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Language & Communication 78 (2021) 35–39
a r t i c l e i n f o a b s t r a c t
Article history: This is a personal reflection, upon reading the articles in this special issue, on race, na-
tionality and language from a Manchu-Chinese immigrant in the UK’s perspective.
Through a number of personal stories, I discuss my own experiences with Chineseness on
Keywords: the margins. I also want to explore ways of taking the discussion and research forward in
Reflection future studies.
Manchu-Chinese
Crown Copyright Ó 2021 Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Margins
Diasporic imagination
Border thinking
On the evening of February 24, 2020, an undergraduate student in my university’s Law School was attacked by three white
youths on Oxford Street in central London. One of them shouted at him, ‘I don’t want your coronavirus in my country’. The
student suffered a broken cheek bone and his right eye and nose were severely bruised.1 All the global news reports about the
incident mentioned that the student was Singaporean. The youths were later convicted of racist attacks. But as some com-
ments on social media pointed out, Singaporean is a nationality not a race (see Lim et al. 2021 on Chinese Singaporean
linguistic ideology in this special issue). The fact that the student was ethnic Chinese was rarely mentioned in the news
reports. Yet as the student himself said in a number of media interviews, his physical appearance was clearly a key reason for
the youths to attack him, though they would not be so sophisticated to tell the difference between nationality and race.
I took an interest in the incident for a variety of reasons: my son is a fellow law student and knows the victim; I have a
particular interest in issues of race, nationality and language in Singapore and more generally; I am also interested in people’s
perceptions of and mundane reactions to race through everyday practices such as National and Ethnicity Talk (NET) (Zhu and
Li, 2016a); and I have personal experiences dealing with these issues, in particular, with the complexities of Chineseness that
studies in this special issue collectively explore. As the editors and contributors of this special issue point out, Chineseness has
hitherto received little attention by researchers from a raciolinguistic perspective. The focus on marginalised groups gives the
studies in this collection special value. I echo and endorse what the authors of the articles in this collection have argued: that
communities on the margins are often better positioned to challenge the orthodoxies embodied and imposed by the centre.
They are therefore ‘fertile ground for the investigation of how people make sense of different understandings of authenticity,
legitimacy, and language ownership’ (Wong et al., 2021, p. 133) as the editors say in the Introduction. In what follows, I reflect
on my own experiences with Chineseness on the margins with a number of personal stories. I also want to explore ways of
taking the discussion and research forward in future studies.
https://doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2021.01.006
0271-5309/Crown Copyright Ó 2021 Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
36 L. Wei / Language & Communication 78 (2021) 35–39
1. Minoritization multiplied
I am Manchu-Chinese, born in Beijing, China. I grew up during Mao’s Cultural Revolution where race and ethnicity were
politicised to such an extent that the so-called ethnic minorities, i.e. non-Han, must declare their absolute loyalty to Mao, the
Communist Party and the central government by denouncing their own cultural traditions and practices. The social norms,
including everyday social practices, were dictated by the Party whose leadership was, and still is, predominantly Han, and must
be accepted absolutely and uniformly. The Manchus, having been the ruling race of the last imperial dynasty before China
became a republic, Qing/Ching (1636–1912), were blamed for failures to defend China against foreign invasions in the 18th and
19th centuries and for giving up significant territorial ownership to foreign powers, including the cession of Hong Kong and
Macau. Qing was overthrown by the Han nationalists. As such, people of Manchu origin could protect themselves from perse-
cution during the Cultural Revolution by not revealing their ethnicity. This was fairly easy because the Manchus look very similar
to the dominant Han people in physical appearance, and they shared a lot of things in common including food and language.
