy of bilingualism and bilingual education
 One face, many masks 101
where all students are required to study English as a first language and the mother tongue
(Chinese [Mandarin], Tamil or Malay) as a second language. The then Prime Minister,
Lee Kuan Yew (1978), rationalised the bilingualism policy in this way:

Our task is to create an enduring society. It must have some essential

common features. One of these is the ability and ease in communicating
with one another through the use of one common language in our
multilingual, multicultural society.

Since then, the educational system has undergone several changes, most importantly
through the setting up of special schools, which teach English and Chinese as first
languages. What has been the impact of the changing educational system on the
self-identity and ethnicity of Singaporeans? In colonial and post-independence Singapore,
language policies are often tied up with education and, inevitably, the politics of the
nation-states (Gopinathan 1980; Lian and Ananda 2002). In the colonial era, the
educational system was divisive, creating boundaries between the Chinese and other
ethnic groups. The various groups and, more importantly, their children were segregated
from one another. Chinese children were educated in Chinese. Chinese education, at that
time, followed the more traditional, classical idea of inculcating morality in a person.
Thus, Chinese schools, in colonial times, reinforced the socialisation process in the
family and strengthened the sense of group identity. At the time, Chinese education was
China-centred, with little relevance to Singapore (Franke 1965). Chinese children were
educated to identify themselves with Chinese nationalism, with the politics of the nation-
state in China. The Singapore state, since 1959, has promoted an ideology of
multiracialism, based on the founding Charter principle of equal treatment of cultural and
ethnic identities of the various races as well as the four streams of education—Malay,
Chinese, English and Tamil (Benjamin 1976).
The educational policy after the independence of Singapore in 1965 was to break
down the segregation of the various ethnic groups and to set up ‘integrated’ schools.
Education, nevertheless, remained a divisive force within the Chinese community. A
differentiation between the ‘Chinese-educated’ Chinese and the English-educated
Chinese developed, mutually spawning various ‘subethnic’ stereotypes. In the 1990s,
vigorous promotion by the government of the four official languages, Mandarin, Malay,
Tamil and English (Pakir 1993), was partly responsible for signs of polarisation between
the two groups. However, the process of dichotomy began as early as the beginning of
the twentieth century with the formation of two distinct groups: a minority of Anglophile
Chinese and the majority of Chinese-educated. One English-educated Chinese noted the
following:

They (the Chinese-educated Chinese) were one kind and we were another
kind. They were very narrow-minded. They only spoke Chinese. As a
Chinese-educated, there’s no future. They only went to Nantah (the then
Nanyang University, a Chinese language university). They were at a
disadvantage. If they wanted to go to England, they could not speak
English. As an Englisheducated, it’s all right not to know Chinese because
you can still get by. I had neighbours who were all Chinese-educated.
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 102
Thank goodness for them, they eventually became bilingual and did very
well. One of the sisters had to sacrifice her life and education to let her
brother go and study abroad. I suppose that is what I admire about the
Chinese-educated. But Chinese education is not that important. It’s good
to know something just to get by. In Singapore, you do not need to know
Chinese. English is far superior. If you only know Chinese, you are at a
disadvantage.
Man, mid-twenties, English-educated, tertiary education, engineer

Obversely, the Chinese educated have a low view of their English-educated counterpart:

If a person looks Chinese but does not speak Chinese, I do not think he is
Chinese, and if a person speaks Chinese and does not look Chinese, he is
also not a Chinese.
Woman, 22, Chinese-educated, secondary education, housewife

I think learning Chinese is a torture. But at the same time, it is a shameful

thing if you don’t know your own language, especially when you are
abroad. The Japanese and the French are all very proud of their language,
we should be too.
Man, 22, Chinese-educated, secondary education, clerk

Chinese-educated Chinese were depicted by the English-educated as ‘ultraconservative’

and ‘unfashionable’. Similarly, the Chinese-educated saw the English-educated as
‘liberal’, ‘sexually loose’ and half-Chinese, an inferior kind of Chinese with little sense
of what Chinese culture is. There were different senses of what constitutes Chinese
identity and culture between the two groups. It is not accidental that the Chinese-educated
tended to use language as a central marker of ethnicity, vital to the transmission of
cultural values: ‘Once Chinese language goes, Chinese culture will go with it’. To quote
one informant:

I think Chinese who do not speak Chinese are not really Chinese Chinese.
Some do not even celebrate Chinese New Year, they just sleep at home.
It’s such a waste. They calculate how much ang pow (cash money in red
paper packets symbolising prosperity and good luck) they have to give
and decide that it’s not worth it.
He’s not very Chinese and he has difficulty communicating with his
neighbours. It is not right that he does not speak Chinese at all. I can
accept him but I don’t think the older people can. I think in future, his kids
will have problems. They will not be able to speak Mandarin. In
Singapore, since Chinese are the majority, he will have problems
communicating with others. It’s also very disgraceful. There are some
foreigners who are trying to learn Chinese, and then you have a Chinese
who cannot speak Chinese.
 One face, many masks 103

If foreigners speak to you in Chinese and you cannot reply, it’s very
embarrassing. Most younger generation mothers today do not speak to
their children in Mandarin because they know that without English, they
cannot survive in Singapore. Because of this, now there’s a big gap
between grandchildren and grandparents. They cannot speak to each
other.
Man, 22, Chinese-educated, secondary education, office worker

Feeling deprived because of their Chinese-language education, such people have

developed an emphatic attitude towards the Chinese language, possibly through a process
of reaction formation—the powerless in-group embraces and takes renewed pride in the
very thing that has been stigmatised by the powerful out-group. Also, in defence, the
Chinese-educated turn the language-culture linkage into a moral issue. The inability of
the English-educated to have a sound command of the Chinese language is often depicted
by the Chinese-educated as disgraceful. Derogatory terms such as ‘banana’, that is
‘yellow outside and white inside’, or ‘WOG’, an acronym for ‘western oriental
gentlemen’, were used to characterise the English-educated. The Chinese-educated were
apparently oblivious to the paradoxical etymology of such terms, which were first coined
by Caucasians to refer to second- and third-generation Asians (mainly Chinese and
Japanese) who had been so culturally assimilated that they no longer conversed in their
own native language nor functioned well in their native culture. Now, in turn, they are
adopted by the Chinese-educated to ridicule the English-educated for their ethnicity drift,
for having ‘lost their roots’. An outsider’s condemnation has become the insiders’ bone
of contention.
Other than an insistence on the Chinese language, the Chinese-educated also tended to
emphasise knowledge of and adherence to Chinese culture, an idealised notion of
Chineseness:

People are turning to other cultures because they cannot identify with their
own culture. I feel that since one is Chinese, they should know their own
culture, otherwise there would be no need to define race. Since we are the
majority, obviously, our culture has done most for the society. If the other
races could not tolerate us, they would have voiced it, but they have not,
so it shows we are all right… For all you know, they may want to share
our thinking too. Do you realise that in five thousand years, China has
never conquered anyone and even if they have, they did not cause too
much hardship or destroy their country? This is significant because of an
important Chinese virtue—harmony.
Man, 40, Chinese-educated, primary education, shop owner

The English-educated Chinese, as expected, tended to underemphasise the role of

language in defining identity. Rather, the markers used were ‘bloodline’, hair and skin
colour and practising what they considered as core traditional values. While the Chinese-
educated felt that a Chinese must speak, read and write Chinese and follow all the
customs and rituals, the English-educated tended to be more concerned with what they
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 104
regarded as core values, the most often cited being ‘filial piety’, and the performance of
key rituals, such as the celebration of Chinese New Year or Mid-Autumn Festival.
It should be emphasised here that, while the English-educated and Chinese-educated
agreed with each other on what constitutes core values, such as descent, which refers to
the perpetuation of the family name through the provision of sons, and filial piety, in
other areas, especially language, disagreement was acute. The Chinese-educated tended
to regard language as core, while the English-educated did not, although at times
expressing a sense of cultural loss, ambiguity and ambivalence. While there were
individual as well as group differences in what are to be considered as core values, for all
informants interviewed, whether Chinese- or English-educated, there is no sense of not
being Chinese:

Yes, I am less Chinese. I am aware that I am Chinese and that makes me

want to be more Chinese. To be more Chinese, I should be something
else. I can’t help my being English-educated. But my wish to be able to
speak Chinese is a manifestation that I want to be more Chinese. I am
more westernised because my parents speak to me in English, and also the
mass media portray it such that you get more prestige if you are English-
educated rather than Chinese-educated. Physically I am Chinese,
culturally and psychologically I am not.
Woman, twenties, English-educated, tertiary education, student

Between generations

Our study found a shift in the conception of ethnicity between the older and younger
generations. The older generation tended to be more confident of the roots of their
ethnicity. For them, the sense of ‘territorial’ identity was very important. In the
interviews, they tended to call themselves ‘teng-swa-lang’, literally ‘Tang people’, or
‘tiong-kok-lang’, ‘people of China’. Their ethnicity is tied to a sense of place, and ethnic
boundary is a geographical one, with a sense of territorial identity closely related to the
fact that they were born in China and had migrated to Singapore in the 1920s as
sojourners and they see China as their homeland. Many of these people still retain a
desire to visit the homeland, return to China and be buried in their ancestral place.
However, given that a majority of these older migrants were illiterate peasants who
came to South-east Asia as indentured labourers, their sense of homeland was not based
on a sophisticated knowledge of a long, proud history of China’s culture and tradition.
Rather, their ethnicity was tied to the ‘soil’ or ancestral land. While they did associate the
notion of Chineseness with the idea of a ‘China’ or Chinese civilisation, their sense of
what this China is appeared to be, at best, an amorphous one.
This sense of China as homeland was displayed in one interview with a main-land
Chinese who worked in Singapore. To him, like the first-generation migrants who came
to Singapore in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the characteristically
diasporic desire to return to China was strong, holding up history, tradition and
territoriality as glue binding the Chinese together:
 One face, many masks 105

The most important sense of what it means to be Chinese is our history.

For the Chinese, the history of China goes all the way back to over five
thousand years ago. With such a long history, this is therefore the Chinese
identity. It is not language that is the Chinese identity. The foundation of
Chinese identity is China’s history. This is what makes you a Chinese. It
is not just history, it is the culture that makes up a civilisation that makes
you a Chinese.
Since a long time ago, our ancestors originated from China. We call
ourselves ‘Singapore Chinese’, but if you trace our roots to a long, long
time ago, our ancestors originated from China. The colour of our skin is
yellow. They spoke in Chinese and they received their education in
Chinese. And for thousands of years, everything has remained the same.
And for thousands of generations, things have remained the same. Our
ancestors had the genes… so it has been passed down to us and we all
have yellow skin. Our eyes are black. It is definitely like that. That is why
we are Chinese. There has been much foreign influence on
Singapore…yet, we can’t change our origins—we are really and
absolutely Chinese and that cannot be changed…we can’t be changed
because our ancestors are from China. They are real Chinese people—
they are our ancestors. That is as early as anyone can think of... our
ancestors have been Chinese and generations after generations of Chinese
have been born till our present generation of Chinese—that is how and
why we are still Chinese. We can’t change that. We can’t change our
history. We can’t change the fact that our ancestors are Chinese.
Therefore, this question ‘Why are we Chinese?’ would only be a question
for us to ponder over if we have ancestors who are Eurasians… But I tell
you, we Chinese have no problems saying that we are Chinese because
from thousands and thousands of years ago, our ancestors have been
yellow-skinned Chinese and this has been passed down to all generations
till us, the present generation. Everyone has a history that will explain
things… Europeans have their own history to tell.
Man, 35, Chinese-educated, tertiary education, professional

This sense of China as home, as homeland—that is ethnicity based on territorial and

political dimensions—was not shared by the younger Chinese Singaporeans, whether
Chinese- or English-educated; ‘Chinese citizenship’, ‘Chinese polities’ or ‘events
happening in China’ were not of interest to them nor did they figure in their definition of
Chinese identity. Instead, there prevailed a diffuse sense of cultural confusion and loss,
resulting in a search, particularly among the English-educated, for markers that would
define their ethnic identity. The Chinese-educated have chosen the Chinese language.
Yet Chinese language in Singapore has taken a bashing. The Chinese-educated have
witnessed the rise of the English-speaking middle class and the demise of Chinese-
language schools; they feel that they have been deprived of economic and educational
opportunities. Thus, their emphasis on the Chinese language must be viewed,
simultaneously, as a political, economic and linguistic issue. It was for this reason that
many Chinese-educated claimed that the English-educated Chinese are ‘less Chinese.’
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 106
Interestingly, many English-educated Chinese shared this mode of discourse, but for
very different reasons. Most of these English-educated Chinese who do not speak the
Chinese language fluently did not feel that they are any less Chinese than those who can.
However, they did feel a sense of loss:

I do not feel less Chinese since I speak three (Chinese) dialects. I am into
seal carving, I play Chinese musical instruments. Thus, I have all the
credentials. The other side of me is fairly anglicised because I have been
in Britain for three years. Western ideas have become an intrinsic part of
me and, I think, the nation as a whole. We cannot deny British influence
in Singapore for 180 years. All this talk about the decadent West is not
true. But I sometimes do feel something is missing, something has been
lost. I am stranded between East and West.
Man, mid-twenties, English-educated, tertiary education, professional

It is when interacting with the non-Chinese, particularly those who can speak Mandarin,
or when they are overseas and meet Taiwanese or mainland Chinese, that this sense of
loss and inadequacy arises. When this happens, we detect an instant onset of
rationalisation—insisting that language is not central to identity, or expressing a wish to
learn the language as soon as they have the time. For others, however, there is a sense of
superiority, feeling pity for the Chinese-educated because of their lack of economic and
educational opportunities.
Fluency in the Chinese language is a marker used by the non-Chinese in Singapore to
define Chineseness. In addition to blood (which cannot be seen) and phenotype (which is
variable), the Chinese language is a clear marker to the outsiders.
In the 1960s and the 1970s, the government emphasised the learning of English. It was
seen as a neutral language and, more importantly, the language of science and
development. However, in the 1980s and the 1990s, there was a shift to the learning of
Chinese, as seen in the launching of the Speak Mandarin Campaign and the setting up of
SAP (Special Assistance Plan) schools, in which both English and Chinese are taught as
first languages. The official rationale was that the Chinese in Singapore are becoming too
westernised and the Chinese language would act as a cultural ballast for the Chinese.
Other than merely a linguistic issue, there has been a debate in Singapore on the role
of language in cultural transmission. Advocates of Mandarin argue that it is impossible,
or at least incomplete, to transmit Chinese cultural values without the Chinese
language—suggesting that most English-educated Chinese are less Chinese. On the other
hand, most non-Chinese educated are suggesting that, while a knowledge of the language
is useful, it is not a necessary condition for Chineseness. The discourse suggests that a
large part of what it means to be Chinese in Singapore is contested terrain.

