ASAM reading journals paper

Chapter Two

Drawing Lines of Class Distinction

As she reflected on her ten-month try-out as a member of a Chinese Presbyterian church

in late 1994 and early 1995 in Houston, Min reminisced about a rather uncomfortable experience

that led to her departure. She was thirty-five then and recently divorced. After living in Atlanta,

Georgia, for five years, she wanted to leave the past behind and start anew. Working at a

furniture store six days a week, she volunteered her time at the church, helped organize a big

Thanksgiving party, and spent countless hours on Christmas decorations. She was eager to make

friends. Before Easter, however, she stopped. “I just felt that I couldn’t fit in,” she recalled.

“People were friendly, but I somehow had the feeling that they also tried to ignore me. If I had a

good job then, or if I was young and pretty, things might have turn out to be different. Of course

there were people I could be friends with, but these were people in not-so-good situations.”1

That Min believed that she was alienated by some church members because she

possessed neither wealth nor youth, and that she was not interested in getting close to the

members who were probably less fortunate than herself, suggest the importance of class status in

social identifications of Chinese America. The ethnic community today is diverse and complex.

While most immigrants of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries originated from rural

areas of Guangdong province in China, those who arrived after 1965 came from all walks of life

from mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Southeast Asia, and many other parts of the world.

Outsiders visiting a Chinese language school or a church gathering might be impressed by the

homogeneous appearance of the ethnic group. These individuals’ diverse backgrounds,

complicated by the post-World War II and Cold War-era geopolitical conditions of their native

! 43

lands, as well as the mobility that many individuals are able to experience in the United States,

have created clear distinctions within. One can hardly be a Chinese American without belonging

to a particular social class within the ethnic group.

Studying Class

Class has been largely absent in the study of Chinese America. To some scholars, the

Chinese, regardless of their history in the United States as a largely oppressed group prior to

World War II, have emerged since the 1960s as a model minority. Within a relatively short period

of time, many Chinese have already reenacted the success story of earlier American immigrant

groups through their hard work ethic, entrepreneurial skills, and higher education. Individual

successes, well circulated by the media, have helped fashion an image of Chinese Americans as

basically a “middle class” group. When researchers cite census data suggesting that Chinese

Americans’ level of economic and educational achievements are higher than that of the national

average (these statistics usually do not take undocumented immigrants into consideration, see

chapter two), their scholarship further enhances the model minority image of a middle-class

Chinese population. Few actually deny the importance of class analysis; next to race and gender,

class is probably one of the most commonly used terms by Asian American Studies scholars.

More often than not, however, analyses of class in the study of Chinese America is mixed with

(if not replaced by) discussions of race and ethnicity. Except for studies by Peter Kwong, Renqiu

Yu, and a handful of others, very few works frame Chinese American experience within a class

analysis.2

! 44

Unlike race and gender, approaching Chinese American history using a class analysis is

complicated for various reasons. In the McCarthy era, the classic, radical theory of class defined

in the Marxist framework, which emphasizes class struggle and working-class revolution, was

often linked with communism and deemed anti-America or un-American. At a time when China

was identified as an arch enemy of the United States, Chinese Americans were pressed to sever

their ties with their ancestral land and distance themselves from any notion that might be

associated with communist ideology. Meanwhile, describing ethnic minorities’ struggle for social

justice in terms of race and gender is relatively safe in the post-civil rights era. Class analysis is

also theoretically challenging because class has different meanings for different people. Although

there is a huge body of revisionist literature on class theory by scholars in various academic

disciplines, no conclusion has been drawn about whether class is based on material possessions

alone or seen mainly as a product of culture. Assessing class status is not an easy task. While it is

possible to measure an individual’s education, income, occupation, and property value,

measuring one’s level of authority and social prestige is a different matter.3 The relationship

between class and race is also difficult to define. When racial equality is the central concern of

ethnic studies scholars, would an emphasis on class division, which inevitably discloses some

degree of exploitation and conflict within the group, somehow work to erode ethnic solidarity?

The reluctance of scholars to reveal class differences among Chinese Americans also has

much to do with the improved socioeconomic status of Chinese Americans. Most Chinese

Americans of pre-World War II generation, individuals who were born into immigrant families of

modest means and grew up during the exclusion era, can no longer be described as working

class. Social mobility is by no means limited to the second or third generations of Chinese

! 45

Americans, as a good portion of post-1965 immigrants, especially those who came with financial

or human capital, have moved up the socioeconomic ladder. Chinese Americans are visible

everywhere and in every field. With seven Nobel laureates, they are well recognized in science.