My first awareness that we were of a different ethnic group was when I saw my grandfather writing in Manchu, a Tungusic
language whose script is taken from Mongolian and vertically written. I thought that he was drawing pictures. I did learn a
couple of sayings in Manchu from my grandfather. But I cannot read or write Manchu or speak and comprehend it. At school,
my parents put mine and my sister’s ethnicity down as Han. The year Mao died, 1976, I got into the Beijing Foreign Language
School. It was the only school in China during the Cultural Revolution where foreigners, mostly western communists, were
allowed to teach Chinese children directly. One day, an American teacher who was married to a Chinese army doctor was
talking about facial appearances of different nationalities and racial groups. She asked me to stand up in front of the class and
said to my classmates that I had ‘a typical Chinese face’. I cannot recall exactly how I felt. But I must have felt something
because I told the story to my parents when I got home. They didn’t say anything but my mother brought out a black-and-
white picture of an old lady in what appeared to be a very fancy dress. I immediately asked, ‘Is that grandma?’, because
the lady in the picture resembled my grandmother so much. My mother said very calmly and quietly, ‘Cixi taihou’ (Empress
Dowager Cixi), and took the picture away. I was shocked and turned away myself. Empress Dowager Cixi (1835–1908), the
mother of Emperor Tongzhi, was portrayed in China as a ruthless despot whose reactionary policies led to the national
humiliation by losing the Opium Wars and who was solely interested in prolonging her own power as the de facto ruler
behind the curtains. I knew my grandma well, and I really could see the resemblance, a fact that disturbed me deeply. I felt
that I finally understood why my parents did not want people to know we were Manchu.
After the university system in China was revived in the late 1970s, the government gradually introduced policies to
improve access to higher education by ethnic minority students. So applicants of certain ethnic minorities could have bonus
points added to their examination results to increase their chances of going to universities. But lo behold, the Manchus were
not given this preferential treatment. To be honest, this did not bother us very much because in our mind, ethnic minorities
were from the remote, mountainous parts of China and did not speak good Chinese, whereas most of the Manchu people we
knew lived in cities and Chinese was their only language. Since the late 1980s, however, there has been enhanced awareness
of the significance and potential tangible benefits of understanding and promoting the Manchu heritage. Bertolucci’s multi-
Oscar winning film, the Last Emperor, contributed a great deal to this raised awareness. The Chinese government realised the
world-wide interest in the Manchu culture, including its language, and began to set up conservation areas, museums, and
research centres in the northeastern provinces of China where there are significant numbers of Manchu people. Some uni-
versities also offered Manchu language classes. Nowadays, the Manchu culture is typically represented through traditional
dresses, folk songs and music, and food. At the annual Spring Festival, Chinese New Year, celebrations, Manchu is definitely
included alongside the other officially recognised ethnic minority groups in the performances. And one can buy greetings
cards and other souvenir with both Chinese and Manchu scripts. And of course in the Forbidden City in the centre of Beijing,
one can see the original Manchu-Chinese bilingual signs on most buildings. Nevertheless, there is no Manchu-medium
school. And there is no monolingual Manchu speaker. All Manchu children are educated in Chinese and all Manchus use
Chinese as their primary if not the only language.
I left China in the mid-1980s and did not experience first-hand any of such more favourable treatment. In a way it helped to
simplify life quite a bit. I had little hesitation in being classified as Chinese. And as with lots of other ethnic minority people from
China living in the west, I never talked to anyone about myself as being Manchu unless I knew that they had a special interest in
the Manchu culture. But even then I felt a slight unease to be identified as Manchu because I do not actually know the language
and my upbringing was not much different from that of most others of my generation in urban centres in China, apart from
some vague awareness of our family background. After all, my American teacher at the Beijing Foreign Language School thought
I had ‘a typical Chinese face’! It would be just too complicated to explain any difference. Nevertheless, the fact that I am Manchu
but do not speak the language must have contributed to my interest in the phenomenon of language maintenance and language
shift. I became fascinated that many of the British-born Chinese children and youth did not speak their parents’ languages and
operated mainly or even only in English. I saw similarities of the language shift experience of the Manchus in China. I decided to
study the ongoing intergenerational language shift in the Chinese community in Britain (Li, 1994).
