Archive for September, 2012

Four Chinese Cities, Part 3

by on Thursday, September 27th, 2012

View from Jerri’s apartment in Shenzhen

Jerri’s story

Parts one and two deal with Jerri’s experiences in Shenyang, Zhengzhou and Shanghai. Jerri kindly provided all the photos.


Map showing Shenyang, Zhengzhou, Shanghai, Shenzhen and Hong Kong

In Shenzhen I did very little teaching. Interestingly enough, I had one semester at a Korean international high school. It was a boarding school for Koreans whose parents wanted them to learn Chinese and develop Chinese relationships—or just wanted to send them somewhere else. So I went from being surrounded by Chinese to this little Korean enclave right in the heart of Shenzhen. The attitude of the Koreans in China—and I think in a lot of places—was that they were superior to the Chinese: better educated, more sophisticated with better music, better television shows, better clothes and better hair. The boys were all about their hair.

You could watch students interact and see the little hierarchies within the school. At the top were the boarding students who had received their earlier education in Korea and whose families were still there. Then came the kids whose parents were working in China as expats, running factories or something. Below them were those whose parents had been in China so long that they were born there. On the bottom were the few who were half Chinese. I felt really sorry for them because the bullying was horrible and open. “They’re dirty. They’re not real Koreans.” I taught a brother and sister. He was born in Korea, while she was born three years later after the family had moved to Shenzhen. They had the same parents, but the sister was of much lower status.

Shenzhen was the fastest developing city in the country, springing up from a tiny fishing village into a huge metropolitan area. It was unbelievable how big that place was, how wealthy it was and how high people’s expectations were. Many millions of college graduates flocked to Shenzhen. The college graduate entry-level for good jobs was so saturated that when I left Shenzhen last year, every week you heard of some student who had migrated to Shenzhen. His parents had spent all their money sending him to university, and he was planning to get a good job and send money back home to the family. Then he got there and couldn’t find a job. There was suicide after suicide because of the shame of being unable to fulfill family obligations.

Shenzhen was so completely different from the rest of China. To me it was like California when I was a kid, way more liberal and open, where all kinds of things happened that never would back home. If there was a sexual revolution in China, it started there. These shy, backward kids left the farm and all the rules, and they were away from family and the inhibitions that family ties bring. It was the new C

+hina, but in terms of culture, it was my least favorite place to live. It had no culture of its own. However, people came from all over, so you had food and crafts and language from every region. The Chinese loved the newness and the excitement, but I found it all surface. One of my friends described Shenzhen as a giant, metropolitan city full of peasants. There was still the spitting on the ground, the urinating on the street, the strolling out on a busy, six-lane highway—all the stuff you saw in the rest of China but which made your head spin in a modern glass-and-steel city.

A lot of Hong Kong people went to Shenzhen to live or retire or buy property, while Shenzhen inhabitants dressed like Hong Kong people in designer clothes, but you could tell they were not from Hong Kong. Mainland Chinese didn’t wear the clothes the same way. They didn’t have the same confidence and ease with their financial security. It was like they were dressing up and playing a part. Only Chinese born in Guangdong Province were allowed to cross into Hong Kong. If you weren’t from there, you could go to your home village for a special permit which allowed you to go twice. The permits were very expensive, so there was still prestige in being able to go in and out of Hong Kong.

I had friends who said they couldn’t tell the difference between behavior in China and in Hong Kong, but I walked across the border and immediately felt I was in a different country. The behavior of the mainland Chinese also changed to some degree—less pushing and shoving, no hawking and spitting. [In Hong Kong there was a fine for spitting on the street.] At one of the crossings in Shenzhen the subway system was actually run by a Hong Kong company. You got on the subway in Shenzhen, then got out, showed your passport, walked across the river, got your passport stamped in Hong Kong, and then got back on the subway system. There were the same signs, the same trains, but a calm and a quiet like the decibel level had dropped.

On the train to Hong Kong

The first thing I always did was pick up the South China Morning Post at the Seven-Eleven before hopping on the train. In China there was no way you could read a newspaper on the subway. Someone would be grabbing it out of your hand or knocking it into you. There wasn’t enough space to open a newspaper, even to read it folded over. In Hong Kong you could actually sit on a seat, open the Post and read real news, not the propaganda you got in the government-run China Daily and Shenzhen Daily. When I lived in Shenzhen I would go every couple of weeks.