Internationally renowned Chinese Americans are also found in architecture, the arts, music,

sports, business, and many other fields. Although only relatively few have achieved a high level

of success, their stories helped change the image of Chinese Americans from a lowly class of

worthless, excludable, unassimilable sub-humans to an American middle class featuring affluent

suburban dwellers and high achievers in elite schools and colleges. To scholars who strive to

demonstrate that people of Chinese ancestry are Americans, it is more important to celebrate than

to question the new social position Chinese Americans occupy in the post-civil rights era.

It would be naive, however, to think of Chinese America as one homogenous middle-

class group. Chapter two challenges the assumption by revealing the existence of a large number

of undocumented immigrants who struggle below the poverty line. This chapter moves beyond

that concern and examines the ways ordinary Chinese Americans draw lines of class distinction

among themselves. More specifically, it will explore the ways that Chinese Americans view their

upward mobility and how they judge one another accordingly. It will illuminate how class

matters in Chinese American experiences and how wealth, education, social prestige, native

origins, and legal status are weighed in defining an individual’s social status.4

Class has always been important to Chinese Americans. During the time period when

Chinese laborers were barred by exclusion laws (1882-1943), merchants enjoyed the privilege of

free entry, which gave them an edge, in addition to their economic advantage, over the laboring

class. The merchants also used their own class status to challenge anti-Chinese ideologies in

! 46

America.5 Controlling leadership positions in major community organizations, the merchants

oversaw the day-to-day lives of their fellow immigrants. When the community was divided over

Chinese politics in the late 1940s, many viewed their struggles along class lines.6

Although wealth and prestige were important, class distinctions were obscured in the

early Chinese American community for several reasons. Overwhelming racial antagonism from

the larger society before World War II called for ethnic solidarity, which worked to a great extent

to suppress class differences. A segmented ethnic economy built upon segregation not only

limited employment opportunities for the laborers, but also possible business expansion for able

entrepreneurs. Although business owners such as shopkeepers and labor contractors should not

be categorized in the same class as laborers, their incomes and lifestyles were not significantly

different than that of shop clerks, factory hands, and restaurant workers.

As a teenager in the 1930s, Jade Snow Wang, author of Fifth Chinese Daughter, sewed in

her family-owned garment factory, alongside her mother, siblings, and hired workers.7 Elizabeth

Lew, who started to work in a garment shop when she was ten, remembered her childhood as a

time when “everyone worked.” When she and other workers sewed, the factory owner’s children

“ran button-hole machines” and “fold[ed] everything.”8 Moreover, as a common practice of the

old days, many Chinese actually worked at places in which they also owned shares—making

themselves both partners and laborers in these business establishments. Under these

circumstances, class lines between bosses and workers were difficult to draw, and the employers

often shared the same interests with their employees. One of the most powerful anti-

establishment organizations of the time, the Chinese Hand Laundry Alliance of New York, for

example, was a union of both laundry owners and their workers.9 Class boundaries were further

! 47

blurred by native-place affiliations and kinship ties, toning down potential conflicts between the

bosses and workers. The majority of the early Chinese immigrants originated from a few regions

in two southern China provinces and shared rural roots and similar cultural and socioeconomic

backgrounds. In confronting a hostile social environment in confined communities, as Sucheng

Chan points out, was crucial for the immigrants to “get along with each other in close

quarters.”10 These situations led the relatively well-to-do Chinese—merchants, store, and factory

owners—and the working poor to form what several scholars described as reciprocal relations.11

If there was a class in a distinctly higher position, it was not in contact with the rest of the

Chinese American community. People who lived in racially segregated Chinatowns in those days

were fully aware of an elite class of students beyond their neighborhood’s boundaries. Since the

late Qing years, the Chinese government began sending students in an effort to import Western

education to cope with China’s problems in adapting to a changing international environment.

Their numbers increased significantly after the turn of the twentieth century, as the U.S.

government used part of its share of the Boxer Protocol indemnity to fund their studies.12 By

then a small number of wealthy Chinese families were also able to finance their own children’s

education overseas. A total of 3,797 Chinese students were in the United States in May 1949;

many were enrolled in prestigious colleges on the east coast.13 Coming mostly from prominent

families with considerable wealth, prestige, power, or intellectual heritage, few of these students

had experienced economic hardship in China. Nor did they care for making a living in the United

States as laundrymen or even small merchants. Their mission was to introduce Western

technology to their homeland; they wanted to return to become the leaders of a modernized

China. One survey revealed that 56.2 percent of the highest ranking officials in the Chinese

! 48

government, academic institutions, and the military by 1939 were educated in the United States.