Whilst in Beijing, our family had quite a few ethnic Korean friends. They gave us home-made kimchi regularly. We heard
them speaking Korean at home. I envied them because they managed to keep something distinctive for themselves. While in
Newcastle, in the North East of England, where I worked and lived between 1986 and 2006, I got to know an ethnic Korean
family from China. This family had a daughter who was born in China. The parents came to do postgraduate degrees in
England. The Korean families in China are famous for their capacity to maintain their ethnic language at home. This family in
L. Wei / Language & Communication 78 (2021) 35–39 37
Newcastle was no exception. The parents spoke Korean most of the time with the daughter and with each other. English was
of course in the environment and the daughter went to the local school where she had to learn to speak English. The parents
did speak some English to the daughter in order to help her to improve her proficiency level faster. The daughter knew
Chinese well and spoke it with other Chinese-speaking children. The family had a number of Chinese friends in Newcastle,
including me. And we spoke Chinese most of the time, with some English. The grandparents of the family and other relatives
were all in China.
Things began to change. About three years after they came to England, they had a son. The parents decided that they would
speak only Korean to him, and to the daughter. They realised that the daughter had begun to use quite a lot of English and they
were concerned that she might lose Korean. And with a new additional member of the family and lack of grandparent
support, they felt that it was too much to try to maintain both Korean and Chinese while developing their English skills as
well. The school that the daughter went to also urged the parents to use more English with her, because it was assumed to be
helpful to the daughter’s school’s work. I noticed a very visible change in their family language policy, which, in hindsight, was
clearly influenced by complex raciolinguistic ideologies: they wanted to maintain Korean because that’s an important part of
their ethnic identity; the school saw the daughter as an immigrant child and an English-as-an-additional-language (EAL)
learner, and wanted the parents to use more English at home to help her with the school work; they were unsure what to do
with their Chinese because on the one hand they knew it would be useful to maintain it and they wanted to keep their
contacts with their Chinese friends going, but on the other hand they also felt that it was too much to try and keep all three
languages going at the same time.
Things took a more drastic turn when the father completed his doctoral degree and got a job in London. They family moved
down south and chose to settle in the south west London suburb of New Malden. New Malden is famous for having a large
number of Korean residents, and came to the public attention in the 1990s because the number of North Korean defectors in
the area. I had never asked the family directly why they chose to settle there but they did say to me that they really loved the
fact that there were a lot of Korean supermarkets and restaurants and more importantly, a Korean school for their children.
The mother said that it was less of a struggle to try and teach the children Korean now that they could learn it at the Korean
school rather than having teaching sessions at home. The parents could just use it with the children as a normal, everyday
practice at home. When I visited them just over a year after they moved to London, I had a really interesting experience. As I
was walking towards the home with the father, a neighbour came past and said hi. Clearly not having seen me before, she
asked me, ‘Are you from Korea too?’ Without thinking, I said, ‘No, I’m from China’. But I felt instantly that my friend was a little
embarrassed. The neighbour looked a little surprised and asked my friend if he spoke Chinese too. My friend did not answer it
and asked the lady where she was going instead. I realised that there was something intricate, but did not pursue it with my
friend on that occasion. Again with hindsight and from a raciolinguistic perspective, I can see that the lady must have assumed
that people spoke their ‘own’ language at home. Because my friend and I looked physically different from her, she must have
thought that we would be speaking either Korean or Chinese but not English with each other.
On a later visit, my friend was going to going to host a party and had invited a few of their Korean friends. As if to prepare
me in advance, he told me in some detail what the family did after they moved to London. They made friends with a number
of Korean families in the area and began to identify themselves ‘just as Koreans’, as he said to me. This is his explanation,
‘In English there is just one word Korean. And I’m Korean, so I’m telling people the truth when I say I’m Korean. I don’t
think they cared where exactly I came from. There’s no need to explain that I’m from China. I’m Korean anyway.’
He said to me that at the beginning he felt a little sheepish in front of the Koreans from Korea because he had never been to
Korea himself by then. But the family made a conscious and strategic decision to take a long holiday, about four weeks, in
South Korea and visited most of the well-known sites. After the trip, my friend said that they all felt more comfortable to
identify themselves ‘just as Koreans’. He and his wife stopped speaking Chinese to the children. Even though they were all still
holding Chinese passports at the time, they behaved, for all intents and purposes, as Koreans with no apparent complications.