Community fragmentation and disembedding

What used to be a Chinese ‘community’ has largely disappeared. Traditionally, and partly
due to British policies, the Chinese were segregated from the other ethnic communities.
They tended to live in close-knit and clearly marked-out territorial areas. However, rapid
 One face, many masks 107
urban renewal and development and ethnically integrated housing policies have, by and
large, broken down these physical boundaries and mixed the various communities.
In modern-day Singapore, territoriality, language and religion no longer serve as
markers of ethnicity for all Chinese. Rather, these factors have become part of a
contested (and sometimes self-contradictory) discourse in defining identity. The core
features of ethnic identity have over time become closely tied to ascriptive features of
phenotype, bloodline and lineage, resulting in a strong sense of sociological boundary,
of who can and cannot be Chinese. People are ‘born Chinese’, and cannot become
‘un-Chinese’, although they can be regarded as inferior Chinese; people from other races
who adopt ‘Chinese cultural values’ cannot and will never become or be accepted as
Chinese. It is probably this sense of exclusion and exclusiveness that provides the strong
bonds holding together a Chinese ‘community’ in Singapore—in spite of the loss of
community, the loss of place (Rushdie and Grass 1987).
The fragmentation of Chinese ethnicity manifests itself on many fronts. One observes
great diversity, multiplicity and heterogeneity in conceptions of being Chinese. Among
the Chinese-educated, Chinese language is central; among the English-educated, it is
filial piety. Among the older Chinese, it is a sense of China as homeland. Among the
younger Chinese, one observes a ‘disembedding’5 of space in that China and the concept
of homeland have become unimportant in their sense of Chineseness. For them, having
been born in Singapore, a sense of ancestral place is missing. Many have never been to
China and have little sense of what it is like. Of those who have visited China, many have
come back with rather negative feelings about its backwardness, disorder and lack of
hygiene. This disembedding process is important to note as it allows one, at one level, to
define the uniqueness of the Chinese in Singapore, as Singaporean Chinese, as opposed
to the ‘China Chinese’, ‘Taiwanese’, ‘Hong Kong Chinese’ and so on. At the same time,
the ascription to blood and lineage allows the Chinese in Singapore to identify and
affiliate with the ‘Chinese’ worldwide, the Chinese diaspora.
The notion of disembedding is extremely important here. The prevalent definition of
Chinese is mistakenly related to the idea of China, its long history and tradition. Yet,
even among the older Chinese in Singapore, who can claim an affiliation to this tradition,
this is an idealised conception. There is an overemphasis on the notion of the great
cultural ‘tradition’, which probably arose from the fact that many scholars who have
written on the Chinese are westerners with an idealised notion of what Chinese is, or
from the educated Chinese people’s own mystification. The majority of the Chinese, both
inside and outside China, are peasants and traders. While they have a sense of the
‘tradition’, it is at best an amorphous one.
There are in fact disembeddings at several levels and at different points of time and
place. On one level, there was a disembedding of the self from mainland China, Chinese
history, culture, tradition and heritage, resulting in a sense of loss of place and, on
another level, disembedding from the local community in Singapore. This is important in
articulating a discourse on the unity and diversity, sameness and differentness, of
Singaporean Chineseness. It allows, in a sense, an individual to say that ‘I’m a Chinese,
they are also Chinese, but they are so different from me’ The self, over time, has
experienced a closer identification with family and family history rather than with
community or community organisations. Identity has become more individualised,
personalised or, if you like, subjectivised. A movement of ethnic identity tied to the
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 108
individual self is becoming more prevalent. Finally, there is a separation of self-identity
from nationality. It is no longer necessary to be a citizen of China to be Chinese, and
there is no problem for them to be ‘Singaporean Chinese’, to be both Singaporean and
Chinese, to be Singaporean precisely by being ethnically Chinese. One may surmise that,
once outside Singapore, the Chinese, like those from Hong Kong, Taiwan, America or
Europe, will decide whether or not to attach any importance to their Chinese label, to
their nationality. They will thus enjoy immense liberty in articulating their sameness or
differentness in the Chinese diaspora politics. This may well be their greatest strength.

Conclusion

Ethnic groups can be located at different points of a continuum, with voluntary

membership (choice) in some groups at one end and involuntary membership as given
(birth) in others at the opposite end. As Horowitz (1985:55) reminds us, ‘We like to think
of birth and choice as mutually exclusive principles of membership, but all institutions
are infused with components of both’. The Karen along the Thai-Burmese border
recognise outsiders who marry Karen women and exhibit behavioural conformity to a
few Karen rules as Karen (Marlowe 1979). The opening up of group boundaries through
intermarriages, alliances and trade relations serves the interest of the Karen (Lian and
Ananda 1993). When a Malay marries a non-Malay, the non-Malay will be classified as
Malay by becoming a Muslim, learning the Malay language and performing certain
Islamic rituals (Smolicz 1981).
Neither of these forms of ethnic inclusion by ‘achievement’ of certain cultural
competences is acceptable to the Chinese, who insist on a first and singular principle of
classification on account of birth, descent and appearance. With the oft-noted, much-
debated ‘cultural erosion’ or ‘ethnicity drift’ on the part of the later generation, young
Chinese Singaporeans, their meagre cultural achievement in traditional terms leads to an
accentuated emphasis on phenotypical manifestations of an ascribed ethnicity—or, to put
it simply, ethnicity as race. The logical extreme is that one is still Chinese, with or
without culture. Yet once this primary birth principle of classification is satisfied, the
secondary principle of multiple or plural conceptions of ethnicity is often invoked,
stressing individualistic, voluntary, autonomous expression. In the past, birth and choice,
ascription and achievement, cohered. Now, the two may or may not. This new ethnicity,
whether called symbolic (Gans 1979) or emergent (Yancey et al. 1976), will wear as
many masks as individual members care to present to themselves and to others (Chan and
Tong 2001).
Ethnicity is a variable (Cohen 1974; Yancey et al. 1976; Alba 1990) in terms of
differences in manifestation. The ethnic actor, at any point in time and place, has in front
of him or her a plurality of ‘identity options on offer’ (Rex 1987). One face (racial), many
masks (cultural) or none. The inherent heterogeneity and multiplicity of the character of
ethnic identity—in addition to its fluidity and indeterminacy—must be recognised by
social analysts. Lest mistaken as another stance of unfounded romanticism, the
negotiability of ethnicity, Chinese or not, has its limits precisely because it continues to
be categorically bound by the first principle of birth, as both Chinese and non-Chinese
have always insisted. Nagata’s (1974) situational ethnicity, strictly speaking, does not
 One face, many masks 109
apply to the Chinese; the Chinese in Singapore and, for that matter, elsewhere cannot
pass as they will (Clammer 1981; Lian and Ananda 1993). Birth, appearance, descent set
the first parameters. A Chinese cannot unbecome himself or herself racially. However, as
we have tried to show in this chapter, there is still plenty of room left for the ethnic actor
to move around. Human agency is still very much alive and well. Now, is the ethnic actor
free or not free? Is ethnicity involuntary or voluntary? In the case of the Chinese in
Singapore, the answer is: It is not either/or; it is both. It is both non-negotiable and
negotiable. Ethnic actors have indeed increased their degree of freedom over the years
but are best reminded of the limits.
 6
Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan

This chapter puts forward two main claims. First, it argues that dispersing the patrilineal
Chinese family is, paradoxically, often a rational family decision to preserve the family, a
resourceful and resilient way of strengthening it: families split in order to be together
translocally. The astronaut families of Hong Kong are a model of such dispersion for our
time. Second, this chapter argues that these spatially dispersed families constitute
strategic nodes and linkages of an ever-expanding transnational field within which a new
type of Chinese identity is emerging—that of the Chinese cosmopolitan.
Migration often disperses family members, thus massively ‘manufacturing’ a familial
form often viewed by family specialists as pathological. This view is especially common
among those who take it for granted that the family as a cohesive unit must be based on
family members being physically together, in order to articulate their family life in one
geographical place, under the same roof (see Bernades 1993; Cheal 1993). To the
practitioner in marital counselling, family therapy, social work, psychotherapy and
psychoanalysis, as well as to those providing pastoral care through various religious
institutions or the mass media, family dispersal is usually evidence of family
disorganisation, and needs to be corrected.
Yet, when one looks beyond these narrow concerns and scrutinises the classical and
contemporary migration literature with special reference to the actual processual
workings of the family, one notices that family dispersal often, if not always, co-exists
with migration; there is evidence of family dispersal having been anticipated, accepted
and seized upon as a rational strategy to optimise the benefits of migration while
minimising its risks and costs. Stark’s (1995:101–6) portfolio investment theory is among
several recent attempts (see Belong et al. 1986; Perez 1986; Fawcett 1989) to place the
family at the heart of the migration decision—and to place analyses of migration within
the context of the family.
Stark argues that, when family members migrate from a rural to an urban sector,
usually as the result of a collective decision, the family is ‘simultaneously sampling from
a number of separate markets (that is, investing in one without completely liquidating and
shifting holdings from another), and sharing both costs (e.g. financing the move) and
rewards (e.g. through remittances), and so forth’ (1995:103). Families disperse their
labour resources over geographically scattered and qualitatively different markets in
order to both reduce risks and pool and share their incomes. Support, in the form of
remittances, flows to that sector of the family that stays home to deal with, say, crop
failure; but remittances can also go to the urban migrant during times of economic
recession. All this, of course, is contingent upon the migrant (the son or daughter)1 and
his family (represented by the father) entering into a co-insurance contract, a form of
diversified portfolio investment, in which the command of the family over the migrant is
secure, if not guaranteed. As such, family dispersal is not simply a ‘consequence’ of
 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 111
migration; on the contrary, the anticipation, acceptance and adoption of family dispersal
as a strategy releases, sets in motion and necessarily precedes the very act of migration in
the first place.
Of course, family dispersal as migration strategy is not without stress; the family
sociologist is thus as interested in its problematic character as in its attendant coping
strategies. Yet, as this chapter argues, the scattering of family in a duality or,
increasingly, a plurality of geographical places within a new, enabling global
environment provides one crucial context within which a Chinese cosmopolitan identity
emerges and is articulated. Other relevant contexts include the development of intimately
intertwined world economies with multidirectional flows of trade and investment; the
emergence of a Chinese diasporic economy with its ethnically structured networks of
nodes and poles (see Lever-Tracy and Ip 1996); and modern technological advances in
communications and transport that facilitate the transmission of popular culture (Cohen
1994:20–1). Together, these conditions further enhance the viability of familial dispersal
as an intermediary strategy of transnational migration and, in turn, of Chinese
cosmopolitanism. Correspondingly, the phenomenology and anthropology of this new,
emergent Chinese identity necessitates a rethinking of such issues as traditional versus
modern Chinese culture; culture loss versus culture gain; and assimilation versus the
persistence of ethnic consciousness. Speaking sociologically and historically, the
contemporary astronaut families of Hong Kong are best seen as a variant, not deviant,
family form—or, simply, as a migration strategy, a positive act, long noted in the
migratory history of mankind, although they are now much more mobile, resource rich
and resilient than their nineteenth-century predecessors. As a group or class, the resulting
diaspora is constituted by what are variously called the ‘transilients’ (Richmond 1994),
the new overseas Chinese (Skeldon 1994b, 1994c) or the new middle-class Chinese
(Li 1983).

Migration and family dispersal in history

As early as the beginning of the nineteenth century, there was a massive movement
across the Atlantic of male migrants from old Europe—who left their spouses, children
and extended families behind—into the brave new world of America to seek better
opportunities and new fortunes. This migratory movement intensified in 1845–1850, then
again in 1880 and onwards, and captured the attention of sociologists decades later.
W.I.Thomas and Florian Zananiecki’s (1918–20) The Polish Peasant in Europe and
America, partly based on the analysis of letters exchanged between husbands and wives
and between family members across the Atlantic, is a classic in the genre of migration
studies. Handlin’s (1953) The Uprooted is another. In these two texts, marital separation
and family dispersal as forms of social disorganisation and alienation are salient themes.
As a social phenomenon, the dispersal of families in disparate geographical places as a
result of migration was long noted in the migration literature but, by and large, it was
looked upon negatively, as an undesirable consequence.
China in the nineteenth century was a distressed society. Among the push factors
associated with massive Chinese emigration, the demographic and economic ones were
the most prominent: a failing economy, tenant exploitation by landlords, overpopulation,
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 112
shortage of basic food staples, inflation, gross social insecurity, natural calamities and
civil wars. News and rumours about the proliferation of opportunities in America had
also begun to seize the imagination of many potential Chinese emigrants. The discovery
of gold at John Sutter’s mill along the Sacramento River in 1848 set in place a
tumultuous ‘pull’ that induced a worldwide migratory movement. Between 1848 and
1852, there was an influx of up to 25,000 male migrants from China’s Pearl River delta
region into the west coast of the United States and later, in 1858, into Canada’s Fraser
River Valley—migratory men crossed the Pacific to participate in the ‘gold fever’ and
later to work as manual labourers, building roads and railways or working in various
other burgeoning industries (Chan 1991:15).2 Lacking passage money and uncertain
about their own future in America, the migrants left their wives and children (when they
had any) behind. The more fortunate ones managed to make occasional trips back home,
staying in China only long enough (typically one to two years or only months) to father
children and renew kin ties, while others continued to send home letters (most of which
they did not write themselves because of their illiteracy) with money to keep their family
and marital ties alive. Letter-writing and sending money home3 were gestures of family
solidarity, a means of ensuring one’s continued role and integration into the patrilineal
family and kin network, a way of sharing rewards with others to ensure the collective
well-being of the family. Most of the time, the husband-fathers played out their roles and
discharged their responsibilities, however inadequately, from a distance. They eked out
their migrant labourers’ existence in a male bachelor society, often finding themselves
vulnerable to the so-called ‘ethnic vices’ (Chan 1991:171) - gambling, opium addiction,
visiting prostitutes and so on—long noted in social science as well as literary texts
dealing with overseas Chinese males.
Throughout the early 1900s, Chinese migrants in the United States and Canada were
often unfairly caricatured and stereotyped in the white-owned mass media, accused of
‘vices’ that emerged precisely because they were denied the right to bring over their
wives and families. The sexual orientation and behaviour of the Chinese male migrant
was often portrayed by the media in extremes; the Chinese male was either sexless or
oversexed, and he was viewed as abnormal or pathological. The myriad of clan- and
occupation-related associations in the Chinatown areas acted as surrogate or substitute
families for many migrants, whose sexual relief continued to be found elsewhere, among
non-Chinese prostitutes.
On 6 May 1882, US President Chester A. Arthur signed into law the Exclusion
Act—the first of what was to become a series of acts and policies aimed at excluding
Chinese from American immigration. The Act prohibited the importation of Chinese
skilled and unskilled labour into the United States and was not repealed until 1943, sixty-
one years later. In Canada, the Chinese Immigration Act of 1885 levied a head tax of
$50 on almost every Chinese upon entry into the country; this was increased to $100 in
1900 and $500 in 1903, culminating in the implementation of the Chinese Exclusion Act
of 1923, which ‘fortified’ the male bachelor society that earlier immigration had created
while further institutionalising marital separation and family dispersal among the
Chinese. What had started out as a partly purposive and partly involuntary migration
strategy soon became an institutionally imposed course of action. The Canadian Chinese
 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 113
Immigration Act was not repealed until 1947, at which time many Chinese families were
reunited and many wives were brought into Canada, often after decades of marital
separation. Wives had to look after husbands who were ageing and often also frail, weak
and sick, if not dying (Chan 1991:237).