14

As a privileged group of Chinese who were exempted from the exclusion laws, the

students did not see themselves as part of the Chinese American community. Living in university

dormitories or with American families, in their eyes people in Chinatowns were “laboring hands

[laogong]”—a low class that they knew very little about. And to the immigrants, this class of

elite students served as a reminder of their own humble status. Ji Chaozhu, who later became a

diplomat, recalled a childhood incident that took place on his first day of school in New York,

shortly after he followed his father to the United States. Because of his family connections, Ji

and his sister received a warm reception in school, and they were served rice for lunch. This

special treatment, however, disturbed the then ten-year-old Ji so much that he threw a tantrum.

“We educated northerners do not like rice, only the uneducated Cantonese eat rice! We educated

northerners would only eat things like noodles and bread,” he cried out, until the rice on his plate

was replaced with potatoes.15 Like most people from northern China, Ji, a native of Shanxi

province, probably indeed preferred wheat products to rice, but what he said that day in front of

his American teachers and classmates would make little sense if he had said it in China. There

were indeed social prejudices among the Chinese due to regional differences, but the argument

he made regarding the northerners’ superiority in education is worth noting. Southern China,

especially the Yangzi River delta and Pearl River delta (where Canton was located) were by no

means the country’s poorest regions. In contrast to cold and harsh weather conditions in most

northern provinces, the mild climate and plentiful of rainfall in most southern regions allow two

crops to be grown each year. As a result, the population density in China’s southern regions is

! 49

much higher than that of the north, and there is no evidence to suggest that the northerners were

better educated than the southerners. But Ji’s point was well made (well taken by his audience,

too), for the young boy was not comparing himself to people from southern China. Rather, he

referred to the only southern Chinese his teachers and classmates had known, the “Cantonese”

immigrants, who were seen as uneducated. Even at the tender age of ten, Ji understood how

Chinese immigrants were perceived by the Americans, and apparently he was afraid of being

seen as a member of that group.

Celebrated as a source of ethnic pride, the elite class of Chinese students has not been

associated with Chinatown Chinese. Studies on the early Chinese American communities often

mention little about these students because their experiences were distinctively different from

that of the immigrant laborers; they did not belong to community organizations and were largely

absent from community activities. Studies focused on students often used “the educated elite” to

emphasize their uniqueness in class terms.16 Indeed, these students and the immigrants had their

own separate paths. The two groups shared neither common ground nor did they conflict with

one another.17

The end of exclusion changed the way in which Chinese Americans connected to one

another. Desegregation undermined the governing power of community organizations, thereby

changing the ways individuals related to their community. Newcomers originated from regions

other than Guangdong: coming from Fujian in China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, and the greater

Chinese diaspora, the post-World War II immigrants did not find traditional community

organizations appealing. When reduced racial tensions made the mainstream job market more

accessible, Chinese individuals no longer depended on their ethnic communities for survival.

! 50

Demographic changes also produced more and different economic opportunities. After 1965,

Chinese American entrepreneurs found new ways to launch business ventures utilizing a steady

supply of immigrant labor and a greatly enlarged ethnic-based consumer market (see Chapter

Three). The rapid growth of ethnic entrepreneurship, services, and the market, linked Chinese

Americans together in ways that were quite different from the past. As economic growth both

within the community and beyond facilitated upward mobility, it also gave material bases more

weight in people’s social lives. If during the exclusion period Chinese immigrants’ success in the

United States largely depended on the ability of their community to combat discriminatory laws

and practices, then in the post-civil rights era, one’s socioeconomic resources become crucial to

his or her chances. Perhaps because there is a clear understanding that not everyone in this world

is given the same opportunities and rewards, Chinese Americans have become quite class

conscious.

Defining Class

Like people of other ethnic backgrounds, Chinese Americans understand class as some

combination of a variety of economic, social, and cultural factors. While material possessions

and income, education and occupation, and authority and prestige are all acknowledged as

important dimensions of class, as an immigrant group, they also take into serious consideration

historical circumstances that brought them to the United States, the means by which individuals

crossed the borders, as well as the geopolitical and socioeconomic development of the regions

that shaped their backgrounds.