In fact, my friend explained to me that he deliberately avoided speaking Chinese in public because he did not want anyone to
think that he was a North Korea defector - some North Koreans know Chinese as it is a popular foreign language in schools in
North Korea.
There are probably thousands of people of ethnic minority background from China living overseas. Some have much more
complicated lives than my Korean friends and I do. On an academic trip to Kazakhstan a few years ago, I met several Kazakhs
from Xinjiang, China. They spoke Chinese to me and told me stories about their struggles as Chinese Kazakhs who did not
speak Russian and had to learn ‘proper Kazakh’ from the locals. I also know several Mongolians from China, in the UK, in Japan
and elsewhere, who are very much aware of their ethnicity, and language, but choose to present themselves as Chinese to
‘make life simple’. Most of such people with whom I have discussed the topic of race and nationality argue that we are already
minorities in the countries we are living in now. Telling people that we were minorities in and from China would be too
unnecessarily complicated. People want simpler lives.
2. In the diaspora
I have two sons who were born in England. They have never lived in China. They know enough Chinese to have simple
conversations, but they do not read or write Chinese. They know the Manchu connection of the family – my wife is also
Manchu-Chinese. On occasions where they need to tick an ethnic category, they would choose ‘Chinese’. The schools that they
38 L. Wei / Language & Communication 78 (2021) 35–39
went to did have Mandarin classes. But they, alongside some other ethnic Chinese pupils, either born in the UK or from other
countries such as Malaysia, were excluded from the classes, because they were assumed to have known Chinese already. They
did choose to take standard Chinese language exams at the school. And a Chinese teacher at the school who had two British-
born children herself, understood my sons’ situation well and helped them prepare for the tests, especially in reading and
writing. However, when we travel to China for holidays, they often feel embarrassed because they do not understand
everything that is said to them, especially when it is said in a local accent, and their responses can be rather slow as they
process the information. They cannot read Chinese menus in restaurants. Ien Ang has written critically on not speaking
Chinese as an ethnic Chinese in the west (Ang, 2001). From a raciolinguistic perspective, their experiences and struggles with
Chinese, and people’s assumptions of and reactions to their linguistic proficiency, are interesting topics to explore.
At university and elsewhere, my sons have made a lot of Chinese friends from China, Singapore, the UK, and other places.
They speak some Chinese, but mostly communicate with each other in English. They share many cultural practices, especially
food. Yet there is a constant debate amongst them whose way of cooking, serving and eating food, or of doing other ‘cultural
things’, is the authentic Chinese way. For instance, the northern Chinese would have dumplings for the Chinese New Year and
other festivals, whereas the southern Chinese traditionally have hot-pot. As many of the ethnic Chinese students from
Singapore and Hong Kong are of southern Chinese origin, they think having hot-pot is the proper way of celebrating Chinese
New Year. What’s more, the soup for the hot-pot is flavoured with spices already and they put all sorts of things - seafood,
meats and vegetables - in it. In the north of China, when people have hot-pot, they have it in the Manchu and Mongolian way
with clear, unflavoured soup, and thinly sliced lamb only. My sons have also gained an awareness of the different kinds of
Chinese spoken by people from different parts of the Sinophone world. They have started using labels such as ‘a Taiwanese
speaker’, ‘a Hakka’, or ‘a Cantonese speaker from Hong Kong’ (see the article by Wong (2021) in this special issue for a dis-
cussion of how differences among Sinitic languages can become ideologized in a politically charged climate).