China was the most exciting place I’ve ever lived in. There was always something strange happening. The Chinese would make decisions I would never consider making. If I were trying to solve a problem, I would look at all the options, even if I were just trying to get across the street, I would look at the crosswalk and the traffic stops and the lights—although the traffic didn’t necessarily follow the lights—and decide when a break in traffic would allow me to cross. But the Chinese would just stroll out into the street, causing cars to blow their horns and swerve to avoid hitting them and bicycles to zip around cars and almost hit the pedestrians. It was insane. I could see no thought in it at all, but there must have been some because far fewer pedestrians got run over than you’d think if you saw how they behaved in huge metropolitan areas.

In Shanghai and Shenzhen I had a small business, a database of the boards of directors of the top companies in China in different industries. It contained all their background information: where they went to university, what companies they’d been affiliated with, their résumés and contact information. As a foreign business person wanting to do business in China, you might want to talk to someone in Shanghai from a bank of a certain size. You could put the parameters in and it would give you everyone who fit your demographic. Or maybe you knew someone who graduated from Beijing University, and you wanted to see who that person could help you make contacts with. The database would supply information on everyone in that industry who had graduated from Beijing University.

The magazine I used to work for in the States brought groups of directors over to China, and we matched them with a similar-sized company so they could have private discussions about joint ventures—that kind of thing. We set up the venue for the meetings and made all the arrangements. When a group was coming into town, things had to be perfect. You don’t take the director of a large multinational out to meet the director of some tiny company out in the middle of nowhere.

My Chinese staff—I had two young women working for me—could not solve problems. So I said once, “Okay, this project has to be finished today no matter what because we have three more things that have to be done, and they can’t be done until this is 100% complete. I’m going to do something else. If you run into a problem, call me.” They agreed. The next day when I went in, it wasn’t even half finished.

I said, “What happened?”

“We didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“We didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Now I’m disturbed. Now I’m really disturbed. We have all these people coming in, and now there’s no way to have everything done when they get here. It’s not going to happen.”

Even though I was really more a friend than a boss, they could not imagine placing that phone call. So we were all set with the invitations, but they couldn’t go out. Their question was actually about a very simple matter. Things like that happened all the time.

I was always astounded by China, fascinated but also overwhelmed. It was hard because I was never certain I was making the right move. It was a difficult place to live. People would push in front of you to get on the bus. On good days it was fun to stand back and watch, but on bad days I wanted to beat them with an umbrella.

I don’t feel angry at the West or harbor negative feelings toward it. I just don’t want to live there anymore. The value system is different from what I grew up with. I don’t want to live with the new value system anymore. I don’t care about the things that are important to people back there, like having a fancy car. My thousand dollar car is just fine. I don’t have to have the biggest house. I don’t even want a big house. I don’t want to give up my freedom to pay for expensive stuff. I’m out of touch with the television shows and the actors. If I watch any television from the States, it’s just network television.

This is internal, I believe. What’s important to me when I’m overseas is completely different from what’s important to me when I’m there. I think it’s the influence of television advertising and seeing what my friends have. In Korea I don’t feel any of that. If my clothes are different from somebody else’s, well, so is my hair color and my eyes and everything else about me, so it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to fit in anyway.

One of the last times I was home I went to one of the big warehouse stores like Costco. As I walked through the store, I wanted everything I saw. Luckily, I didn’t have a place to put it or a way of getting it back to Asia. I wanted to plant those beautiful flowers in my garden, even though I didn’t have a garden. I wanted the biggest refrigerator with the greatest electronic ice-maker, something I would never think of here. Whatever I saw, I wanted. It was culture shock. I was laughing at myself the whole time.

I also get bored in the States. If and when I do retire, I won’t have enough to live on there. I might be able to get by, but it wouldn’t be a lot of fun. Occasionally Lucy talks about going back. If she really wanted to, I would, but I can’t imagine returning to a full-time career. It’s hard to find a job that’s both challenging and not stressful. Whereas here, even though teaching English is not my best thing, I find the students are amazing. There are always a couple of students who are really cool, really interesting and fun to be around, people I can continue to learn from.

Four Chinese Cities, Part 2

by on Thursday, September 13th, 2012

Shanghai shop

Jerri’s story

Part one deals with Jerri’s experiences in Shenyang and Zhengzhou. Here she talks about Shanghai. Jerri kindly provided all the photos.