! 51

That theirs is an immigrant-majority community makes defining class a rather complex

matter for the Chinese. Initially, an individual’s class comes from the standing of the family into

which the person is born. In less-developed agrarian societies where mobility is limited, people’s

family roots are public knowledge. Immigration uproots people from different places and

regroups them in new localities. This process allows some to hide their past, while creating

anxieties about others at the same time, as the new immigrants suddenly find they are living

among strangers. Disclosing information regarding wealth or prestige that their families once

enjoyed in their native land becomes important to some, if they believe such information will

help them gain social recognition in new settings. Others may see this as an opportunity to boost

their social status, as no one knows their background anyway. The problem, as librarian Tammy

Tang sees it, is the fact that “some (Chinese) people have no respect for the privacy of others and

they ask way too many questions.”18 Apparently, information about one’s past is important,

whether volunteered or obtained through interrogation, because without it one’s social status

cannot be easily determined. While “my father is an American-educated scholar” means the

person’s family is Westernized and probably wealthy, “I am the offspring of highly ranked

government officials [gaogan zidi]” implies power and prestige that the person’s family enjoyed

back in China. More often, the reference is to material possessions: “My house in Taiwan has six

bedrooms with six baths,” or, “I don’t have to work, I can call my father-in-law if money is ever

an issue.” Genealogists can trace their family roots back for hundreds or even thousands of years

to an emperor or some heroic figure, and writers can also find ways to impress their readers with

the high-class status of their families.19

! 52

Although class status is inheritable, having more of what everyone values in one’s

ancestral land does not necessarily mean high social status in the adopted country is forever

guaranteed. It is relatively easy for immigrants to bring material resources with them, but turning

family authority or prestige into practical use in a new environment is a different matter. Asked

whether he gave any special privilege to the son of a notable intellectual in China, restaurateur

Sammy Luo thought about it for a few seconds and offered the following remarks, “Well, he

should be in school with books. But his father cannot take care of him in America. If the job is

too hard, why bother to come?”20

To immigrants who are yet to be successful, comparing their current situation with that of

their families can produce a sense of shame. A man in his early fifties said that he usually

referred to his parents as petty office clerks [xiao zhiyuan] instead of government officials, and

that he had never told his parents that he made a living in the United States painting other

people’s houses. “Not that I have something to hide,” he said, “I just don’t want to be compared

with them. I am doing what I choose to do; I don’t want people to feel sorry for me.”21

For the same reason, those who have risen above their origins often feel especially good

about themselves. In that case, revealing their humble past can work to demonstrate how much

they have accomplished. Most immigrants are children in families with modest means back in

their country of origin; they came to the United States for better economic opportunities, and

most of them started as menial laborers. Once they have climbed up the socio-economic ladder,

however, their humble past is no longer a source of embarrassment but, rather, a source of pride.

One well-to-do businessman was quite satisfied when he compared his achievement with that of

a fellow church member: “John went to one of the most prestigious high schools in Taiwan. Not

! 53

far away from there was my family’s food cart. Those kids sure looked different from my brother

and me. To me, it was like heaven and earth. When my first son was born, I swore to my wife I

would do anything possible to send him to a good school. Both my kids are attending the most

expensive private schools in southern California. I doubt John’s job pays him enough to send his

kids to that school [laughter]!”22

Schools, neighborhoods, and the price tags of one’s material possessions are all markers

of a person’s class profile. Jumei Cheng, a forty-nine-year-old woman who has been in the

United States for twenty-five years, said that it was “impolite” to make inquiries about other

people’s income or bank savings. She, however, acknowledged that she knew who lived well and

who did not by observing people’s spending habit: “All you have to pay attention to is their

financial strength [caili]. I don’t know exactly how much money some of my friends are making,

but I do know who can afford what.”23 Commenting on one of his old friends, a middle-aged

man said, “He is rich [fa le]. The wage-earning group [gongxin zu] would not be able to afford

anything in that neighborhood!”24 Xiyao Peng, a sharp dresser with a high-pitched voice, seemed

to have expensive taste. But the ladies from her singing group in Los Angeles did not think

highly of her financial situation. “Who knows what’s going on with them [Peng and her

husband],” one woman remarked, “If they have the money, why are they still renting [in other

words, why couldn’t they afford to buy a house]?”25

The importance of class status compels people to find ways to showcase their wealth.