Until the recent political changes in Taiwan, the Kuomintang government who fled to Taiwan from mainland China after its
defeat in the civil wars with the communists kept the claim that they were the real keepers of authentic Chinese cultural
values and traditions. Whilst mainland China is striving to modernise itself using western models where they see fit, Taiwan
seems to have maintained a great deal of traditional Chinese cultural practices. One of the most visible, and most relevant to
the present discussion, is the use of traditional, unsimplified, Chinese characters. In fact, one can still see newspapers and
books printed with vertical, right-to-left writing. Geopolitically though, Taiwan is on the margins of the Sinophone world. It is
excluded from the United Nations and all major international organization. It can participate in international events only
under the name Chinese Taipei. The idea that Taiwan could possibly be the keeper of Chinese traditions seems laughable to
the mainlanders, especially the young. Yet, many observers, including those in mainland China, have remarked on the fact
that lots of traditional Chinese practices are disappearing fast in mainland China but are kept alive in Taiwan. The pro-
independence camp in Taiwan, though, wants to sever all ties with China. How they deal with the traditional links with
the mainland is going to be a major challenge to them. The article by Su and Chun (2021) in this issue examines ideological
tensions behind the debate over the use of the simplified Chinese script versus the traditional script in Taiwan. It reminds me
of the tweets by the Taiwanese President Tsai Ing-wen on the Winter Solstice and the New Year’s Day and people’s reactions
to them.2 On December 21, 2020, Tsai twitted a greeting in which she mentioned the Chinese terms Dongzhi (Winter Solstice)
and tangyuan, glutinous rice balls that are traditionally eaten in the south of China on winter solstice. Her tweets were
immediately mocked by social media users for using pinyin to represent these terms, because pinyin is widely regarded as a
mainland China invention for Putonghua, the standardized national language of China, whereas Tsai has been advocating
independence of Taiwan from China. She managed to redeem herself somewhat in her New Year’s Day greeting on twitter
where she used Zhuyin fuhao or Bopomofo, the romanization system for Mandarin Chinese that was invented during the
Republican period at the beginning of the 20th century, as well as pinyin. She also added the romanization of the Taiwanese
pronunciation of the greeting. No doubt such controversies and debates will continue.
My own research on the language issues of Chinese communities on the margins has been influenced by the work of
scholars in diaspora studies. Notably, contributions by Gonzales (2021) and Leung (2021) also focus on Chinese diasporic
communities in Manila and San Francisco respectively. Diaspora studies scholars point out that transnationals often construct
and negotiate their identities and everyday lives in ways that overcome the ethnic identity versus assimilation dilemma.
Transnationals also often try and suppress or neutralise any ‘internal’ differences and establishing commonality and con-
nectivity with people with whom they can find shared heritage in order to build a diasporic imagination (Cohen, 2008; Zhu
and Li, 2018). This diasporic imagination provides a site of hope and new beginnings (Brah, 1996). Rather than looking back,
sideways, or from a distance, in a nostalgic effort of recovering or maintaining their identity, they reinvent notions of who
they are and where and what home is by essentially looking forward. Their senses of the core or centre versus the periphery or
margin, and of the past, the present and the future, are shaped by their personal experiences, the context they find themselves
in and the aspirations they have for themselves and their families.
2
Tsai Ing-wen’s tweets on the Winter Solstice and the New Year’s Eve: https://twitter.com/iingwen/status/1340938987624513542, https://twitter.com/
iingwen/status/1344959563745828864.
L. Wei / Language & Communication 78 (2021) 35–39 39
Language plays a crucial role in constructing the diasporic imagination and in dealing with raciolinguistic ideologies and
practices (Li and Zhu, 2013; Zhu and Li, 2016b). I have been promoting translanguaging both as a communicative practice that
addresses identity dilemmas and paradoxes by breaking the one-race-one-language norm and as an analytical lens for the
investigation of non-essentialising and denaturalising linguistic and other semiotic practices (Li, 2018; Zhu and Li, 2018).
Through creative and subversive practices, translanguaging transforms the power relations between named languages and
the ideological assumptions about users of specific named languages, as well as the subjectivities of the language users
themselves. The articles in this special issue show ample examples of how people in Tibet, Taiwan, Hong Kong and in the
Chinese communities elsewhere in the world assert, challenge and redefine Chineseness through innovative and strategic use
of linguistics resources of various kinds. They also remind us of the significance of history and context which give special
meanings to the linguistic practices. Roche’s (2021) study in the special issue, in particular, demonstrates that translanguaging
takes on very different meanings and socio-political significance in different contexts.