The family and its role in migration

The social science literature on migration in general has long noted, though often not
explicitly enough, that both migration and the policies of the host governments and their
recruiting brokers select young, strong, able-bodied males and launch them on long-
distance voyages. The demand in a rapidly developing host society is for foreign migrants
to provide a constant supply of dependable cheap labour. Looked at micro-sociologically,
the family selects strong, able-bodied males as ‘target migrants’ to undertake the
precarious journeys of migration to further the fortunes of the family left behind, to
ensure its survival and continuing well-being.
In Stepping Out (1994), a book I wrote with Claire Chiang about the Chinese business
pioneers who came to Singapore in the 1920s, often penniless, having left poverty-
stricken villages in southern China, we noted the same process of migration in general,
and how it pertained to the family-kin group in particular. Poverty required that the
process of decision-making about migration be undertaken cautiously and collectively,
with the full participation and consent of the elderly members of the family and kin
network. Mothers and wives often played a crucial role in arranging for the passage
money through loans from the larger family-kin group; as such, the women left back
home had considerable say in who was to migrate, when, how and to where (Chan and
Chiang 1994:181–3; 236–7; 239–41). The group deliberated, selected the ‘target
migrants,’ launched them on a sojourn overseas and forced the paradox of separating and
dispersing the family in order to ensure its continuity, prosperity and hoped-for eventual
reunification. Some member of the family, whether the husband or the male child, had to
be sent away to make good for both himself and the family, to keep the functionally
deficient family from falling further apart. The family’s role must be foregrounded in the
migration process. In a sense, the extended family col-lects and releases the migration
inertia energy; the elders borrow money from kin, neighbours, friends and acquaintances
to pay for passage, make transactions with migration brokering agencies in China, locate
and use sources of contact in targeted countries of destination. The family plans and plays
an instrumental role in each and every stage of decision-making before, during and after
the departure of the target migrant. Ultimately, while it is the lone individual who moves,
physically speaking, it is the family that negotiates with the micro and domestic groups
and with the macro, socio-economic and political forces in both country of origin and
country of destination. Migration is a family affair, too important to be left to the
individual himself.
The more contemporary migration literature has not been negligent in foregrounding
the saliency of the family in terms of its role in the internal as well as the external
dynamics of the migration process. In her review essay, Boyd characterises the family,
understood in its broadest sense as a set of personal networks or linkages, as an essential
strategic constituent element of the international migration system (Boyd 1989; see also
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 114
Dejong et al. 1986; Perez 1986; Fawcett and Arnold 1987; Fawcett 1989). The family
mediates or ‘intervenes’ between individual migrants (as actors) and the larger, structural,
transnational forces (to which the actors are subjected); it also connects the personal-
individual, the ‘micro’, with the structural, ‘macro’ and global levels of analyses;
properly viewed, the family also increases the explanatory power of theories about the
motivation to migrate. Finally, the family connects the forces responsible for migration in
countries of origin and destination. In addition, once the dispersed family as a system of
networks and linkages is in place globally and becomes fully operational, subsequent
flows of migrants are set in motion to join the pioneers or ‘family predecessors’ because
the opportunity structure and all the other necessary supportive and facilitative
infrastructures are now in place: hence the unfolding of a’chain migration’. As Fawcett
puts it, ‘family relationships have an enduring impact on migrants. Policies, rules and
norms may change, but obligations among family members are of an abiding nature’
(1989:678).
The foregrounding of the family points to a paradox underpinning the ‘individual’
migrant’s situation. For the Chinese individuals involved, migration continues to be
family-initiated and family-sponsored, and this fact has deep, farreaching psychological
and moral consequences for the individual. He must make good not just for himself, but
for the family. He owes it to the family to make it in the new world. He has an existential
burden in that the family is perpetually ‘on his back’: to escape entirely (read,
psychologically) from the influence of the ancestors’ shadow is an impossibility. The
‘family’ inside him controls him from within. The lone migrant is seemingly set free to
lift off from his home ground, into the air, like a kite—but not without the family pulling
the string, if necessary, back to the hearth, although not always successfully.4 The
migrant thus experiences the family in his everyday sojourning life as a real factor,
sometimes seeing it as a liability or a constraint, other times as a source of strength and
enablement. The destinies of the family and the individual are intertwined.

Family, migrant community and cultural change

Much of the literature on non-Chinese migration suggests that assimilation follows

migration because distance from the family and homeland is a form of ‘groundlessness’,
an absence of tradition. The physical ‘groundedness’ of a homeland or village is
compensated for by other means in Chinese migration: the Confucian and patrilineal
family ethos and the concentration of Chinese immigrants into peculiar enclaves known
as Chinatowns transform and reinforce tradition. The individual migrant is a physical
carrier of traditions and culture, while the family back in the homeland acts as an origin, a
source of cultural transmission, an agent of continuity. Being held in the family grid, the
migrant is in close contact with traditional Chinese cultural values: filial piety,
obligations and duties to the family, hard work, frugality and so on. Over time, the
migrants paradoxically become ‘enthusiastic proponents of traditional values’ (Watson
1975:215), often to a greater degree than when they left. As a result of the ‘workings’ of
the family, the traditional culture is maintained and reproduced within the person of the
migrant. The sociologist of Chinese migration rarely loses sight of the fact that the
migrant as individual, though now away from the homeland, operates within a
 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 115
Chinatown, a migrant community that has its own institutional structure made up of a
myriad of immigrant associations and organisations that, in the case of the overseas
Chinese, are based on family/kin ties, a common surname and origin-locality. Home
village, ancestral tomb and common name are the stuff of the socio-cultural glue. While
reproducing traditional culture, such immigrant associations often function as surrogate
or substitute families. They nurture and protect, but also apply sanctions on individual
migrants, holding them in check, policing them. The migrant communities are thus best
seen as a sociological entity in a particular physical and cultural space. They evolve and
develop for themselves a blend of migrant ethos and morals and insist that the migrants
abide by them or run the risk of being ostracised or disowned by the only community
they can lay any claim to in a foreign land. The behaviour of the lone migrant is held in
check both by a remote family, or the ‘family idea’, and by the immigrant associations’
disciplinary influence. The migrant keeps his moral eye, his gaze, on others who share his
values. As a result, he necessarily also keeps his gaze on himself—thus, the migrants
collectively evolve a ‘moral community’. The ‘associational life’ (see Rex 1987; Rex and
Josephides 1987) of individual migrants thus has its conservative, self-reinforcing,
self-maintaining side.
The resulting social artifact is neither a migrant culture retrieved and transplanted
from the past, from its homeland, in toto, in its purest, essentialist form, nor a wholesale
embrace and internalisation of the host culture, as migrants’ integration into the
mainstream societal institutions is not desired by the natives - in fact, this integration is
often systematically curtailed or blocked because of prejudice and discrimination.
Ideologically speaking, two diametrically opposing ‘identity options’ (see Rex 1987; Rex
and Josephides 1987) are on offer to the migrant: assimilation or ‘voluntary’ confinement
to an ethnic/cultural enclave (see Wang 1993). Yet another option, increasingly available
and chosen by many modern-day migrants, is that of a gradual combination of the two
previously mutually exclusive options. The immigrant initially finds himself ‘in the
cracks’ of a pull from the traditional culture and a push towards the mainstream local
culture. Existentially, in his everyday life, he experiences the inevitable tension intrinsic
in his dual existence. He is the marginal man (Park 1928) par excellence. But, in the end,
his marginality to two ways of being is no longer an either/or; it metamorphoses,
producing a new hybridity, an integrated multiplicity. As a result of ethnic revival,
through ethnicisation and re-sinification, or through a third-generation loopback into
tradition and heritage (see Nagata 1991; Ang 1993), the culture of the past is to some
extent retrieved, but also imagined, idealised, romanticised, purified (see Lowenthal
1985; Turner 1987; Chase and Shaw 1989); it is not a past duplicated in toto, in its
completeness or essence. ‘The observed traditional cultural values that are enacted by the
migrant are thus better seen as “adaptive” or “reactive” values than as transplanted,
orthodox, authentic values’ (Light 1980:34–6). The resultant past, thus transformed, can
be more past than the past. This is why many a keen anthropological observer finds
cultural behaviours in the immigrant community that have been long lost or transformed
in the homeland but, ironically, are maintained, ‘re-antiquated’ or re-packaged in their
purest, ‘most ancient’ ways in a new home.
Nagata (1985:22) reports in her study of Indonesian Chinese immigrants in Toronto,
Canada, that immigrants typically change their names back to the Chinese originals, enrol
in Chinese language classes for the first time and show renewed interest in Chinese issues
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 116
(to the consternation of the Indonesian Consul there). Others begin to celebrate Chinese
festivals, observe customs or practise rituals they have formerly (before migration)
neglected, ignored or taken for granted. Suddenly, Chinese New Year, Mid-Autumn
Festival, Hungry Ghost Festival and so forth are reinvented and take on added
significance.5
Typically, the migrant is brusquely thrown upon the harsh, demanding present. His
task is to transform himself, to acculturate; he must earn his hybridity, multiplicity,
heterogeneity and multidimensionality (Lowe 1991:24–44). Much is lost, much is gained.
The immigrant is an emergent man, tentatively—but necessarily—a cultural relativist, a
pluralist. The immigrant community is an emergent community. The immigrant culture is
an emergent culture. It incorporates into its orbit the triangle of China (tradition), the host
society (present) and the world Chinese diaspora (future) as one colossal imagined
community. The sociologist and anthropologist must therefore look at the problematic of
cultural continuity and change in various overseas Chinese communities from this
standpoint.

The Hong Kong astronaut families

By 1992, five years before the 1997 return of Hong Kong to China, official Hong Kong
government estimates put the number of those leaving Hong Kong at over 66,000 per
annum, the highest since it reached 20,000 in the early 1980s (Skeldon 1994c). Their
principal destination countries were Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the United
States. These Hong Kong emigrants are among the world’s middle-class international
migrants—the elite (Wong 1992:4), the ‘new middle class’ (Li 1983), the ‘new’ overseas
Chinese (Skeldon 1994b). As a class of new actors on the international stage of
migration, they set themselves apart from the unskilled, male labour migrants of the late
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Well educated, highly trained, with portable
skills and probably classified everywhere in the world as ‘professional, technical,
administrative and managerial personnel’, they are well versed in the art of dealing with
government bureaucrats as well as in exploiting personal relations, and have been seeking
entry en masse into the west. Their requests are often granted under increasingly popular
programmes for business immigrants and economic investors. They bring significant
human capital and ethnic as well as class resources to their countries of destination.
‘Astronaut families’ is a term coined by the Hong Kong mass media to refer to
contemporary middle-class dispersed nuclear families. They usually begin with one
spouse (usually the wife) and children settling in a host country, while another spouse
(usually the husband) continues with his work in Hong Kong, periodically shuttling
between the two places, making short stays in the adopted country to fulfil minimum
immigration requirements and to maintain the solidarity of the family and the marriage.
The term ‘astronaut family’ has a triple meaning. First, it denotes a family (or parts of it)
in flight, commuting, travelling, crossing borders; second, it signifies a family straddling
two places, not in either one or the other but rather in both, in marginality and duality, in
a two-legged existence, one in the country of exit, another in the country of entry. Third,
it attempts to describe the physical, psychic and psychosocial existence of wives in
families thus dispersed, in marriages thus separated. The Chinese counterpart of the
 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 117
English word ‘astronaut’ is made up of two Chinese ideographs: tai, referring to ‘wife,’
and kong, meaning empty, lonely, solitary, hence wanting or lacking in something,
unfulfilled. The term ‘astronaut family’ explicitly denotes an unaccompanied wife and
young children.
Although a newly coined term occasioned by the mass emigration of Hong Kongers,
the word ‘astronaut’ has rather quickly found its way into the everyday vocabulary and
discourse of Hong Kong. It is a familial and marital phenomenon linked with a host of
social problems or issues (see Lam 1994; Skeldon 1994b, 1994c). Spousal infidelity is
one. Prolonged separation, distance from the normative moral constraints of family and
marriage and the new freedom of being unwatched and alone in a not-yet-integrated
immigrant community overseas challenge the ability of either spouse to confine sexuality
within wedlock; the so-called ‘emptiness of marital life’ and the attendant vulnerability to
occasions of ‘sin’ (read, infidelity) applies equally to husband and wife. Extramarital
affairs in the workplace among members of these astronaut families and the use of
prostitutes’ services have never failed to capture the attention of the journalists who are
accustomed to feeding a society in flux with sensational news of scandals.
Changes in parental supervision of young children is another issue. Hong Kong
migrant families typically want to avail themselves of educational opportunities in the
west. Children are thus left to the care of one parent (usually the wife) in the adopted
country. As a result, many astronaut families have in fact been split into two: a female-
headed, single-parent segment in one place, a lone father in another. The wives are
thrown into circumstances where they are required to play substitute father and mother at
the same time, or at different times, thus inevitably compounding the stress of relocation
and resettlement. Lastly, Chinese often rationalise emigration to the west in terms of a
parental, or paternalistic, desire to procure a better education, a better job and, eventually,
a better life for their children, although there is little evidence of the children having been
consulted prior to such a momentous family move. Ironically, it stands to reason to
suggest that some children, given a choice, may desire otherwise—to stay put. The scanty
literature on second- and third-generation American-born Chinese children is beginning
to serve notice that some such children are expressing ambivalence over these migration
moves, while others are simply resentful and angry—they are thrown into a destiny not of
their own volition, forced into a resulting identity crisis.
The contemporary Hong Kong astronaut families bear a certain resemblance to the
dispersed Chinese families of the early 1900s in that husbands by themselves are
supposed to eke out an economic existence, although in reverse (wives and families are
now at the place of arrival, husbands back in Hong Kong). This circumstance sets in
motion a host of familial and marital problems that require coping and adjustment.
However, more so than their predecessors, the Hong Kong astronaut families of today
have adopted family dispersal and marital separation largely as a voluntary, anticipatory,
purposive strategy to procure a better future life for all, in spite of present hardships.
Family dispersal is discussed, deliberated upon, anticipated and adopted as a migration
strategy. Rationally factored into the migration calculus, the idea of the family agreeing
on a dispersal in which the wife and children move to the new country first precedes and
launches migration. It is thus no longer simply a case of migration forcing family
dispersal, but also of the family anticipating a temporary rupture in togetherness to
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 118
procure a desired family future. As such, the dispersed migrant family is the social
psychologist’s delayed gratification par excellence, purposive and conscious.
Envisaged in such terms, the family in its physical, tangible sense is dispersed so as to
realise ‘the family’ as idea, ideal or project. The ideal of ‘the family’ has thus become a
source of motivation and energy setting forth the family dispersal strategy. The
sociologist sees family dispersal, like migration and relocation themselves, as largely a
voluntary, positive act (Wickramagamage 1992:171): it is progressive, anticipatory and
future oriented; it is enabling.
When the husband-migrant of hypermobility is straddling places, leapfrogging
geographical and political boundaries—being the ‘transilient’—he finds himself
necessarily mindful of work or business opportunities wherever they are, both in Hong
Kong and in the west. He might one day finally pack his bags and leave Hong Kong to
reunite with his family in Canada, the United States, Australia or wherever; not finding
suitable work there, he might re-migrate back to Hong Kong, joining many, many others
in ‘return migration’. Traversing these different zones of time and space, often many
times over, in hypermobility blunts and blurs the distinctions between place of ‘origin’
and ‘destination’, between ‘exit’ and ‘en-try’, in his mind and in the realities of his
experience. In a sense, culture becomes a portable substitute for place. Dichotomies
become less sharply demarcated—his mobility orbit is thus cast in a circulatory
international system of migration (Skeldon 1994b, 1994c) or in what Rouse (1991:14)
calls the ‘transnational migrant circuit’, where people, money, goods and information
circulate, while his existence is articulated in the structure of his dispersed family. The
home, thus imagined, no longer takes the form of a fixed physical entity, nor does it
necessarily ground itself in a particular soil. The dispersed family, fashioning itself in a
duality or, rather (in the future, if not now), a plurality of places provides him with a
structure, form and context to articulate his multiplicity of selves and identities in motion,
in the cracks between psychologies, ethnicities, cultures and civilisations, touching all. It
is this motion, grounded in the phenomenology and anthropology of his migrant
experience, that has given his existence a distinctive transnational, dynamic, ever-
changing character—the consequent ideal for him is not one fixed, eternal, pure ethnicity
but a somewhat integrated conglomerate of ethnicities that is most authentic and feels
most comfortable in between boundaries, on the margins, at the peripheries. It is a hybrid
identity that uses the dispersed family as an arena. Being post-modern, such a genre of
Chinese ethnicity is inadvertently precarious, provisional, indeterminate, tentative
(Ang 1993:4).

