Sparrow flies the coop -- leaves Jason a lonely minority

Growing up in a middle-class neighborhood in the U.S., the families living nearby varied from address number to address number, house color to house color, and big-sized abode to small-sized bungalow. I classified those who lived in them based on whether they were kids or grown-ups, if they knew about “Star Wars” or not, whether they had a big, scary dog or a fat, fluffy cat, or if they were (in a pre-teen’s simplest terms) nice or not.

I knew nothing about discrimination or people from a “minority,” the latter being a label that began to bother and me more and more while growing up. For me friends were friends, skin was skin and nice was nice.

I teach EFL Composition and Research Writing at an international university south of a city called Zhengzhou in the Henan Province. Over my year and a half here, I have experienced discrimination time and time again. Whether it is being obscenely overcharged while dining at restaurants, getting deliberately ignored by taxis, being aggressively pushed aside while waiting in a queue, getting denied rooms at hotels, or finding myself suffering sneers, snickers, and stares while walking in public with my Chinese girlfriend Sparrow. I have now come to realize what it feels like to be a minority and to be discriminated against.

When I first arrived in China, I eagerly patronized the street vendors and non-tourist restaurants as often as possible. Most menus were in Chinese, and since I’d not yet learned how to recognize the characters for dishes such as Kung Pao Chicken, I’d occasionally need to find a place that had a menu with English subtitles, It didn’t take me long to notice that the prices on my English-translated menu were twice as high, sometimes 10 times higher, than the prices on the Chinese menus for the same food. To my astonishment, I would later find that restaurant after restaurant increased English-menu prices, a very common practice here.

When complaining about it, I was told that “This practice is common,” by Wei Wei, a student from my writing class. “Keep your vigilance; you are a foreigner. You are a target.”

But I had to learn these prices over time and object vehemently if there ever was a problem with a price. Before I got a grip on the “system,” I was often overcharged for all of these things (and many others.) Why? Because I’m “a foreigner.” I am a target.

Targets are also avoided. Empty taxis often pass by me, even during the day, even in big cities (especially in big cities), and even if I wave money in the air to try to get their attention. I sometimes shout or go out and stand in the middle of the road when I’m in a hurry. Every once in a while a taxi pulls over nearby only to allow a Chinese person to get in.

Waiting in lines here is a nightmare, even for the populace. This is well known. But as a foreigner, I’m consistently nudged, wedged, moved around, ducked, dodged, flanked, and pushed or passed on by. I remember waiting in line at a subway stop in Beijing, and a woman older than my grandmother jostled me around to get on the train.

This unwanted attention (or lack thereof) has also affected the people around me. Whenever walking out in public with my friend Sparrow, we are the object of stares, glares, jibs, jabs, jibes, and sneers every time. She silently suffers an array of hurtful, disapproving looks and sometimes outright diatribes that are lost on me, by way of my poor spoken-language translation, but certainly clear to me nonetheless. I can read their faces and eyes -- as well as Sparrow’s -- whenever she and I are out together. It’s dreadful; sad and infuriating.

Sparrow quietly endures this, never telling me what they are saying, never explaining why they say anything (even though I know), and never frankly showing or telling me how she feels about it all. She puts up with this wordlessly, but it becomes a pressure slowly building and brewing. On the surface, she feigns tolerance.

But it does matter to me, I know it matters to Sparrow, and it’s very clear that it matters to the people here, too.

I am a foreigner in China and will always be; of course I’m viewed as a minority in the midst of billions. Minority. It is a worthless, meaningless word; one of cold classification and prejudicial power. If I choose to continue living here, I must comprehend and accept the fact that I’m often going to be overcharged, rejected by taxis, shoved around in lines, refused a stay in hotel rooms, and sometimes the subject of scorn. I am a minority. If I stay in China, I would have to accept this minority classification as part of my life and hope that I could find, keep, and cherish some kind of support from someone like Sparrow.

But recently, I found that I must face my fate alone for the time being. After quietly enduring all the pressure she could tolerate, and after defending me, herself, and us for so long, Sparrow’s fortitude finally broke. The unspeakable pressure became too much for her to take. Sparrow has flown away, freeing herself from the prejudice that my minority status carries with me, and thus relieving all the pressure she’s been bearing so bravely. I will miss her deeply; as I do everyday in the wake of her absence. I have not yet stilled and I cannot help but feel pangs of guilt that I am to blame, for the misery and shame poured upon her by those around us.

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