Map showing Shenyang, Zhengzhou, Shanghai, Shenzhen and Hong Kong

In Shanghai I worked with a language training company that contracted teachers out to multinational corporations. I was sent to company which was a joint venture with Shanghai Acatel, a big French and Italian company, and Bell, the American company. We were told, “Our Chinese engineers are some of the brightest we have globally, but they’re not being recognized. In fact, we’re even considering downsizing our department because the engineers won’t say anything in our weekly video conferences. We’ll give you three months to get them participating at a level with their peers.” I immediately discovered the problem was absolutely not the language. They could all talk about engineering all day long, but because of their culture they would never disagree even indirectly with someone they perceived as being superior to them or even equal. It meant such a loss of face both for themselves and for those they were disagreeing with. They would never interrupt. Their foreign counterparts were from Italy, France, Germany and America. They could understand the Americans fairly well, the Italians less, and they really struggled to understand the Germans and the French.

It was very much against their culture to ask someone to speak slower or repeat something. So the first thing I did was give them different ways of doing that. I really went overboard with the politeness because otherwise they just wouldn’t have done it. “Excuse me, please, could you repeat that?” “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I didn’t understand.” Then I taught them how to repeat back what they understood and ask if they had it right.

Shanghai view

Then we described national stereotypes and discussed whether they fit their peers—most of the time they did—and actual business practices in each of these cultures. For example, the Americans would interrupt and disagree no matter who was talking. The Italians would be very emotional, talking with their hands and shouting one minute and perfectly happy the next. The French were also very passionate about what they were saying but not nearly as dramatic. The Germans were very serious and controlled. Then we role-played. We’d have four teams, one from each nationality. They’d act out their colleagues’ behavior, laugh hysterically and afterwards talk about what they’d learned. The Chinese team would work hard to interrupt, to express their opinions and to ask for clarity on things. The class got much better very quickly.

But they still struggled trying to understand their colleagues with thick accents. They would be so embarrassed about having asked once that they wouldn’t ask again. Finally, we asked the team leader to have someone take minutes which could be reviewed after the meeting and checked for points they might have missed. Then the Chinese had another meeting among themselves to see if one person got something the others missed.

Shanghai neon

It was a fun class, but intense because they knew they had a lot riding on it. They were very intimidated by the video camera, so we even did the role-plays with the camera running. In the end the engineers could participate more, and the bosses were pleased. Although of course the students would never behave like the Americans or the Italians.

I worked with employees from an Irish investment bank, which I enjoyed because of my background in finance and economics. I worked with six analysts, each studying the stocks of a different industry all over the country. They flew out to the mines or out to the factories for interviews, and in class they discussed how they thought the stocks of a particular company would do. Their English was quite good because they had had a year’s training in Ireland, but their vocabulary was limited. I gave them some more stock market terms so they could make their reports less repetitive and more interesting. In a lot of Chinese companies people don’t have the experience and background to understand financial fundamentals, like what makes their stock go up or down in price. But these guys did, so I enjoyed getting information about different companies within China.

I didn’t buy any stock. I was never able to figure out the best way to buy on the Shanghai Stock Exchange. It was difficult just to set up an account. A lot of companies traded on the New York Stock Exchange or NASDAQ, but those were the more established ones. The up‑and‑coming companies were—I’m not sure I would buy them because they were usually owned in part by one of the big state-owned companies. Accounting was not very strict. The losses were siphoned off and given to the big parent company, and all the gains given to the little public company. It looked like the public company was making large profits when in fact it might be losing a lot. All this is even less open now than it used to be because they’ve been subjected to international pressure to become more transparent. Now they hide it better. I asked an economist at a big investment bank, “How do you make predictions based on information you know has been exaggerated one way or the other?” He just said, “We have mechanisms to take that into account.”

Shanghai at night

I worked for a big shipping company that brought heavy equipment into and out of China. Those employees loved their jobs except for the fact that when they reached a certain level they couldn’t advance any further without spending two years in Norway. None of them took their families along. That seemed to be the norm for companies requiring their executives to go overseas, I think because the Chinese wanted to be near the extended family, the grandparents. There were some who didn’t go, but there were others who did everything in their power to go overseas or get their children to go. It seemed once they had good jobs within multinational companies they felt confident enough about their future that they didn’t need to go abroad.