Chinese cosmopolitanism as emergent Chinese identity

In a 1991 essay, Wang Ling-chi (1991:181–206) has identified five different types of
Chinese identity in terms of variant orientations of overseas Chinese to China, the various
host countries in the west and the differential meanings attached to one single Chinese
word gen (roots) (see also Wang 1993). They are yeluo guigen (fallen leaves return to the
roots, the soil) or the classic, ‘old-fashioned’ sojourner mentality; zancao chugen
(to eliminate grass, one must pull out its roots) or total assimilation; luodi shenggen
(settle down or ‘sink roots’ in a foreign land and accommodate to the host society) or
 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 119
accommodation; xungen wenzu (search for one’s roots and ancestors) or ethnic pride and
consciousness; and shigen lizu (lose contact with one’s roots and ancestors) or the
uprooted, the alienated, the ‘wandering intellectuals away from their roots in historic
China’ in exile.
In addition to these five types of Chinese identity, the identity of the transnational
Chinese bourgeoisie that has been characterised thus far in this chapter may well
represent a sixth type. He has long since overcome or exorcised his desire to search for
and sink his roots in ancestral China. He may or may not go back; he has a choice; he has
always made efforts to strive for integration, without assimilation or acculturation, in
whatever country he happens to find himself; strictly speaking, he is not really
experimenting with accommodation in the host society, either because he cannot see
himself settling down and sinking his roots in any single place or because his
consciousness is tied not to one origin, one ethnicity, but to many. Neither is he the
classic, much caricatured ‘uprooted’ migrant, spiritually dispossessed, alienated from the
present and the past, thus suspended in the air and unable to go home again, psychically
or physically.
One may call this sixth emergent type of Chinese identity chonggen or multiple
rootedness or consciousness. The Chinese character chong (also pronounced zhong) has
three meanings: first, multiple, not singular; second, regenerative, as in ‘born again’;
third, to treasure, to value (one’s many diverse roots). It conjures up an image of a
succession of sinking roots as process, and multistranded roots as outcome. It is akin to
what Lee (1991:215) calls ‘Chinese cosmopolitanism’. Calling the term a loose epithet,
Lee further explains it as ‘one that embraces both a fundamental intellectual commitment
to Chinese culture and a multicultural reciprocity, which effectively cuts across all
conventional national boundaries’ (1991:215). It is, in other words, ‘a purposefully
marginal discourse’. To a Chinese cosmopolitan, again in Lee’s words, ‘the boundaries
are again not so much geographical as intellectual and psychological’ (1991:219). Of
course, one is aware that, in a certain discourse, roots or gen always mean ground,
earth—the antithesis of translocality. There is thus the potential paradox of a translocal,
indeed transoceanic, rootedness—a decidedly mixed image.
As a sixth type of Chinese identity, the transilient is perhaps the old-fashioned
sojourner type deconstructed and brought ‘back in vogue, in a rather more respectable
form’ (Nagata 1991:277). The new cosmopolitan is not the nineteenthcentury sojourner,
forever yearning to return to China, to go home, in mind or in body. The new overseas
Chinese may or may not go home, just like his Jewish contemporaries, muttering quietly
and privately to themselves, ‘Next year in Jerusalem, every year’ (Clifford 1993:4). At
any one given time and place, he is sojourning, not intent on eventually going home to
China but, rather, willing to go anywhere provisionally. It is his provisionality that seems
particularly salient and needs to be foregrounded. He makes a chronicle of brief
appearances in a succession of geographical places, but always on the world stage. He
has a suitcase at the door, always ready to go.
Lest this be mistaken for or confused with the romantic idealist’s notion of a true,
ultimate cosmopolitan, internationalised man with absolutely no physical, materialist
anchorage—the wugen (the rootless), the one who does it all without (wu in Chinese)
roots, transcending it all, who may or may not empirically exist—the ‘sixth’ type being
all too briefly sketched here is one in whom ‘a certain elemental awareness of Chinese
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 120
identity at its most basic seems to persist uninterrupted beneath the surface’ (Nagata
1985:22). He may or may not ‘spontaneously invoke a Chinese identity in context’
(Nagata 1985:22). Or, as Ang puts it, ‘sometimes it is and sometimes it is not useful to
stress our Chineseness, however defined. In other words, the answer (to the question why
still identify ourselves as “overseas Chinese” at all?) is political’ (1993:14).
Of course, the emergence of this sixth type of Chinese identity necessarily takes place
within an evolving global structure, a transnational trade environment in which
economies are intricately intertwined. Economists and sociologists are now casting their
futuristic eyes on the emergence of a Chinese diaspora economy (see Lever-Tracy and Ip
1996). As observed by Ma Mung (1993), Chinese entrepreneurs in Paris, through trade
expansion and diversification and through the creation of ‘upstream enterprises’ that
involve trade outside the community formerly monopolised by non-Chinese businessmen,
have been articulating their business networks and economic arrangements within a
larger, global diaspora economy. By expropriating ‘spatial resources’ in a transnational
space, Chinese entrepreneurship in Paris has taken on an extra-territorial character. The
otherwise amorphous structure of such a diaspora economy, however, is given substance
by the many nodes or poles that constitute local networks, be they in New York,
Bangkok, Jakarta, Shanghai, Hong Kong, London or Toronto. One may want to add that
this extra-territorial business character has its personal counterpart in our sixth type of
Chinese cosmopolitan.
Such a global economic system has internal as well as external principles of social
organisation. The gradual shift from a reliance on ethnic resources to class resources
among the new overseas Chinese has given this diaspora another dimension. Examples of
ethnic resources, the result of internal socio-cultural characteristics of an immigrant
group or community, include ready access to start-up capital available at rotating credit
associations and a supply of cheap, dependable family or co-ethnic labour. The more
intangible ethnic resources include ethnic solidarity and in-group loyalty. Class resources
are more formal in nature and have to do with educational qualifications, job training and
skills and expert knowledge of markets and industry. Class or bourgeois resources are the
‘normal cultural and material endowment of bourgeoisies’ (Light and Rosenstein
1995:23). On the material side, class resources include private property, human capital
and money to invest. The bourgeoisie also have their vocational culture, which includes
occupationally relevant values, attitudes, knowledge and skills acquired in the
socialisation process (Light and Rosenstein 1995:23, 120–1).
Another vital source of the global system’s economic energy will probably come from
a putative Chinese economic zone in Asia comprising East and Southeast Asia. Lim
(1992:41–6) has documented increases in trade, investment and government economic
links among the region’s disparate nations, links that are often overlaid with an ethnic
dimension; merchants of southern Chinese descent, mainly Hokkien, Teochew and
Cantonese, have ‘familial, clan and other ethnic links and networks which stretch across
political and geographical boundaries’ (Lim 1992:43). One expects a free flow of capital
and credit between family, kin and co-ethnics (Cohen 1994:21); ‘an intimate handshake
of ethnic collectivism’ (1994:22) is at work here. Within the Chinese diaspora, yet
another principle of social organisation, another source of cohesion, in addition to the
now well-known familial and clan ties, is religion, which is important and vital, but
seldom studied. In her analysis of religion’s role among the Chinese in South-east Asia
 Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan 121
and Canada, Nagata (1985) turns her attention to how Chinese Buddhists, Confucianists
and Christians are attempting to exert a global influence through their systems of
internationally intertwined institutions.

Conclusion

Migration disperses families, splits marriages. Yet the very act of migration is often
preceded by the deliberate contemplation on the part of the family and kin groups about
dispersal as a migration strategy. The family concerned must decide who is to go, who is
to stay, when and how—a rational choice in the name of the family, a way of
safeguarding family continuity and well-being, while simultaneously bringing maximal
benefits to all individuals, who otherwise will gain less and lose more, in the long haul,
when acting alone.
Although family members physically separate from each other, the ‘family’ as
collectivist emotion, sentiment, idea or ideal provides a transnational source of unity. The
concept of ‘the family’ is binding on individual family members, while also bonding
them. There is no binding without bonding, and vice versa. A familial contract is
enduring and binding partly because it is based on emotions, which makes it, as a
contract, unique. Understood in this sense, family functions not only as an agent of
bonding, solidarity and intimacy, but also as an apparatus of bondage, confinement and
control.
Family dispersal is probably as old as human migration. Human beings have always
moved from one place to another, but now they do so in greater numbers and at greater
speed. The Hong Kong astronaut families are but one example of such dispersed families
worldwide. Thus, any attempt to view negatively family dispersal is ahistorical and short-
sighted; it fails to recognise the realities of international human migration and its impact
on family forms.
In a modern-day, circulatory international migration system underpinned by a massive
number of dispersed families as strategic nodes and linkages, the ‘family compass’ is
stretched further and further so that work and business opportunities begin to multiply
because the field has been expanded. In such a field, a new type of Chinese identity
emerges: the transilient, the cosmopolitan, who, having been thrust into and later having
chosen provisionality and multiplicity as a mode of existence, is best seen as a cultural
hybrid. Home does not have to be here or there but is everywhere. This so radically alters
the meaning of home (and homelessness) that the search for a new vocabulary becomes a
priority. Hybridity is by nature multistranded and heterogeneous; it does not respect the
primacy of centre over periphery, origin over destination, exit over entry, or vice versa.
As ideology and reality, it renews the ideal of cultural diversity, relativity and pluralism.
 Epilogue

Multiculturalism in Canada, as elsewhere, advocates conformity to a unitary culture in

the public place and tolerance of diverse cultures in the private place. This tolerance of
cultural heterogeneity in the sphere of the intimate, as a reaction to assimilationism,
which demands public and private compliance, is often upheld as a defining
characteristic of Canadian society. Yet multiculturalism is muddled as an idea, and
flawed as a public policy. This becomes obvious when looking at the idea through the
eyes of the people it is supposed to serve: immigrants. In this chapter, I will discuss what
happens under multiculturalism, especially as it affects Chinese immigrants to Canada.
The insistence on a public/private divide is at odds with the desire of the children and
grandchildren of Chinese immigrants to adapt to their host society and, in so doing, to
transform themselves, their families and communities and the larger society in which
they live. A multicultural policy that continues to hark back to the past turns a blind eye
to the fierce generational and gender politics within the Chinese family. While the parents
see Canada as refuge or shelter, their children see Canada as their new home. In addition,
Chinese women would like to sample a wider range of ‘identity options on offer’ (Rex
and Josephides 1987) than those endorsed by their husbands or fathers. Thus, Chinese
women and children may need to debunk the myth of the public/private divide by forcing
the family and the ethnic community open, to change.
Multiculturalism’s insistence on heritage and the past does not square well with a
more progressive social theory of self, identity and culture that is cognisant of the
psychological duality of human beings, who look backwards and forwards, are
committed to preserving the past and exploring the future, want to be part of the public
culture and to be private and autonomous, wish to feel a sense of belonging and of
individual uniqueness. The Canadian multicultural policy suffers in a two-fold way:
empirical and theoretical. A possible solution is to pursue a Hegelian dialectic that sees
culture as what emerges after the collision of dissimilar cultures (Chan 2002; Prologue).
We need a new urban social theory that sees integration, fusion and hybridisation—not
assimilation and not cultural pluralism - as possible and desirable outcomes. We may
need a public policy that perceives the promise of the city in this way, designing
institutions and public spaces that promote hybridity in the mind, that encourage a mental
space that is open to life’s contradictions and paradoxes. This is a radically different
vision of society than the one multiculturalism presents.

The history of multiculturalism

The idea of multiculturalism was constructed in Canada in reaction to another idea, that
of assimilation. Assimilation had been central to the discourse among US intellectual and
political elites during the 1950s and 1960s and was traceable to the works of the Chicago
sociologists Robert Park (1950), who was often misquoted and misunderstood, and
 Epilogue 123
Milton Gordon (1964). The assimilationist school of ethnic and racial relations, in the
context of American society, stressed Anglo-conformity or Americanisation. Using the
title of a play by the Jewish immigrant Israel Zangwill (1909), sociologists conjured up
the powerful image of a melting pot, a cauldron within which cultures and beliefs of all
shapes and colours would melt, and the end-result would be something new and
unprecedented. The melting pot image offered hope for solidarity in a society torn by
racial and ethnic conflicts. The assimilationist vision of immigrant societies found its way
into the writings of Cornell University anthropologist William Skinner (1957a, 1957b,
1963, 1973), who argued that the Chinese immigrants in Thailand, to all intents and
purposes, would become Thai by the fourth generation. Deeply intertwined with the
possibility of a cultural hegemony of one ethnic or racial group over all others and of
cultural universalism, this Anglo-conformity idea was met with a fair share of opposition
and resistance in Canada. The Canadian sociologist John Porter (1965) offered another
image as an alternative to the melting pot metaphor, that of a vertical mosaic: different
groups co-exist, side by side (as well as above or below each other), in a condition of
tolerance, which was allegedly a defining characteristic of Canadians and their society.
Multiculturalism revived an older discourse among political theorists on pluralism in a
pluralistic society (Li 1999). Pluralism, unlike singularity, allows for or even promotes
the idea that different kinds of things have value, and thus the right to exist and flourish
alongside each other. Individuals, groups and communities of various ethnic, racial or
religious backgrounds can maintain, in private, their own personal cultural life in a
society that otherwise demands conformity in its public institutions. But multiculturalism
not only relegates pluralism to the private sphere, it also confines it there, in the domain
where only the personal pursuits of the individual matter.
This intentional divide between the public and the private is central to the theory of the
multicultural society as constructed by sociologists and anthropologists. A multicultural
society is different from a plural society. In the public domain, there is a single or unitary
culture based on equality between individuals, on law, politics, economics and education,
which transmit the values of a civic, public culture from one generation to another. In
contrast, the private domain is where folk culture and community life prevail, where
diversity is safeguarded and where moral education, primary socialisation and inculcation
of religious beliefs occur. The private sphere is composed of ethnic associations and
societies, as well as family and kin networks that stretch as far back as one’s ancestral
land or ‘homeland’. The private domain is the site of a moral community, the anchor of a
spiritual home, the source of personal and ethnic identity. Family and community are
where people have the right to be separate and different from the larger society—where
people can ‘let their hair down’ and be themselves. To Parsons and Bales (1956), the
strain of trying to abide by abstract moral principles and function in the competitive
public arena is psychologically possible only if individuals have the option of a retreat, a
refuge, a place for ‘pattern maintenance and tension management’. Family domesticity
thus offers the ‘psychological gold’, stabilising the adult personality who has to make it
in the world out there, which is a jungle, a rat race. Adult life is possible only if private
intimacy and domesticity console and compensate, providing a ‘haven in a heartless
world’. The public and the private then support each other, making each other viable.
This public/private divide is not merely an academic question. Many modern men and
women try to conduct their lives as if it were true: while at work, they behave as if their
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 124
family life does not matter and, while at home, they pretend they do not worry about their
work, enacting the myth of the separation of public and private, ignoring the spillover of
one into the other. Social theory and everyday life may collude to distort ‘reality’.

The myth of the public/private divide

As the public/private divide is traceable to social theory, it is ironic that this divide is at
odds with mainstream sociological and anthropological thought in the writings of
Malinowski, Radcliffe Brown and even Talcott Parsons himself (Rex 1985:5). Childhood
socialisation links the individual and society, private and public, what is internal to
family and community and what is outside them. Functionalism in sociology sees all
systems as interconnected within a larger social system. On a typical day, the individual
walks through and past a myriad of private and public sites, in a flow of experience, each
experience lingering in a subsequent one, affecting, interrogating and contaminating it.
The cognitive compartmentalisation of life into private and public forces a separation
between them, and imposes an artificial order onto everyday life, which otherwise is
experienced as something fluid, or entangled. The divide between public and private is
thus ‘willed’, not ‘experienced’ (Sennett 1970). The British psychiatrist R.D.Laing
(1967) coined the phrase ‘the politics of experience’ to describe this situation, when the
mind does violence to one’s experience. Laing has reminded us how society and culture
chop the world into separate chunks of outside and inside, good and bad, friend and foe,
desirable and repugnant and so on—a schizophrenia that springs from the mind’s attempt
to dichotomise the world into irreconcilable halves.
But the family is not entirely private. The individual often mediates between the
family and society: as the individual internalises the values of society so that he can
participate in it, he transmits the society’s values to the family. In this way, society’s
values are passed from one generation to another, such that society can continue. In
the process, the ‘outside’ society is in full view; the public is clearly implicated in
the private.

Gender and generation politics in the Chinese immigrant family

In immigrant families, it is the children who socialise their parents into the values of the
larger society. Children act as cultural brokers, shuttling between the private and the
public to bring society’s values into the family, and the family’s values into society. The
life cycle or developmental approach in the sociology of the family views children,
especially the eldest child, as those who usher in the next stage of family development.
The first child is an agent of change. Assigning new, challenging developmental tasks to
the family, the first child brings the family to the edge of the unknown and the unfamiliar,
to the frontier. For an immigrant family, the ‘frontier’ is the society outside of family, kin
and community; it is the so-called public site, the world out there where strangers
encounter each other and re-invent themselves.
 Epilogue 125
Some of the fiercest battles fought within Chinese immigrant families are between
generations, between tradition and change. Migration ushers in an ‘experiential chasm’
(Bennis and Slater 1968:41) that divides generations. The Chinese youth perceive the
family, and the ethnic community, as authoritarian and oppressive. The family is then
experienced as a Goffmanian total institution, a Laingian prison.
Migration has also released women from their former round of housework and
childcare through participation in the Canadian labour force. A woman may experience
an upward shift in her family status relative to her husband’s downward shift, as many
men cannot find work in Canada comparable to the work they did before migration. This
relative shift in status sometimes expresses itself as a dramatic role reversal, which
throws the traditional Confucian division of labour between the two sexes off balance—
which, being an unstable condition, in turn sets the stage for family change and growth.
But what is good for the individual is not necessarily good for the family, and vice
versa. Migration sets in motion feminine and adolescent demands for modernity and
democracy. While youth and women work on their biculturality and integration into
Canadian society—and are therefore primarily forward-looking and future-oriented—the
family, as an abstract entity and as an ideology intent on maintaining tradition and
heritage, looks backward to the past. The Chinese immigrant family is thus a site of
feminine and adolescent discontent, a battleground of generation and gender politics.
Women and children have a quarrel with multiculturalism because, first, it privatises and
isolates the family, keeping family politics hidden from the public eye and maintaining
the public/private divide; and, second, it perpetuates conservatism rather than
revisionism, and authoritarianism rather than democracy, as retention of a heritage is
articulated as synonymous with the multicultural ethos itself.
In a more democratised family, the social distance between parent and child, and
husband and wife, is relatively smaller than before, the exercise of parental (especially
the husband’s) authority is milder, and wives and children tend not to be seen as
possessions. Of course, democratisation is not lineal and unidirectional, and it is not
without strains. Identity construction has its own moments of contradiction. It looks
forwards and backwards simultaneously.