The studies in this collections also show that Border Thinking (Anzaldúa, 1987; Mignolo, 2000) is necessary and useful in
order to take forward what this special issue has started, i.e. to critically interrogate Chineseness on the margins from a
raciolinguistic perspective. The lived experiences of the individuals and communities on the margins must feature more
prominently in the production of knowledge of the complex relations between race, nation and language. Moreover we need
to find alternative languages of expression and use alternative knowledge traditions to approach the issues under investi-
gation, that is, languages and traditions that are different from the dominant, English-based ones in the scholarly literature. It
may seem somewhat paradoxical then, we may need to use a more Chinese way of thinking, analyzing and articulating (Chen,
2010). This, however, does not mean a uniform way. Whilst the Chinese may want to think of their nation as the centre of the
world by naming their country as the Middle Kingdom, the rest of the world are still seeing China as the periphery, on the
margins as it were. The studies in this special issue helps to diminish the illusion of the Chinese as a homogenous, monolithic
group. We need Chineseness, in all its multiplexity, to interrogate and understand the complexities of language and race.
Living as Chinese isn’t simple and it will never be.
References
Ang, I., 2001. On Not Speaking Chinese: Living between Asia and the West. Routledge, London.
Anzaldúa, G., 1987. Borderlands/La Frontera: the New Mestiza. Aunt Lute Books, San Francisco, CA.
Brah, A., 1996. Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities. Psychology Press, Hove.
Chen, K., 2010. Asia as Method: toward Deimperialization. Duke University Press.
Cohen, R., 2008. Global Diasporas, second ed. Routledge, Oxford.
Gonzales, W., 2021. Chinese, neither, or both?: the Lannang language identity and its relationship with language. Lang. Commun. 77, 5–16.
Leung, G., 2021. “Maybe useful to the future generation but not my own”: how “useful” is Mandarin really for contemporary Hoisan-heritage Chinese
Americans in the San Francisco Bay Area? Lang. Commun. 76, 121–130.
Li, W., 1994. Three Generations, Two Languages, One Family: Language Choice and Language Shift in a Chinese Community in Britain. Multilingual Matters,
Clevedon.
Li, W., 2018. Translanguaging as a practical theory of language. Appl. Ling. 39 (1), 9–30.
Li, W., Zhu, H., 2013. Diaspora: multilingual and intercultural communication across time and space. Aila Rev. 26 (1), 42–56.
Lim, J., Chen, S., Hiramoto, M., 2021. “You don’t ask me to speak Mandarin, okay?”: ideologies of language and race among Chinese Singaporeans. Lang.
Commun. 76, 100–110.
Mignolo, W., 2000. The many faces of cosmo-polis: border thinking and critical cosmopolitanism. Publ. Cult. 12 (3), 721–748.
Roche, G., 2021. Lexical necropolitcs: the raciolinguistics of language oppression on the Tibetan margins of Chineseness. Lang. Commun. 76, 111–120.
Su, H., Chun, C., 2021. Taiwaneseness, Chineseness, and the traditional and simplified Chinese scripts: tourism, identity, and linguistic commodification.
Lang. Commun. 77, 35–45.
Wong, A., 2021. Chineseness and Cantonese tones in post-1997 Hong Kong. Lang. Commun. 76, 58–68.
Wong, A., Su, H., Hiramoto, M., 2021. Complicating raciolinguistics: language, Chineseness, and the Sinophone. Lang. Commun., 131–135.
Zhu, H., Li, W., 2016a. ‘Where are you really from?’: nationality and ethnicity talk in everyday interactions. Appl. Ling. Rev. 7 (4), 449–470.
Zhu, H., Li, W., 2016b. Transnational experience, aspiration and family language policy. J. Multiling. Multicult. Dev. 37 (7), 655–666.
Zhu, H., Li, W., 2018. Translanguaging and diasporic imagination. In: Cohen, R., Fischer, C. (Eds.), Routledge Handbook of Diaspora Studies. Routledge,
London, pp. 106–112.
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