“Do you see the cars parked in our church lot? Our people are very much into brand name cars,

even though some have to stretch,” said one woman from Hong Kong.26 George Wu, a restaurant

owner, knew the value of driving fancy cars:

! 54

When I bought the restaurant fourteen years ago, my brother told me to lease a

Mercedes. I was reluctant. Those days were nerve wrecking. We borrowed too much

money. Business was slow. We could hardly pay the bills. My wife had to come to

work shortly after our daughter was born; we couldn’t afford an extra hand. But my

brother said I had to keep the Mercedes no matter what. He said I had to show people

that we were financially strong. If I couldn’t afford a Mercedes, he said the devils

who loaned us the money [taozhaigui] would come to knock on our door. Now, if I

suddenly drive around in a cheaper car, people would wonder what happened. They

would think that I had gambled away my money.27

As more and more people own brand-name cars and other luxury items, standing out in a

crowd become difficult. A woman who described herself as “very rich” said that people’s

possessions and affordability needed scrutiny. Her Lexus, she said, was very high end, and her

taste differed from that of others because she had more money to spend: “When I went to shop

for a car, I told the dealer to show me the very best. You won’t want to drive a cheap Lexus if

you tried mine—there is no comparison! I have very high standards. Not many people could

afford my taste.”28

Social pressure plays an important role in the development of expensive taste, compelling

individuals to put their socioeconomic selves eagerly on public display. Jerry Yi, an engineering

professor, said that he and his wife did not share the same taste because they belonged to

different social circles. “I don’t drive a brand-name car, but my wife’s friends all drive fancy

cars. She cares about saving face, so she has to have one. No one cares what car I drive.”29 Bob

! 55

Sun, a medical device salesman, said that the BMW he drove is his “cover” [baozhuang]. “In my

early years here I paid five hundred dollars for a salvaged car. People threw mean looks at me all

the time. This is America; no one respects you if you are poor. In my BMW no one looks at me

like that anymore.”30

Material possessions play an increasingly important role in social circles. Wendy, who

identified her family as rich, said that knowledge about one another’s socioeconomic status

would make it easy for people to socialize. “It is natural for people to want to hang out with

those in similar or higher circumstances. You wouldn’t want to mingle with people who are

lower because you don’t want to be seen as one of them. Everyone would like to move up, not

down like water.”31 Clearly, lines of class differences are consciously drawn by individuals

through group affiliation.

Julia Tai, a southern California realtor who has a Master’s degree in English, said that the

fact that her clients (almost all Chinese) are status conscious helps her business a great deal.

Accordingly, the Chinese are more willing to stretch financially than average American

consumers when it comes to property purchase. “In my trade, knowing what your clients are

looking for is the key. You buy a house to live in and to show to others. One time a couple

checked out a house that was over what they had budgeted, but when I told them the next door

neighbor was rather well known, the wife became very interested. That played a big part in their

decision to making the purchase.” In early 2004, Julia sold a house that needed a lot of work.

“The buyers had two little kids and did not want to consider fixer-uppers. I pointed out, however,

that it was an almost all-white neighborhood. They eventually came back and made an offer.”

Asked whether her clients preferred white neighbors over Chinese, her response was positive.32

! 56

To some extent, class and race are closely connected, and an all-white neighborhood

basically means a middle-class neighborhood. While some homeowners did not say that race was

a concern, they did acknowledge class as a factor. “Being a homeowner exemplifies middle-class

status, but you really aren’t unless you live in a middle-class neighborhood,” said one

businessman bluntly.33 A man who identified himself as an employee of Los Angles County

asserted that neither race nor class were issues for him. What he and his wife strived for at the

time was simply a “safe” place. “As long as it is a good neighborhood, we don’t care whether our

neighbors are white, black, or Chinese. Diversity is a good thing; it is good for our children.” He

did add, however, a “good” and “safe” neighborhood was more likely to be a middle-class

neighborhood.34

Regarding Chinese neighbors, the views are a mixed bag. One woman said she liked the

fact she had Chinese neighbors because it was “easy to find people to watch the house” when

they were away.35 The presence of other Chinese, said another woman, made the living

environment more “relaxed.”36 Meimei Ling, a resident of Arcadia, California, considered

Chinese neighbors easy to deal with: “My son was a real headache in his younger years. The