Critiques of multiculturalism

It is not only in Canada that the stated goal of multiculturalism masks the reality of its
practice. In 1991, J.Rath criticised the multicultural policy in the Netherlands for
‘minimising’ individuals, marking them out for unequal treatment for their differences. In
his 2001 essay ‘From homogeneity to difference’, Guiseppe Sciortino wrote that the
societal spotlight is now on what we call ‘difference politics, community politics, politics
of recognition, cultural wars, identity polities’. Yet, he questioned the popular belief that
immigrant societies in the west show a significant increase in cultural and ethnic
heterogeneity, and argued that the empirical evidence for such an idea is far from
adequate. Sciortino pointed out that most national surveys and comparative research
projects merely show variations in a ‘common value system—democracy, equality of
opportunity, social mobility, human rights, up-to-love marriages, religious pluralism and
separate rooms in the house for growing children—rather than the proliferation of
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 126
radically divergent or mutually excluding lifestyles’. He went on to assert that migrants
are ‘far from being characterised by their active “resistance” to assimilation’, and that the
US data show ‘increasing spatial dispersion away from enclaves, loss of [native]
language in later generation, and increasing intermarriage’ (2001:6). To Sciortino, the
assumption that ethnic groups remain intact after immigration is partly due to the fact that
ethnic migrant culture is continuously being ‘revitalised’ by new arrivals. In Europe,
difference- or identity-based arguments over immigrants ‘seem to be more popular
with—and full of implications for—receiving societies’ elites and public opinions than
they are with the immigrants themselves’ (2001:7).
John Rex (1995:32) has pointed out that many young people from immigrant groups
are ‘forming syncratic links with members of both immigrant communities and the
indigenous society’. He added that there may well be some members of immigrant
communities who wish to move away from their traditional culture and to work with or in
both indigenous and ethnic organisations. This is not merely a case of ‘living between
two cultures’ and breaking down under the strain; some individuals have chosen to

belong to different social groups and different cultural systems

simultaneously and are used to the fact of multiple identities… It is a
normal part of social and political life.
Rex (1995:32–3)

More recently, Rex (2003) pointed out that the Swedish government had been accused of
choosing traditional leaders, usually elderly men, to represent immi-grant communities,
leaving the younger members under-represented. The critics of the Swedish government,
Schierup and Alund (1987), argued that these young people tended to form cross-ethnic
alliances as well as connections with dissident Swedish youth, creating new syncratic
cultures. Rex pointed to several examples of such new, shared culture: cuisine, literature,
music and other creative arts. The later generations in immigrant families may well
deflect from their own communities and become assimilated, which suggests that the
problem of integrating immigrants in society may well be more temporary, and easier to
‘solve’, than advocates of multiculturalism care to admit.
In another critique of multiculturalism, Yunas Samad (2002) examined gender and
generation politics in Muslim communities in the UK. Multiculturalism, in its assumption
of sameness within an immigrant community, hides deep divisions and ignores suffering
within that community. In this case, it is young women who are abused within the
community and unprotected by the host society, and who run away from their own
families. Arranged marriages made with young women who are imported into England
preserve the community’s status quo and traditions, despite the runaway women. Older
men and women in the Muslim community collectively deny the use of force in
marriages, while older women pressure their own daughters into arranged marriages. The
male elders refuse to engage in debate about intra-community politics. The
disempowered younger generations, acculturated by the English educational system, have
developed a profound distrust of their elders. The Muslim communities of Oxford and
Bradford are divided by gender and generation, tradition and change, past and future. Yet
to outsiders, these communities seem calm and peaceful.
 Epilogue 127
In his critique of what he called ‘the cult of multiculturalism in Canada’, Neil
Bissoondath (1994:111) stressed the

undeniable distancing [from their own ethnic cultures] of the next

generation…who will in all likelihood shrug off the restraints of
ethnicity… acquire friends of various backgrounds who share their
experience, some of them will intermarry, and most if not all will blend
into the mainstream of the society around them, itself already irrevocably
changed.

The young people will integrate as ‘it is the only way to get on with one’s life, the only
way to take full advantage of the new possibilities’ (Bissoondath 1994:111). Migration is
not about givens, but about possibilities, not about tradition, but about renewal. Migration
moves the immigrants’ cultural orientation away from their ethnic ghettos and towards
the new world, but multiculturalism puts them right back where they came from. They
take one step forward, but multiculturalism pushes them two steps back.

Multiculturalism as ethnic containment

Under the guise of preserving an ethnic heritage, the elite in the host society finds it
politically expedient to collaborate with the conservative constituents in im-migrant
communities, who are bent on perpetuating cultures of departure rather than on acquiring
the culture of arrival. In the case of most Chinese communities overseas, these
constituents are elderly men who own ethnic businesses. Denied access to the inner
political circles of the host society, these men compensate by appropriating power in
Chinatowns. Without a political role to play in society at large, the economic elite of the
Chinese community becomes the cognitive and even intellectual elite who, to safeguard
their own business interests, do not hesitate to commodify ethnic culture, champion
ethnic retention and promote the preservation of their heritage. In the context of an
official endorsement of multiculturalism as public policy, ‘tradition’ suddenly becomes
cultural capital with a monetary value. Merchants in Chinatowns are working in their
own interests when they turn streets and back alleys, parks and gardens, restaurants,
grocery and book stores, herb halls and schools into museums of exoticism. Lurking
behind this re-invented, fantasised orientalism is an economic motive: the
commodification of ethnicity. At celebrations such as the Chinese New Year or the Mid-
Autumn Festival, a frozen-in-time, pre-packaged ethnicity is re-heated and served up like
a TV dinner, for the consumption of insiders and outsiders alike.
The collusion between the political elites of the host society and the powerful, elderly
men in an immigrant community acts to control ethnic minorities. Seen in this
way, multiculturalism as public policy is not merely about culture or ethnicity in its
traditional anthropological sense. It is about economics because it benefits the Chinese
merchants, and about politics because it eliminates the dynamics of gender and
generation discontent within the immigrant community. Multiculturalism is not mere
rhetoric to Chinese youth and women; it is one more obstacle in their struggle to have a
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 128
voice, and it is all the more destructive because it has found a stronghold within their own
ethnic space. Through multiculturalism, outsiders have infiltrated intra-ethnic politics and
dictate the battle from within.
The Chinese immigrant who leaves Hong Kong for Canada is probably no more
conscious of his race or ethnicity than of his class or religion. He is probably not even
conscious of being ‘Chinese’, as that implies difference from other people. Many years
later in Canada, he may well express his ethnicity. In a dramatic way, ethnicity is invoked
in the new country—ethnicity is made in Canada, not Hong Kong. Multiculturalism has
lumped together all Chinese, on the presumption that they are the same. A Chinese
community deeply divided by gender, class, generation, religion and so on is now
whitewashed, or yellow-washed, by skin colour, imputed or imposed culture and
ethnicity. While racism is a blatant discrimination against an individual because he is a
member of a group and presumed to share all the alleged and unfavourable characteristics
of that group, multiculturalism ethnicises people by reminding them of the intrinsic value
of their culture and rewarding them as long as they maintain it and remain ‘Chinese’. In
that sense, ethnicisation by multiculturalism is as confining as racism—or is just another
side of racism. While racism imposes on an individual a negative stigma, ethnicity
attaches a ‘positive’ cultural mask. Under the multicultural policy, Chinese in Canada
have orientalised themselves, becoming even more Chinese than when they first set foot
in Canada. Using chopsticks and speaking Chinese at home have now become a moral
issue, an ethnic compulsion, and not a matter of personal choice. The Chinese have
embraced an identity imputed to them by others, and colluded in their own minimisation.
Talcott Parsons (1975) would certainly not be able to sell his idea of ‘optional ethnicity’
in multicultural Canada. The myth of the public/private divide, and the manufacturing of
ethnicity, ensure the marginalisation of the Chinese, and the public policy of
multiculturalism thus keeps the immigrant ‘in the dark’, and in the dark that he is in the
dark, to borrow an expression from R.D.Laing (1971). An immigrant does not migrate to
a distant place to ‘find’ his ethnicity; the very cost of migration is the risk of being
handed an ethnicity by bureaucrats intent on politicising and commodifying identity. A
Chinese in Canada is seen as a Chinese first and foremost, and almost never as a
Canadian. The hyphen between the words ‘Chinese’ and ‘Canadian’ is not a meaningless
symbol, but an accurate representation of an existential divide.

Towards a new urban social theory

The idea of multiculturalism is based upon the imaginary divide between the public and
the private, between the ‘outside’ institutions of indigenous society such as law,
education and the marketplace and the ‘inside’ institutions of immigrant communities
such as family and kinship networks. This imaginary divide is in turn supported by the
myth of separation between the public sphere of production and the private sphere of
consumption. Robert Park (1925) provides an alternative social imagery: that the city is
‘a mosaic of little worlds which touch but do not interpenetrate’. The city is imagined as
a bazaar, or series of little islands, of mixed- and multiple-use spaces. In this alternative
imagery, borders or boundaries have a double meaning: they separate spaces even as they
connect them; thus, spaces may be relational and interactive as well as separate and
 Epilogue 129
different. The typical day of an immigrant urbanite can be portrayed as a continuous walk
through a number of sites of human activities, from private to public to private. The
urbanite recognises the subtle differences that mark these spaces, but without being fully
conscious of them; so he mixes them up, and they blur together in his memory. The city
is perceived, then, not as a series of discrete, separate parts, but as a flow of experience.
The divide between private and public remains a mental construct, a willed, not an
experienced divide. And this divide is constantly re-built by bureaucrats espousing
multiculturalism, to ghettoise immigrants both physically and mentally.
In his book The Promise of the City, Kian Tajbakhsh (2001) put forward an alternative
urban social theory consisting of three main ideas: spacing, overdetermination and
hybridity. The idea of spacing is intended to be constitutive of, but also to transcend,
physical spaces. Tajbakhsh writes that spacing ‘reflects the active, unfinished, and
layered quality of the spaces we inhabit (and that inhabit us), the spaces within which we
create meaning’ (2001:164). The individual walks through the many neighbourhoods of
the city, sensing ‘the fluidity of boundaries and the instability of objects…becoming
rather than being’ (2001:28–9). The idea of overdetermination, following Freud,
Althusser (1977) and Castells (1977), first means that ‘phenomena’ cannot be attributed
to a single cause, but are ‘the result of multiple determinations’ (Tajbakhsh 2001:52);
and, second, that the meaning of an element or identity is not contained fully within itself
or its boundaries. An identity is formed in its relations with identities outside of it, which
are essential to its being what it is (Tajbakhsh 2001:52). Thus, the inside is ‘filled in’ by
the outside, and the outside makes the inside vital, real and meaningful. (Because what is
inside the boundaries is constituted by its transactions with what is outside it, any divide
is a man-made construct.) Moreover, what occurs is shaped or determined by what is
desired, expected or imagined; and an identity forms itself by intention and fantasy, as
well as by past experiences.
The first two ideas of spacing and overdetermination culminate in the third, post-
modernist idea of hybridity, which Tajbakhsh sees as the core of the urban experience.
The urbanite crosses boundaries that are themselves overlapping and unstable because
they are processes rather than fixed entities—and, in so doing, he encounters otherness as
a commonplace. He engages in ‘the modernisation of the soul’ in that he must learn to
confront the strangeness in others and the stranger within himself (Kristeva 1991). It is
through this process—of confronting strangeness both without and within—that the
urbanite becomes a hybrid. The modern urbanite must be the author of his own
autobiographical narrative and, in so doing, learns to reconcile the confusions and
contradictions of Park’s many little worlds.

Imagining the city

As we have seen, multiculturalism is essentially a strategy of ethnic containment and

appeasement, a way of managing ethnic relations and communities in a pluralistic
society. As a policy, multiculturalism asks people to be fascinated and enchanted by the
immigrant communities’ exotic cultural displays, but marginalises them in the larger,
 Chinese identities, ethnicity and cosmopolitanism 130

public arena of resources. Multiculturalism begins and ends with separate ethnic
communities. As a policy, it strengthens the dividing walls by ossifying and hardening
cultures, one at a time.
But social theorists such as Robert Park, Jane Jacobs (1965), Richard Sennett, Manuel
Castells and Kian Tajbakhsh suggest a radically different way of imagining the city.
Instead of talking about an old-fashioned democracy based on maximising the
participation of people from all walks of life in key public institutions, in the hope of
improving political and bureaucratic decisions, this new urban theory calls for a
governance that creates institutions and a public space where ethically inclined citizens
will encounter and confront each other and themselves, to resolve the contradictions
formerly outside themselves but now in the innermost corners of their minds. Already
living in mixed-use neighbourhoods, the new urbanite is to participate actively in a
multiplicity of public institutions, to get used to coupling one point of view with a
contrary point of view, until it becomes a form of inner deliberation. The establishment of
such public institutions and spaces has one goal: to contribute to an urban sensibility that
not only tolerates but also creates something new and exciting out of difference—and so
becomes a hybrid sensibility.
An urban social theory of such nature envisages Utopia not as a multicultural society,
but as a society made up of multicultural personalities, or multiculturalism within each
person. Such a person is capable of a ‘multiperspectival’ (Tajbakhsh 2001:178) frame of
mind, which is conceptually akin to the ‘inner turmoil’ suffered by Park’s (1928)
marginal man or Schuetz’s (1944) and Simmel’s (1908) stranger (see Prologue). Park
constructs his marginal man as a person ‘on the margin of two cultures and two societies,
which never completely interpenetrated and fused’, and it is the conflict between the two
cultures that causes inner turmoil—the wavering between the old self and the new, the
restlessness, the intense selfconsciousness. But Park sees intelligence as an incident of
action, and restlessness as ‘the first and most elementary response to a problematic
situation that requires reflection’. The conflict of the two cultures in which the marginal
man is caught by fate may be arrested if it is internalised by him. It then becomes his
obsession to resolve the conflict, first for himself, then for his race. If he succeeds, he has
enhanced his intelligence and enriched his mental life—and he has also achieved
hybridity.