What started happening in China—and maybe it was happening all along but the corporations were just realizing the extent of it—was that it became really difficult to keep key Chinese executives. Everybody’s dream job was to work for a multinational, but after they got the job they only stayed for a year or two. Then they either went back home to start their own business or did it in Shanghai or Shenzhen or Beijing. Maybe while they were working they’d given inside information to a brother-in-law with a similar business nearby. So the big companies were really struggling to keep their senior management. The multinationals went from having all expat managers to hiring more Chinese managers, and then they were considering going back the other way. By the time people learned all their ways and methods, they were gone.

A lot of former executives were moving back home because their families were there. While they were working in the city they were able to buy a big house, maybe set up a factory. They were able to do a lot in a short period of time on the higher salaries. Of course that was changing too as inflation took over. A couple of years ago when the economy was slammed, a lot of factories closed down or cut the hours back. Ordinary workers couldn’t make as much money. At Spring Festival a lot of them went home and stayed there. Even low-level workers had been able to take enough skills and enough money back to their villages to start their own businesses—maybe with friends. As the economy picked back up, the companies had such labor shortages that they would drive out to the villages, offer people good wages, put them in a bus and bring them back to the city. It really changed the dynamics to some degree. Now there were more jobs inland, outside of the really developed coastal areas, it was harder to get workers in the cities.

In 2006 I taught mid- and senior-level Chinese executives at Motorola. I was teaching English, but I was mostly teaching culture and how to deal with their foreign bosses. I got to be good friends with a man who was just a delight. He wanted me to help him find some investors for a business he was trying to start, so he took me out for a dinner and tea at a really high-end tea house. We got there about six o’clock, and we stayed until about one in the morning talking about all kinds of things. In class I had asked the students to talk events which had shaped their lives in unexpected ways. He’d said that in 1989 he was one of only a handful of students who’d been granted permission to go to England to study. Then the pro-democracy movement in Tiananmen Square took place and the subsequent crack-down, and he was unable to go. He said that had shaped his life more than anything. He got a job with an economics development group, then became one of the first mainland Chinese to work with Motorola. He was sent to Hong Kong for five years. Hong Kong was more Western then, and at that point, it was the most Western experience he’d had. Afterwards he returned to Shanghai. He always regretted not being able to leave and experience the rest of the world, which his parents had encouraged him to do.

During the Cultural Revolution his parents were university professors. He said it was terrible. Everyone was encouraged to speak out and to criticize, but his parents never would. They just kept their heads down. They were able to keep their jobs, but none of their friends were. Some of them died, and some were sent for relocation and reeducation. His parents taught the sciences—nothing about philosophy, nothing political. They lost a lot of esteem during that time because they wouldn’t speak out for or against anything. I think he was ashamed that his parents hadn’t spoken out, but it was more internalized shame about that whole period of time. By the time it was all over none of his friends remained in Shanghai and none of them continued with their education. They were all relocated somewhere else.

As this conversation progressed, he hung his head lower and lower. I watched as this sophisticated, well-educated, successful man withdrew physically into himself and closed down with shame and fear. It was amazing. I changed the topic right away, but during that evening he never again completely regained his confidence. It was as though after almost twenty years it still shook him to that degree. That experience of watching him was my most memorable from my time in China. He was the only mainland Chinese who ever spoke to me about Tiananmen or the Cultural Revolution. Other people knew there had been a student revolt, but no one knew much about it until years later. Later I talked to another guy who was actually at Tiananmen Square.

It was interesting to compare him to the students I’d taught at the university just three years before. They couldn’t comprehend that anything bad had ever happened in China. The pro-democracy crackdown and the Cultural Revolution were never taught. Their parents had been through the Cultural Revolution but they didn’t talk about it. A friend of mine at an international university in Thailand had students from all over Asia. He taught sociology. Every semester he showed a clip of the 1989 events in Tiananmen Square. He said the Chinese students never failed to come up to him afterwards and say, “Teacher, did those things really happen in China? Are you sure those things really happened?” “Yes, that was the actual news of the event.” He said some students left in tears, and that was without knowing what their parents had experienced during the Cultural Revolution.

[For an eye-witness account of the 1989 events at Tiananmen Square from the perspective of an American student of Chinese language and culture, please check out <> and <>.]