Chinese [neighbors] were sympathetic to us, but we were scared when he bullied non-Chinese

[angren] kids.”37 Henry Kang, a research scientist in Oakland, California, felt that having

Chinatown within walking distance was especially good for his parents. “They like to get

groceries and the Chinese newspaper when we are at work. They also enjoy spending time with

their friends. Otherwise they would be like caged birds.” Henry’s friend Danny, however, had a

different take on this. He said that having too many Chinese in the same neighborhood would

“prevent his children from become Americanized,” and he seemed to be quite pleased that most

! 57

of his daughters’ friends were non-Chinese.38 A woman who immigrated to the United States in

the early 1980s said that she didn’t want to have anything to do with the Chinese couple on the

block because they didn’t have any class: “They grow vegetables in the front yard and air-dry

their clothes. It’s disgraceful [diuren]!”39

Those who avoided Chinese neighbors also highlighted the issue of privacy. Yan Zhou,

who owned a home in the San Francisco Bay area, said that the Chinese were nosey. “We did not

specifically look for a white neighborhood, but too many Chinese together is no good; we

wouldn’t want to be constantly compared, judged, and gossiped about.”40 Weiwei Chan, who has

a teenage son, said that it was the competitive nature of the Chinese that made her try to avoid

them. “You are right that they [Chinese] often live in areas with good schools, but honestly, I

hate to see my kid compared to them. We would rather be left alone.”41

Wendy Wang, a college student, said that her mother could always tell the “haves” from

the “have-nots” by looking at their cars or other belongings. Her friend Stephanie Poon said that

her mother was like that too, and that she had teased her mother after she got her driver’s license.

“I said, mom, please buy me a BMW, I want to be seen as rich. And my brother seconded

immediately, ‘Come on, Mom, I don’t want other people to think that my sister is from a poor

family.’”42

While high-end cars and trophy properties are good indications of realized American

dreams, these luxuries can also work to distance those who cannot afford them. Le Ye, who owns

a 6000 square-foot mansion [hao zhai] on a green hill in southern California, was especially

pleased when people nicknamed his residence the “White House.” In a letter to a Chinese-

language newspaper, he says that the house gives him a sense of “satisfaction and

! 58

accomplishment” and makes him feel “superior [gao ren yi deng]” and “proud.” However, he

does realize that this sense of success comes with a price, as several old friends don’t want to

come over. “After seeing our house, those with an inferiority complex feel they cannot rise up to

be our equals [gaopang bu shang] and refuse to have anything to do with us.”43

Alienation was what Limin Yao felt from other people in the community. As a hotel clerk

in Queens, New York, she is frequently reminded of her low social status. “I send hotel guests

regularly to travel agencies and restaurants. But in the eyes of many people here, I am just a

chore runner [dagongde]. They all say that my boss is mean and stingy. In public, however, she is

always warmly greeted and I am the one who’s ignored.”44 Beautician Anna still has bitter

feelings about some of her church members. Once she overheard some ladies at the church

talking about trips to Europe. “When I walked over and asked a question,” she reflected, “they

stopped talking all of a sudden, and one of them gave me this stare. It made me feel like a

fool.”45 Tony Chang, an engineer, said that he basically went into hiding after being laid off. “I

turned down many dinner invitations. I can see myself having a good time there if I am doing

well, but I have nothing to say about myself. I would rather be left alone.”46

Ran He, who helps out at a Chinese-language school on the weekends, thinks that the

Chinese in America are rather ‘vulgar [suqi]’—worse than those in China. “People with good

manners [xiuyang] in China would not brag about money; you simply do not have the word

‘money’ on your lips all the time. Look at the [Chinese] people here, all they care about is how

much money they could make!” Sharon Li, who has a good career in the real-estate business, is

seen by her friends as unusual because she is quiet and modest. Apparently a very considerate

person, she remarked, “My luck is good. I have a good business due to the trust I receive from

! 59

the Chinese clients around here. Not everyone is as fortunate. It will be too much for me to show

my wealth because it would make others uncomfortable.”47

Along with money come social prestige and power, which are not always measurable.