Conclusion

Any attempt to assess the response of the Chinese communities in Canada and elsewhere
to multiculturalism as a social idea or public policy must grapple with the likelihood that
individuals in these communities will have had different experiences, and therefore will
have different responses. A sociology of the Chinese overseas is by and large an
inadequate and deficient sociology of the economic elite of merchants, who are typically
elderly men speaking ‘on behalf of women and youth, thus muffling female and
adolescent voices and discontents. The collusion of government bureaucrats with the
Chinese community leaders in heritage preservation serves political ends for the former,
and commercial ends for the latter. In order for this perceived homogeneity of the
 Epilogue 131
Chinese community to continue unabated, the powerful community leaders co-operate
with the even more powerful outsiders to espouse a bureaucratic version of
multiculturalism that privileges a public/private divide, ethnic retention and heritage
preservation and an ossification of all things past.
But the youth and the women of the Chinese communities, although disgruntled, have
lived in a new world and wish to force open their families and communities to include
this world. They want their identities to be defined by things that reside outside
themselves and beyond their ‘traditions’. The generation and gender politics within
Chinese families and communities, muffled and disguised as they are, point to a future
characterised by syncretism, fusion and hybridisation of cultures. Multiculturalism is thus
at loggerheads with the future that some people in the communities desire.
On the theoretical front, multiculturalism presents a myopic view of culture, identity
and even human nature. The time when immigrants, ethnic associations and Chinatowns
were locked into nostalgia for a golden past is long gone. Chinese immigrants and
Chinatowns are best seen in terms of their relentless attempts at adaptation, or even
integration, into the host society (often in spite of racism), thus transforming themselves
and others around them, including the host society itself.
Multiculturalism has failed. The city deserves something better, the promise of which
lies in debunking the neat and tidy divide between private and public, on the one hand,
and in creating, on the other hand, spaces in which city dwellers can make meaning out of
life’s many moments of contingency, ambivalence, conflict—and pleasant surprise. In
such a city, where one may dwell in the spaces between oneself and the image of the
other (Tajbakhsh 2001:7), identity is always at risk, but the reward is excitement, delight
and even renewal. In that sense, the immigrant may be the ultimate forerunner in the
evolutionary game of cultural and civilisational transformation.
 Notes

Prologue
1 In this prologue, I use ‘he’ most of the time, instead of ‘he or she’, which I find cumbersome.
2 It may be better to talk in terms of ‘departure’ and ‘arrival’, following the language of
international airports or bus and railway terminals, rather than ‘origin’ and ‘destination’
because the former expressions conjure up an image of serial ongoing mobility within one’s
lifespan, which in the end blurs and absolves the origin/destination distinction of its
absoluteness.
3 In my writings on the Chinese in Thailand, I have argued against the American anthropologist
Skinner’s prediction that, by the fourth or fifth generation, all Chinese in Thailand will have
been assimilated and become, for all intents and purposes, Thai. See Chapters 1 and 2 of this
book.
4 Personal communication with Meena Alexander.
5 Personal communication with Meena Alexander.
6 Here, Nestor Garcia Canclini quoted Stuart Hall, who was responding to the former’s text
presented at the University of Stirling, UK, in October 1996. See Garcia Canclini’s ‘The
state of war and the state of hybridization’ (2000).
7 See Rita Laura Segato ‘Alteridates Historicas/Identidades Politicas: Una Critica a las Certezas
del Pluralismo Global’, which was presented to the Simposio Central del VIII Congreso de
Antropologia in Bogota, and quoted in Garcia Canclini (2000:46).
8 Nussbaum discusses the idea of self-examination extensively in Cultivating Humanity
(1997b). See also Ulrich Beck (2000).
9 Poem entitled ‘Moving world’ by Meena Alexander in her book River and Bridge (1996).

1
Rethinking Chinese ethnicity
1 Skinner’s contribution to the study of the overseas Chinese in South-east Asia is indisputable.
His use of historical analysis, particularly in his works on the Chinese in Thailand, still
remains the standard methodological tool for interested scholars. Skinner was among the
first to attempt a comparative analysis of the Chinese overseas. He advocates the need for a
cultural analysis, adopting a holistic approach rather than reducing everything to economic
and political factors. He derides as social mythology the general belief that the Chinese in
South-east Asia can be seen as a general category of people. More than anyone else, Skinner
has rekindled interest and discussion in the study of the Chinese in South-east Asia.
2 This study was conducted using qualitative fieldwork methods. Three field trips to Thailand in
1984,1989 and 1991 were made. Two major interview methods were used: (1) open-ended
and semi-structured interviews guided by an interview schedule; and (2) casual, ‘everyday
life’ conversations during the fieldwork. The interview schedule consisted of questions
pertaining to, among other things, children’s Chinese/Thai education and schooling,
acquisition and use of Thai and Chinese languages, personal and family life histories, the
meaning of being ‘Chinese’, ethnic prejudice and social contacts between Chinese and Thais.
 Notes 133
Generally conducted in Mandarin or Teochew, some during visits to families to allow
observations of parent-child, between-generation interactions, these interviews lasted
between half an hour and one and a half hours. We made notes during and after these
interviews.

A total of forty informants and respondents were interviewed:

eighteen businessmen, four journalists from Chinese dailies and the
rest comprising clan leaders, taxidrivers, civil servants and students.
The ‘snowballing’ sampling process was based on recommendations
and referrals made by informants and respondents during different
stages of the fieldwork. When interviewing the ten (out of the total
sample of forty) non-Chinese-speaking Thai respondents, an
interpreter was used, who also assisted in translating Thai archival
materials at the library of Chulalongkorn University—a site housing
many valuable and rich materials on the Chinese of Thailand. We
also went through old issues of English newspapers and archival
records at Chinese schools and clan associations; we managed to
deepen, check and counter-check our analysis through discussions
with Thai scholars. We would like to thank, specifically, Professors
Charnwit Kasetsiri, Suvanna Kriengkraipetch and Walwipha
Burusratanaphand.
3 Boonsanong divides his respondents into three groups: Group One—less educated, non-
government employees; Group Two—more educated, non-government employees; and
Group Three—government employees. He suggests that there are differential rates of
assimilation among the three groups. Although his findings are significant, his selection of
respondents falls into a tautological trap. He purports to indicate that government employees
show the greatest assimilation. But the very fact that they are government employees could
be taken to mean that they have already been assimilated into Thai society.
4 A distinction between perception and reality is necessary. There is a stereotypical perception
that the Chinese in Thailand are rich and have achieved this status through exploitation of
the Thai people. Statistics available in the 1960s showed that, in reality, the average income
of the Chinese was significantly lower than that of the Thai. These data, however, will not
alter ethnic perceptions.

2
Civic identity and ethnicity
1 A note on the transliteration of non-English words is in order here. The transliteration of Thai
words in this chapter is based on the Marry Hass Thai-English Dictionary transliteration
system. The system provides a set of pronunciation symbols that represent the actual Thai
pronunciation and not the spelling of the words. A few particular symbols are, however,
omitted and replaced with the more familiar ones. Specific Thai names (of cities, people,
historical period, for example) are transliterated according to the more familiar system based
on ‘Notification of the Royal Institute concerning the transcription of Thai characters into
Roman’ (Journal of the Thailand Society Vol. 33, Part 1, pp. 49–65, 1941). The reason for
 Notes 134
the variation is that such names have long been transliterated in the latter system and have
become familiar among western and Thai readers as the specific names.

Words originating from Pali and Sanskrit that have been adopted by
the Thai language are transliterated in the same manner as Thai
words. Words and names originating from Chinese dialects are also
transliterated in the same way. Chinese words in Mandarin are,
however, transliterated according to the official Chinese Pinyin
system.
The major part of the fieldwork in Wang Thong was carried out by
Tarkulwaranont during July 1984-January 1985, while living with a
Chinese (Hainanese) family in the market town. The first month in
the town was spent observing the general daily activities in the
market and making personal contact with Chinese and Thai families
introduced by the landlord. Through these initial introductions, he
was subsequently introduced to other traders and villagers in the
nearby areas. Although he frequently accompanied some traders to
the villages in the more remote parts of the district, most of his time
was spent talking to people in the market town and its satellite
villages. During this period, he attended most of the local festivals
and ritual events. It was from these conversations and close
observations that most of the information was gathered. In January
1987, he returned to Wang Thong for one month to record the event
of a major festival, the Buddha’s Footprint Festival at Khaw
Samokhlaeng. He also stayed in Wang Thong and carried out more
interviews, particularly on the issues of local history and myth. A
considerable amount of information used in this chapter is derived
from Kuwinpant’s (1980) previous study of Wang Thong.
During our fieldwork in 1984, conversations with local Chinese in
the market and the surrounding villages on the topic of Chinese
ethnicity were recorded. Three groups of Chinese were interviewed:
twenty-six immigrant Chinese, fifty-two local-born Chinese and fifty-
four Sino-Thai. The first group were immigrant Chinese who came to
Thailand during the years 1923–49 and were then aged from forty-
nine to eightyone years. The second group were local-born Chinese
of two Chinese parents and were then from twenty-one to fifty-three
years of age. The third group were local born Sino-Thai (one Chinese
parent, usually the father) aged between eighteen and sixtyone years.
 Notes 135

These respondents were taken as samples from different occupational

and residential groups.
2 In contrast to what has been published in some earlier studies on the Chinese, most of these
Chinese were Taoist, not Mahayana Buddhist, before they came to Thailand.
3 This is the Thai term for the local Chinese goddess. There is no Chinese name for the goddess,
and the written Chinese characters above the front door of the goddess’s shrine coincide with
the pronunciation of this Thai name.
4 This attitude towards Chinese festivals differs greatly from the Thai in other regions. In the
studies of the Chinese community of Bangkok, it was found that most Thai people identify
similar kinds of festivals as belonging to Chinese traditions.
5 In some parts of the country, the Thai villagers seem to have a stronger ethnic consciousness
and ethnic stereotype of the Chinese. For example, in the central and north-eastern region,
the terms phoo kha ciin or pho kha cek (Chinese trader) are common among Thai and Lao
villagers. In addition, Kuwinpant (1980:72) reports that the Chinese are known as cek among
the Thai. However, during our fieldwork, such a term was rarely mentioned by the Thai.
6 For more details on patron-client relationships, see Kuwinpant (1980:16–17, 216–19).
7 The Chinese also use these Thai kinship terms to address their Thai fellows and sometimes
members of their families in the case of intermarriage families. However, among themselves
in private conversation, the Hainanese kinship term of koo (older brother) and the Teochew
term of hia (older brother) are more commonly used.
8 It cannot be determined whether the Hainanese were the dominant group in Ban Saam Ryan
market at that time. During our visit to the place in 1984, however, there was no sign of
Hainanese domination in any sphere.
9 Kuwinpant (1980:83) mentioned that nobody knows the exact original story of the Caw Mae.
However, in our fieldwork, it was found that most of the older generation Hainanese agree
on the story that is presented here.
10 The River Wang Thong adjoins Nan River in the Bang Krathum district. All the towns
mentioned here are on the Nan River.
11 There are many other smaller events, for example, several Buddhist festivals, the Thai New
Year and the Chinese New Year. However, none of these has ever drawn much of the
attention of the whole community. Even the Chinese New Year, the biggest event in any
Chinese community, does not have much significance here.
12 Shui Wei Niang means Goddess of the Lower Stream; the goddess is said to protect those
who earn their living on the boats and along the rivers.
13 There seems to be little agreement regarding when the goddess was renamed and why this
name was chosen. Some older generation Hainanese outside Wang Thong say that the name
was adopted when the first shrine of the goddess was built in Bangkok. Because the image of
the goddess was made of red stone, local people then gave her a Thai name, Caw Mae Thab
Thim, the Ruby Goddess. However, as Thab Thim can also mean pomegranate tree, the other
versions of the story claim that the name Caw Mae Thab Thim was chosen because the
pomegranate is the goddess’s favourite tree. It is also regarded as a sacred plant in general
Chinese belief.
14 The story was translated into English as All Men are Brothers by Pearl S.Buck in 1933 and
as The Water Margin by J.H.Jackson in 1937. The story is said to have been compiled by Shi
Nai’ an in the thirteenth century from an earlier popular legend. It recounts the exploits of
the hero Song Jiang and his fellow outlaws who fled to the Liang Shan region and mounted a
campaign against the central government, which was dominated by corrupt ministers during
the reign of Huizong of the Northern Song Dynasty (1101–25). Already seen are similar
forms of Teochew folk dance in the religious festivals of many other Chinese communities
in the central region of Thailand.
 Notes 136
15 As the procession leaves the shrine and makes its way to the marketplace, the market people
and those whose houses are on the route prepare to receive the goddess and the procession.
At the front of their stores and houses, they place food, flowers and burning incense on small
tables. The procession stops for a few seconds at each of these stores and houses for the
owners to worship the goddess. This ritual is said to bring good luck to the households and
stores. During the procession in 1984, it was observed that virtually every household that had
anything to do with the business in the market took part and had its reception table awaiting
the procession. Even Thai petty traders in the morning marketplace collectively prepared
their reception table in front of the marketplace.
16 The term wad in Thai means temple or a Buddhist monastery. The terms wad, temple and
monastery are used interchangeably.
17 The Buddha’s Footprint, as known in Thailand, is an enshrined block of natural or man-made
stone bearing a footprint. Legend has it that the Gotama Buddha himself travelled in this
region, which was then known as Buuraphaa Thawiib (the eastern continent) in the classical
Indian world. Native people did not welcome his preaching on Buddhist doctrine and
challenged him with their gods. In order to convert the natives to Buddhism, the Buddha
performed a miracle by leaving his divine footprints on the ground at several sites.
18 The ritual is said to derive from the ancient Buddhist practice of meditation. It is also
believed that the Buddha himself recommended this practice to his followers as a basic
method for meditation and a strategy for solving meditation problems. When it was passed
on to later generations, the Thaksinawadtara was transformed into a ritual symbolising
paying respect to Buddha and to sacred places and objects.
19 An assembly is divided into several groups that will take turns to perform the Phithong ritual.
The monks who have just finished their daily Tham Watara Yen form a procession and head
for the Mondob housing the Buddha’s Footprint. The Phuuwarachakan Cangwad, senior
officials and leading traders invited as honoured guests join in the procession. When the
procession reaches the Mondob, monks individually enter the Mondob, place the flowers,
candle and incense sticks in the holders in front of the Footprint and then use the gold leaves
to gild the Footprint.
20 Although the market is presently still located next to the river, it is clear that most of the
transportation has shifted to the highways, not the river.
21 The point here is that changing social conditions in Thailand have given the Chinese a viable
alternative to being completely assimilated into Thai culture and society, yet also peacefully
integrated as a part of modern Thailand society. After the second Phibun government in
1957, the Chinese have not seen any serious threat from the succeeding governments. The
end of significant Chinese immigration and the success in minimising communist activities
in the countryside have made the governments less concerned with the Chinese. Moreover,
the growing economic development and industrialisation inspired by western countries gave
birth to a new elite class of wealthy businessmen who have increasingly been recognised by
the public and, more or less, share equivalent weight in power, prestige and privilege with
the traditional Thai elite. Social mobility for Chinese descendants is more likely to be inside
their own family business and may not necessarily be acquired by being (culturally) a Thai.

3
The migrant family drama
1 Males’ social networks are largely tied to work while women are primarily in charge of the
kinship linkages. This, however, is not always the case.
2 Teaching Chinese is one major source of income for women migrants from China, especially
the newly arrived. Few of them were formally trained in teaching the Chinese language
 Notes 137
before. The sister-in-law of one of our respondents teaches Chinese despite having been
trained to teach English at the secondary school level in China.
3 Le told us that he was expecting his daughter to be there as well. His wife decided that it
would be inconvenient to bring her along. Le thought that his wife might be tired of taking
care of the girl and wanted a break from childcare.
4 In China, Zhen worked in a bank for five years and held a middle management position at the
time she decided to leave her job. Her proficiency in the English language explains why she
was able to obtain a job in Singapore with ease.
5 Poston and Yu (1990:480–1) divided the emigration history of China into four periods: the
ancient period from thousands of years ago to the mid-Qing dynasty in the eighteenth
century; from the decline of Imperial China to the Republican period in the 1940s; the first
three decades of the People’s Republic of China to the late 1970s; and the contemporary
period. A brief overview of this emigration history in relation to South-east Asia is provided
by Skeldon (1992a, 1992b) and Pryor (1979).
6 Such as those in North America (Kung 1962; Sung 1967), Europe (Broady 1958), Australia
(Gao and Liu 1998), the Middle East (Ling 1984) and South-east Asia (Skinner 1957b;
Purcell 1965).
7 For instance, Min, a 35-year-old single woman, told us, ‘The people here speak English, but I
don’t. I speak Chinese. I guess that’s the difference’. She communicated this idea in English.
As a Canadian citizen who had spent about ten years in Canada and, before that, five in
Norway, both times in English-speaking communities, Min speaks English fluently. Her
statement should be read as part of a construction of her ‘authentic’ Chinese identity, which
she uses to distinguish herself from the local Chinese people in Singapore.
8 Simmel offers this sketch of the stranger: ‘The unity of nearness and remoteness involved in
every human relation is organised, in the phenomenon of the stranger… distance means that
he who is close by is far, and strangeness means that he who is also far is actually near… He
(the stranger) is fixed within a particular spatial group, or within a group whose boundaries
are similar to spatial boundaries. But his position in this group is determined, essentially, by
the fact that he does not belong to it from the beginning, that he imports qualities into it,
which do not and cannot stem from the group itself (Wolff 1950:402).
9 This is a substantial amount of the total value of world trade, second only to the trade in crude
oil (Russell and Teitelbaum 1992:29 as cited in Russell 1992:269). In the same article, the
term ‘remittances’ is used to refer to ‘the portion of migrant workers’ earnings sent back
from the country of employment to the country of origin’ and remittances are described as
‘central to the links between migration and development’ (Russell 1992:267).

In Asia, specifically, ‘although the exact estimates of remittances

from workers are notoriously unreliable, remittances clearly play an
important role in the economies of many Asian countries. It has been
estimated that in 1981 more than 2.5 million Asian workers remitted
$7.9 billion to their home counties’ (Demery 1986 as cited in Stahl
1986:899).
10 As many countries receive migrants, the impact of newcomers on these countries alone has
contributed to a plethora of migration studies. As many countries send migrants, the
‘development’ brought about by out-migration has also attracted research interest. The
adoption of terms such as ‘development’, which is sometimes intended to suggest
unproblematically linear continuity, suggests a false image of movement originating from a
starting point and going towards an end-point. The word ‘development’ as used here refers
to change that is not necessarily for the better.
 Notes 138
11 As discussed in Daugherty and Kammeyer (1995:112).
12 That is, if present value of net benefits=Σ[(Bjt−Bot)/(1+r)t−C], where Bjt—the utility derived
from the new job, j, in the year, t; Bot=the utility derived from the old job, o, in the year, t;
T=the length of time (in years) one expects to work at job, j; r=the rate of discount; C=the
utility lost in the move itself (direct and psychic costs); Σ=summation of yearly discounted
net benefits over a period from year 1 to year T (Ehrenberg and Smith 1994:327–8).
13 These ties might not be lost after all with advances in the technology of long-distance
communication. However, the costs involved in using these technologies to keep up these
ties require vigorous and meticulous estimation.
14 An extract from a primary 5 textbook used in almost all the primary schools in Singapore.
On the same page is the chorus of the song ‘Heart of the Nation’:

Family is everything
The joy, the hope, a home can bring.
Family’s a living light
To guide you through the darkest night.
The heart and soul of your life is the love
You always find when you’re safe at home.
It’s the strength of a new generation
It’s the heart of the nation.

The song was composed to mark the First International Year of the
Family in 1994. The ‘effectiveness’ of the ideology of the family
comes about precisely as a result of this kind of continual
construction and reinforcement of the ‘reality’ of the family through
institutions such as education and the state, as well as through the
family itself.
15 This idea of Arnold Gehlen was further developed by Peter Berger (1963:104–6).
16 Besides this sexist bias, Eichler (1997) raised six other biases, namely monolithic bias,
conservative bias, ageist bias, racist bias, heterosexist bias and microstructural bias, in the
conventional family literature. These biases should be taken into consideration in any
discussion of the family.
17 For many of the Chinese migrants in our study, a huge sum of money, used either for
applying for jobs or to universities or for getting visas, is needed to move. When funds are
lacking, help is often sought in the family, in the extended kin network or even among others
in the same village. For example, in Jiao’s case, her husband returned to his home town to
raise money before using the recruiting agency.
18 In his preface to Madness and Civilization (1971), Foucault argues that, until the mad person
speaks the language of the sane, he will continue to be perceived as mad. There is a need to
go back to an original zero point just before the divide between the mad and the sane came
into being.
19 All interviews except five were conducted in Mandarin. The language used does matter, as
shown by one interview session with Zhang. Initially, there were long pauses in the
conversation while Zhang thought about what he wanted to say, until the language was
switched from English to Mandarin, at which point Zhang responded easily.
 Notes 139
20 Although most were willing to talk about their own migration history, personal questions
proved offensive to two interviewees, Pan and Liang. Pan, who had training in the hard
sciences, could not understand the use of the individual experience, finding it a waste of
time. Towards the second half of the hour-long interview, he became less uneasy and more
willing to talk about his and his family’s migration experiences. Liang was willing to answer
general types of questions but hesitant about telling his own story throughout the interview.
21 Zeng arrived four years ago, and his wife joined him six months later. Now his parentsin-law
also live with them and help his wife, who has stopped working, look after their son.
22 Ao came about ten years ago as a bachelor. Now he is married to a Singaporean woman.
23 Ling is currently a student. She worked for a tuition centre when she first came and later
through the principal got a job in a Chinese publication department. After working there for
about a year, she found the pay structure to be highly discriminatory and unfair to her, so she
quit. She now shares a five-room rented flat with another couple from China.
24 Xing, 36, has been in Singapore since 1993. Like Jian, she came from China to join her
husband, Feng, who was then working as an architect here. She brought along her son, then
four. She is now a teacher in a childcare centre. She is inexperienced in this area, given her
professional training in advanced mathematical calculations with applications in satellite
initiation. She is the only one in the family who still holds a Chinese passport while Feng,
her son and her younger daughter, who was born here, already have their Singapore
citizenship.
25 Jiao lives with her husband and her ten-year-old daughter. Her parents came to visit them ten
months ago and are still around. But, according to her, they will not stay much longer as they
cannot adjust to the lifestyle and cannot find other old folks to talk to. They speak only the
Fujian dialect but their neighbours do not.
26 These ‘facts’ are not easily assessed, however. Much of the detail had been lost due to the
lapse of time between the actual migration and our research. The major events as narrated
were sanitised accounts of their moves.
27 Mei, 32, came to Singapore alone, on a student pass, leaving her family in China. Her son
was then seven. Her husband, Mo, is a dentist; Mei is an engineer, which is perhaps why she
was the initiator of the migration. Mei came on a scholarship for a postgraduate position in a
local university. This job provided for her living expenses and later Mo’s. Mo came over six
months later, also on a student pass. Owing to the difficulty in securing a place in the
medical school, he enrolled in a Master in Business Administration course instead. Her son
has been in Mei’s parents’ care since she left. As Mei and Mo are on student passes, neither
can apply for their son to come over. At the time of this study, her case had been on hold for
a year.
28 Ling is not the only one who insisted that children are forgetful. One of our respondents even
asserted that young children can be taken anywhere as long as their toys are with them.
Another mother said that, once children start going to school and making friends, they will
not remember anything back in China.
29 Such conversations go like this: ‘How’s everyone been?’; ‘How’s your health?’; ‘Any
problems?’.
30 It is usually the wives who make the phone calls, not the husbands.
 Notes 140

4
The ethnicity paradox of immigrants
1 For a detailed account of the methodology of this study, see Ng (1991:6–8, 67–71). I am
grateful to Ng for allowing me to attempt a re-analysis of her interview data.
2 The report on the study is entitled A Survey on How Hong Kong Immigrants are Adapting to
Life in Singapore (as of December 1992), Social Integration Management Service (SIMS).
3 These ideas have been developed most clearly by the Chicago school of sociologists,
particularly Lai (1987) and Blumer and Duster (1980).
4 See Blumer and Duster (1980).
5 For a critical review of the literature on immigrant adaptation, see Chapter 1 of this book.
6 See Warner and Burke (1969) and Yancey and Ericksen (1979).
7 See Rex (1973) and Rex and Josephides (1987).
8 This idea of dualism brought about by migration was first formulated by Park in his classic
essay on the ‘marginal man’ in the late 1920s (Park 1928).
9 De Vos (1982:24) calls this fluid process ‘identity flow’.
10 These variables were identified by Yinger (1984).
11 See van den Berghe (1981).
12 For a detailed analysis of migrants writing letters and making long-distance telephone calls,
see Ng (1991:55–9).
13 See Ng (1991:61–4), Little (1973) and Skeldon (1976).

5
One face, many masks
1 See Bock (1976) for a discussion of this concept.
2 Daedalus published in spring 1967 a special issue on the salience of colour in social relations,
which includes essays by Edward Shils, Harold R.Isaacs, Kenneth J.Gergen and
E.R.Braithwaite.
3 See Isaacs (1975) and Levi-Strauss (1966) for an incisive treatment of names and naming.
4 The major religions of the Chinese are Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism as well as other
popular religious beliefs such as worshipping ancestors and praying to spirits. However,
most religious beliefs and practices of the Chinese do not fall neatly into these known
categories. For many Chinese, the ‘formal’ religious labels simply do not matter, and their
practices represent a mixture of several religious traditions. Many Chinese cannot and do not
distinguish these religious categories, often mixing, for example, Buddhism and Taoism. As
Topley (1956:76) noted, ‘the popular religion of the Chinese people is characterised by its
syncretic and catholic nature. It is an amorphous mass of beliefs and practices from various
sources including the greater systems of religion and philosophy’.
5 The term disembedding was used by Anthony Giddens (1991) in describing how modern
institutions are in various key respects discontinuous with premodern culture and ways of
life. He suggests that modernity is characterised by the separation of time and space and the
disembedding of social institutions, that is the lifting out of social relations from local
contexts and their re-articulation across indefinite tracts of time and space. We use the word
disembedding in the context of lifting out and separation.
 Notes 141
6
Migration, dispersal and the cosmopolitan
1 In this chapter, I use ‘he’ most of the time in reference to the migrant or immigrant, partly
because international migration of the Chinese in the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries was, of necessity, almost wholly a male phenomenon. I acknowledge the relatively
recent appearance of women as members of the new Chinese overseas. I avoid the usage of
‘he or she’ because I consider it a cumbersome expression.
2 In this chapter, I focus on the historical and contemporary experiences of the Chinese migrants
and immigrants to Canada and the United States for three reasons. First, I am most familiar
with these experiences, having studied them and lived in Canada for close to two decades.
Second, the Chinese experiences in Canada and the United States have close chronological
and political parallels. In fact, they are best seen as two closely related histories—a scholarly
analysis of which is yet to be attempted. Third, the bulk of the theoretical and empirical
literature on the experience of the ethnic Chinese overseas that I draw upon for this chapter
is Canadian and American based. I am, of course, fully aware of the limits of generalisability
of my analyses to ethnic Chinese elsewhere. For me, the degree of fit between theory,
experience and data is considerable and attractive. The astronaut families of Hong Kong
were chosen as a case which is illustrative of modern-day dispersed families among the
ethnic Chinese overseas. Many such families are made up of the resource-rich, hypermobile
‘transilients’ whom I attempt to delineate in this chapter. Not at all coincidentally, Canada,
the United States and Australia are their favourite countries of adoption. Hong Kong has
lately been under the watchful eye of the world. The sheer magnitude of its emigration
compels me to examine the astronaut families thus created.
3 These remittances were usually sent through the occasional returning migrants or through one
of the many brokering agencies set up by Chinese merchants or family and clan associations
in Chinatown districts.
4 I owe the analogy of the kite to a discussion with Professor Taban Lo Liyong on 27 May 1994
at National Museum of Ethnology, Osaka, Japan.
5 Race riots punctuate the history of Indonesia, the latest as recently as May 1998. In 1965,
Chinese stores were looted; ‘killing communists’ was often synonymous with killing
Chinese. The Chinese were forced to send their children to Indonesian language schools,
culminating in the closure of all Chinese-medium schools in 1966. Today, there are no
Chinese schools in Indonesia. Ill-feeling and distrust continue to exist between the Chinese
and the Indonesians. In May 1998, Chinese were the targets of organised destructive attacks:
their shops and homes were looted and burned down; many Chinese were injured or killed,
and many Chinese women were raped. It was reported that about 100,000 Chinese had fled
the country.
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 Index

abstraction of ethnicity 43
adaptation by migrants 78;
adaptive organisations 88
adjustment problems 82–3
Alexander, Meena 10–11, 140n
alternation, culture contact and 2
An Zuozhang 7–8
Arthur, Chester A. 119
ascriptive aspects of ethnicity 93–5, 98–102
assertion of ethnicity 33
assimilation:
culture contact and 5–6;
and ethnicity 15–17, 21–3, 35, 37–8, 59
associational life:
and ethnicity paradox 86–89;
of migrants 84–5, 121–2
astronaut families from Hong Kong 122–5, 128
attention/inattention, selective 6
Australia 122

Bacon, Francis 93
Bangkok 21–3, 25–6, 27, 31–3, 127
Bangkok Post 28–9
Becker, Howard 8
behaviour and ethnicity 19–20
bilaterality of references 83
bilingualism, bicultural education and 23–6, 34
birth/bloodline as markers of ethnicity 98–102, 109–10
Bissoondath, Neil 134
boat race in Wang Thong 56–8, 61
boundary maintenance 100
Buddha’s footprint in Wang Thong 52, 54–6, 61
Buddhism 30–1, 52, 54–6, 57, 61, 103

Canada 118–19, 122;

multiculturalism in 129–39
Castells, Manuel 137
Caw Mae Thong Kham 52–4, 60
change:
cultural change and family 121–2;
and ethnicity 96–7;
see also urban social theory
 Index 154
Chen Yingue 7
Chicago school of sociologists 13
children in migration 75
China:
cultural dialectic 6–7;
history of family dispersal 117–19;
migration saga of Chinese 7–8;
social history of 13
Chinese cosmopolitanism 122–5, 125–7
Chinese cultural identity in Wang Thong 61–2
Chinese economic domination in Wang Thong 61
Chinese ethnicity:
rethink on 15–35, 140–1n;
in Wang Thong 42–3, 58–63
Chinese Exclusion Acts, Canada and US 119
Chinese in Thailand 21–3;
Skinner’s view 21–3, 130, 140n
Chinese New Year 31–2
Chinese story in Wang Thong 48–50
Chineseness 28, 30, 33, 43, 95–9, 102, 104–5, 109–13, 126
Christianity 103–5
Chun Yuan festival 31
circulatory international system of migration 124–5, 128
civic identity and ethnicity 36–63, 141–4n
coercion and ethnicity 18–19
community fragmentation 112–14
Compani, Giovanna 83
compartmentalisation 2
concept discovery and invention 6–7
Confucius 6, 11–12
control of ethnic minorities, multiculturalism and 135, 137
conversion through culture contact 2–3
corporeal malediction 95
cosmic harmony 11–12
cosmopolitanism:
astronaut families from Hong Kong 122–5;
dispersal and the cosmopolitan 116–28, 147–8n;
as emergent Chinese identity 125–7;
transnationalism and 1–2, 13–14, 59, 116–28
critiques of multiculturalism 133–4
cross-representation 27–8, 34
cult of multiculturalism 134
cultural change and family 121–2
cultural dialectic 6–7
cultural erosion of ethnicity (ethnicity drift) 94
cultural/linguistic contrast, Hong Kong with Singapore 84–5
cultural pluralism 20
cultural transnationalism 2–6
culture building activities of migrants 82–4, 84–6
culture contact:
alternation through 2;
assimilation 5–6;
 Index 155
attention/inattention, selective 6;
compartmentalisation through 2;
concept discovery and invention in 6–7;
conversion through 2–3;
cosmic harmony 11–12;
dialectic of 2–6;
difference, respect for 12;
displacement in 6;
essentialisation through 2;
harmony in diversity 7;
homecoming and culture shock of 10;
hybridisation through 3;
innovation through 3–4;
nostalgic fixation/illusion 11;
ossification through 2;
poetical expression of the stranger 10–11;
polarisation through 2;
selfless love 6;
stranger, dark side of 8–10;
sympathy, the way forward 11–12;
territoriality 4–5;
voluntary segregation 5

definitions:
Chinese ethnicity 42–3;
family 68, 80;
Wang Thong 39–40
demography, the Wang Thong setting 39–40
depluralisation 106
dialectic of culture contact 2–6
diaspora 91, 113, 114, 117, 122, 126, 127
diaspora economy 126–7
difference, respect for 12
differential belonging 83–4
diffusionism 38
disembedding 113–14
dispersal and the cosmopolitan 116–28, 147–8n
displacement in culture contact 6
diversity, harmony in 7
division of labour 28, 29
dual identity 1–2;
see also ethnicity;
migration
dynamics of ethnicity 33–5

economic integration in Wang Thong 45–6

education:
assimilation and 23–4, 25–6;
and ethnicity 105–10
elderly migrants 75–6;
conception of ethnicity 110–12
 Index 156
embeddedness, simultaneous 77
emergent ethnicity 94
essentialisation through culture contact 2
ethnic boundaries 17–20, 34, 94–5, 100
ethnic containment, multiculturalism and 137
ethnic entertainment, multiculturalism as 134–6
ethnic identification, religion and tradition 30–3, 34–5
ethnic identity 17, 18, 33–5, 96–115
ethnic relations in Wang Thong 36–9, 43–6, 58–63
ethnic stereotypes 28–9, 34
ethnicity:
abstraction of 43;
ascriptive aspects of 93–5, 98–102;
assertion of 33;
assimilation and 15–17, 21–3, 35, 37–8, 59;
associational life and ethnicity paradox 86–89;
behaviour and 19–20;
bilingualism, bicultural education and 23–6, 34;
birth/bloodline as markers of 98–102, 109–10;
boat race in Wang Thong 56–8, 61;
boundary maintenance 100;
Buddha’s footprint in Wang Thong 52, 54–6, 61;
Chinese ethnicity, rethink on 15–35, 140–1n;
Chinese ethnicity in Wang Thong 42–3, 58–63;
Chinese in Thailand, Skinner’s view 21–3, 130, 140n;
Chinese story in Wang Thong 48–50;
civic identity and 36–63, 141–4n;
coercion and 18–19;
community fragmentation 112–14;
complex nature of 93–115, 147n;
cross-representation 27–8, 34;
cultural erosion of (ethnicity drift) 94;
cultural pluralism 20;
cumulative over time 17;
definitions of Chinese 42–3;
demography, the Wang Thong setting 39–40;
depluralisation 106;
disembedding 113–14;
division of labour 28, 29;
dynamics of 33–5;
education, assimilation and 23–4, 25–6;
education, contested terrain of 105–10;
elderly migrants conception of 110–12;
emergent 94;
ethnic boundaries 17–20, 34;
ethnic identification,
religion and tradition 30–3, 34–5;
ethnic identity 17, 18, 33–5, 96–115;
ethnic relations in Wang Thong 36–9, 43–6, 58–63;
ethnic stereotypes 28–9, 34;
ethno-demographic structure in
 Index 157
Wang Thong 40;
expressive 18–20, 34;
family life 32–3;
in flux 96–7;
generational differences in conception of 110–12
goddess, ritual display of 52–4
heterogeneity of ethnic identity 96–7, 114–15;
history, the Wang
Thong setting 39–40, 46–7, 58–63;
homeland and 110–11;
identity, co-existence and 36–7;
inclusive fitness and 16;
individualism and 104–5;
instrumental 18–20, 34;
integration and 20;
intermarriage and 32–3, 101–2;
kinship and 16, 18–19;
language acquisition and 25–6;
language as contested terrain 105–10, 111–12;
language use as marker of 112;
Lao story in Wang Thong 50–2;
localism in Wang Thong 43–6, 58–63;
motivation for assimilation 16;
multiculturalism and 20, 97;
multiethnic association 41–2;
multiplicity of ethnic identity 96–7, 114–15;
myth and ritual in Wang Thong 46–7, 52–4;
objective approach to 93;
occupational differentiation 29–30;
optional ethnicity 136;
paradox of immigrants 81–92, 147n;
primordial characteristics as markers of 98–102;
reciprocity and 18–19;
religion, tradition and ethnic identification 30–3, 34–5;
religious bifurcation 102–5;
ritual display of the goddess 52–4, 60–2;
self-selective aspects of 93–5;
situational view 17;
‘snowman’ of 93;
social-economic organisations 27–9, 34;
socialisation, bilingualism and 23–4;
structural assimilation 27–8, 34–5;
study of complexity of:
conclusion 114–15;
informants’ experiences 96–114;
preamble 93–5;
research methods 95;
subjective approach to 93;
symbolic 94, 97;
Thai story in Wang Thong 47–8;
tradition, religion and ethnic identification 30–3, 34–5;
 Index 158
transnationalism and 2–6;
voluntary 94, 97;
see also migration, urban social theory, Wang Thong
ethno-cultural elements in Wang Thong oral history 52
ethno-demographic structure in Wang Thong 40
evolutionism 38
experiences of migrants 69–76, 78
exploitation 67–8
exploitation, discrimination and 74, 76
expressive ethnicity 18–20, 34

failure of multiculturalism 136–39

family:
associational life of migrants 121–2;
astronaut families from Hong Kong 122–5, 128;
cultural change and 121–2;
definition of 68, 80;
dispersal and migration 116–17;
drama of 64–79, 144–6n;
ethnicity and family life 32–3;
functionalist theory of 66–7;
historical perspective on dispersal 117–19;
idea of 77;
ideal of 76, 80;
importance of 66–8, 73;
migrant community and 121–2;
re-establishment of ties with 77–8;
role in migration 119;
social institution of 66;
urbanisation of 116–17
Friends of Hong Kong 86–7

gender politics 132–3, 134

generations:
generation politics 132–3, 134;
generational differences in conception of ethnicity 110–12
gift exchanges 77
global economic energy 126–7
globalisation 1
goddess, ritual display of 52–4
group allegiance of migrants 83

Hall, Stuart 13, 140n

Handlin, Oscar 118
harmony:
cosmic 11–12;
in diversity 7
heritage, multiculturalism’s insistence on 129
heterogeneity of ethnic identity 96–7, 114–15
 Index 159
history:
of Chinese family dispersal 117–19;
ethno-cultural elements in Wang Thong oral history 52;
of multiculturalism 130–1;
social history of China 13;
the Wang Thong setting 39–40, 46–7, 58–63
home 1, 10, 14, 18, 24–5, 34, 47, 67, 69, 73–80, 83–91, 97, 100, 111, 117–19, 121, 122,
125–31, 135
‘homeland’:
and ethnicity 110–11;
home contacts by migrants 88–89;
homecoming and culture shock 10;
and multiculturalism 131;
transnationalism and 77–8
Hong Kong 2, 127;
astronaut families from 122–5, 128;
cultural/linguistic contrast with Singapore 84–5;
migrants to Singapore from 81–2, 84–92
hybridity:
hybridisation through culture contact 3;
in the mind and multiculturalism 129–39;
in urban social theory 136, 137
hybridization 2, 4, 13, 129, 138
hypermobility 92

identity:
Chinese cultural identity in Wang Thong 61–2;
civic identity and ethnicity 36–63, 141–4n;
co-existence and 36–7;
cosmopolitanism and emergent Chinese 125–7;
dual identity 1–2;
ethnic identity 17, 18, 33–5, 96–115;
heterogeneity of ethnic identity 96–7, 114–15;
imposition of 95;
multiplicity of ethnic identity 96–7, 114–15, 133;
Thai cultural identity 59;
of transnational Chinese bourgeoise 122–5, 125–7;
transnationalism and 2–6;
types of Chinese 125–6
inattention/attention, selective 6
inclusive fitness and ethnicity 16
individualism and ethnicity 104–5
innovation through culture contact 3–4
instrumental ethnicity 18–20, 34
integration and ethnicity 20
interethnic relations in Wang Thong 44–5
intermarriage 32–3, 101–2
invention, concept discovery and 6–7
irrational migration 72, 74, 76
Islam 104, 105
 Index 160
Jacobs, Jane 137
Jakarta 127
James, William 11
Jewishness 94

Kallang, People’s Association in 87

Karen people 114
kinship and ethnicity 16, 18–19
Kowloon Club 87

Laing, R.D. 131, 136

language:
acquisition of 25–6;
and ethnicity 105–10, 111–12;
marker of ethnicity 112
Lao story in Wang Thong 50–2
Lee Kuan Yew 82
Li Qingzhao 8
life process, migration as part of 68
linguistic/culturall contrast, Singapore with Hong Kong 84–5
localism in Wang Thong 43–6, 58–63
London 2, 127
love, selfless 6

macro-conditions, influence of 70–1, 79–80

The Marginal Man (Stonequist, E.V.) 10
marginal man, concept of 1, 2, 4, 8, 10, 12, 20, 122, 138, 147n8
marginality 122–3
Mead, George H. 4
middle-class international migrants 122–5, 125–7
migration:
adaptation by migrants 78;
adaptive organisations 88;
adjustment problems 82–3;
associational life of migrants 84–5, 86–89;
bilaterality of references for migrants 83;
children in 75;
Chinese in Thailand 21–3;
circulatory international system of 124–5, 128;
culture building activities of migrants 82–4, 84–6;
decision to move 69–71, 72–3;
differential belonging 83–4;
dispersal and the cosmopolitan 116–28, 147–8n;
elderly migrants 75–6;
embeddedness, simultaneous 77;
ethnicity paradox of immigrants 81–92, 147n;
experiences of migrants 78;
exploitation, discrimination and 74;
exploitation and 67–8;
family, drama of 64–79, 144–6n;
family, ideal of 80;
 Index 161
family, importance of 66–8, 73;
family role in 119;
gift exchanges with migrants 77;
group allegiance of migrants 83;
home contacts by migrants 88–89;
housing arrangements for migrants in Singapore 90;
hypermobility 92;
Indonesian immigrants to Toronto 122;
irrational 72, 74, 76;
macro-conditions, influence of 70–1, 79–80;
middle-class international migrants 122–5, 125–7;
migrant community and family 121–2;
opportunities, access through 71;
oppression and 67–8;
other as migrant 1;
part of a life process 68;
private lives of migrants in Singapore 89;
public lives of migrants in Singapore 89;
push-pull theory of 70;
reasons for 71–7;
resettlement, transition and 84;
return trips by migrants 77–8;
saga of China 7–8;
self-inclusion processes 85- 6;
social bonds between sending and receiving countries 78;
social distance 65;
social relations, multistranded 77;
study of:
family perspective on 64–79;
interview sample 68–9;
methodological issues 65–6;
theoretical issues 65–6, 82–4;
‘trailing spouses’ and 79–80;
transmigration 76–9;
transnational perspective on 79–80;
women and 67–8, 72–6, 79–80;
workplace integration 90.
see also cosmopolitanism;
ethnicity;
transnationalism
motivation for assimilation 16
multiculturalism 20;
in Canada 129–39;
control of ethnic minorities through 135, 137;
critiques of 133–4;
cult of 134;
ethnic containment and 137;
as ethnic entertainment 134–6;
and ethnicity 97;
failure of 136–39;
gender politics and 132–3, 134;
generation politics and 132–3, 134;
 Index 162
heritage, insistence on 129;
history of 130–1;
‘homeland’ and 131;
hybridity in the mind and 129–39;
multiple identities and 133;
optional ethnicity and 136;
pluralism and 130;
private/public divide and 130–1, 131–2, 136;
racism and 135;
reality and 133–4;
see also urban social theory
multiethnic association 41–2
multiplicity of ethnic identity 96–7, 114–15, 133
myth and ritual in Wang Thong 46–7, 52–4

New York 2, 127

New Zealand 122
Ngann Phraphudthabaad Khaw Samokblaeng 54–6, 61
nostalgic fixation/illusion 11
Nussbaum, Martha C. 14

occupational differentiation 29–30

opportunities, access through migration 71
oppression and migration 67–8
optional ethnicity 136
ossification through culture contact 2
overdetermination in urban social theory 136–7

Paris 2
Park, Robert 8, 10, 136–7, 138
Parsons, Talcott 131, 136
pluralism and multiculturalism 130
poetical expression of the stranger 10–11
polarisation through culture contact 2
The Polish Peasant in Europe and America (Zananiecki, F.) 117–18
Porter, John 130
primordial characteristics as markers of ethnicity 98–102
private lives:
of migrants in Singapore 89;
private/public divide and multiculturalism 130–1, 131–2, 136
The Promise of the City (Tajbakhsh, K.) 136
public lives:
of migrants in Singapore 89;
public/private divide and multiculturalism 130–1, 131–2, 136
push-pull theory of migration 70

Qing Ming festival 31

racial purity 94
racism and multiculturalism 135
 Index 163
reality and multiculturalism 133–4
reasons for migration 71–7
reciprocity and ethnicity 18–19
refugee, other as 1
religion:
religious bifurcation 102–5;
tradition and ethnic identification 30–3, 34–5
resettlement, transition and 84
return trips by migrants 77–8
Rex, John 133–4
ritual display of the goddess 52–4, 60–2

Samad, Yunas 134

Schuetz, Alfred 9–10
Sciortino, Guiseppe 133
segregation, voluntary 5
self-inclusion processes 85–6
self-selective aspects of ethnicity 93–5
selfless love 6
Sennett, Richard 137
Shanghai 2, 127
Shui Wei Niang 52–3, 62
Simmel, Georg 8–9
SIMS (Social Integration Management Service), Singapore 82, 86, 87–8, 90
Sing Sian Re Pao, Bangkok 32
Singapore 64–5, 70, 73–4;
associational life in 86–89;
Chinese in 95–115;
Hong Kong migrants in 81–2, 84–92;
housing arrangements for migrants in 90;
linguistic/cultural contrast with Hong Kong 84–5;
modification of immigration policy 81–2;
National University of 95;
private/public lives of migrants in 89;
religious institutions 86
Skeldon, Ronald 88, 91
Skinner, G.W. 21–3, 27, 30, 33, 36, 37, 130, 140n
‘snowman’ of ethnicity 93
social bonds between sending and receiving countries 78
social distance 65
social-economic organisations 27–9, 34
social history of China 13
social integration in Wang Thong 45–6
social relations, multistranded 77
socialisation, bilingualism and 23–4
spacing in urban social theory 136–7
Stepping Out (Chan, K.B. and Chiang, C.) 119
Straits Times 82
stranger 2, 4, 8, 9–14, 65, 132, 137, 138, 144n8;
dark side of 8–10
 Index 164
structural assimilation 27–8, 34–5
study of complexity of ethnicity:
conclusion 114–15;
informants’ experiences 96–114;
preamble 93–5;
research methods 95
study of migration:
family perspective on 64–79;
interview sample 68–9;
methodological issues 65–6;
theoretical issues 65–6;
see also migration
symbolic ethnicity 94, 97
sympathy, the way forward 11–12

Taiwan 32
Tajbakhsh, Kian 136–8
Taoism 103–5
territoriality 4–5
Thai story in Wang Thong 47–8
Thailand 21–3, 23–6, 27–30, 30–3;
Phibun governments in 37;
Thai cultural identity 59;
see also Wang Thong
Tiananmen Square incident 81–2
Tokyo 2
Toronto 127;
Indonesian immigrants to 122
tradition, religion and ethnic identification 30–3, 34–5
transmigration 76–9
transnationalism 77–9;
cosmopolitanism and 1–2, 13–14, 59, 116–28;
cultural transnationalism 2–6;
and ethnicity 2–6;
and identity 2–6;
imagination, fantasy and 78–9;
problems of 79, 80;
transnational Chinese bourgeoise 122–5, 125–7;
transnational perspective on migration 79–80

United States 118–19, 123

Universal Press, Bangkok 32
Uprooted (Handlin, O.) 118
urban social theory:
hybrid sensibility and 137–8;
hybridity in 136, 137;
looking beyond multiculturalism 136–7;
multiperspectival mindsets 138;
overdetermination in 136–7;
spacing in 136–7
urbanisation of family 116–17
 Index 165

voluntary ethnicity 94, 97

voluntary segregation 5

Wang Keqi 7–8

Wang Thong:
boat race 56–8, 61;
Buddha’s footprint 52, 54–6, 61;
Chinese cultural identity in 61–2;
Chinese economic domination 61;
Chinese story in 48–50;
definitions of 39–40;
economic integration in 45–6;
ethno-cultural elements in oral history 52;
ethno-demographic structure 40;
history (local), myth and ritual 46–7, 58–63;
interethnic relations 44–5;
Lao story in 50–2;
local Chinese ethnicity 42–3, 58–63;
localism, ethnicity and ethnic relations 36–9, 43–6, 58–63;
multiethnic association 41–2;
mythic elements in oral history 52;
ritual display of the goddess 52–4, 60–2;
setting, history and demography 39–40, 58–63;
social integration in 45–6;
Thai story in 47–8
women and migration 67–8, 72–6, 79–80
workplace integration 90

Xin Qiji 8

Zananiecki, Florian 117–18