Richard He, who never attended high school while in Taiwan, was proud of the amount of money

he has been able to make in the United States. “My restaurant generates a good income; I bet not

many PhDs [boshi] can compete with me.” He, however, does not want his sons to follow in his

footsteps. “My children should go to college and work with their brains. I make money serving

other people [ciho ren]. That’s hard. My children should be served by others.”48

As was the case in their ancestral lands, the Chinese in America are quick to recognize

education as the key to upward mobility. Doctors, lawyers, professors, and other members of the

professional class are highly respected, and children are often pushed to join them. Community

organizations and business associations often provide scholarships to honor talented students,

which is also a way to recognize good parenting. Chinese parents of high achievers automatically

become experts on childrearing, and they are invited to speak at community-hosted conferences

on children’s education. An immigrant couple from Fujian province in China received high

honors from his regional community organization because they had sent all three of their sons to

Harvard.49 The community provides support and encourages families in their efforts to educate

their children, but it also generates tensions when parents pit their children in fierce competition

against one another. “When I did not make the debate team in high school,” recalled Patricia Li,

then a freshman in college, “my mom thought it was unfair because this Chinese friend of mine

got in, and she thought I was better. Our families were always in some kind of competition,

which made us very uncomfortable. When she [the friend] got higher SAT scores, her mom told

! 60

everyone that she beat me; my mom was really upset.”50 Jenny Zhuang, a nurse, thinks that

Chinese focus too much on their children’s accomplishments: “All you hear is so-and-so’s kid

did this and so-and-so’s kid did that, making us feel like we are bad parents because we are too

busy to supervise our daughter’s extracurricular activities. Why should we worry about whether

she will be able to get into a good college now? She is only twelve!”51 Another mother said that

she was so nervous before her son was admitted to college that she did not want to talk to any of

her friends. “I did not want to hear where the other kids were getting into, but in those days, that

was the topic everyone was interested in. If Bob [her son] was rejected by all the UCs

[Universities of California], I would not have the courage to face others.”52

The concern, apparently, is not getting into college as higher education is available for

just about everyone in the United States. Yuting Lei, a businessman who came to the United

Sates in 1994, said that he felt very relieved. “It’s too hard to get into college in China, and we

were very concerned about our son’s future. Otherwise, why would we go to all the trouble to

come here?”53 But many parents set high goals for their children and work hard to achieve them.

One devoted parent said that growing up in Taiwan, his parents were not involved in his school

activities because there college admission is determined by the scores of a single entrance exam.

“But high grades and good test scores are not enough here,” he said, “and the emphasis on extra-

curricular activities requires parents’ participation. My parents did not care for my playing

basketball in high school. They would rather see me carrying books all the time. It is hard for me

to explain to them why I have to spend so much time at my son’s tennis matches. Look at the

kids who excel in music and sports, every one of them has devoted parents behind them. I don’t

want my son to be left behind.”54 Amy Yuan, who fulfilled her dream by sending her son to

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Columbia University to study business, said that she had been thinking about her son’s college

applications since his freshman year in high school. “We can save a lot of money if he goes to a

public university; many of them are not bad. We just don’t want him to end up in a college where

everyone else also goes.”55 In other words, when a college education is available to all, it is a

privilege to none. To be seen as superior, one has to be admitted to institutions that relatively few

people can actually get into.

Degrees associated with elite institutions are highly valued by many who still have vivid

memories of their own college experience. Those who failed to reach their goals have lived with

the consequences. One woman, who was very proud of her husband’s accomplishment, referred

to his alma mater, taida (National University of Taiwan) as “Taiwan’s Harvard.” To Alicia Hu,

who also came from Taiwan, the significance of her son’s college could not be over emphasized:

“My husband is from an academic family. When he failed to get into taida, his parents felt they

lost face. When my son received his college admission, I informed my mother-in-law: ‘Your

grandson is admitted to Princeton University. This is the highest ranked university in America; it

is the very best university in the whole world!’”56 Diana Wang, who came from China in the late

1980s, was especially pleased that her daughter went to Yale University, something that the

children of many of her wealthier friends could not accomplish. “We would pay for her to go

even if we had to sell our house,” she said. “Some people say you can do anything with money.

Could they purchase a ticket to get into Yale?”57

The privilege associated with elite colleges is not quite the same as that which comes

with wealth. Coming from an ancient tradition where the Confucian doctrine of “a good scholar

makes a good official” was common practice, where the top stratum of the social structure was

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made up of scholars who had distinguished themselves after a series of imperial examinations, it

is easy for Chinese Americans to link educational success to the accumulation of wealth and

power in the United States. Most new immigrants are struggling to make ends meet and do not

see big changes in their lives. But their children’s success in getting into prestigious colleges is

real, and they want it to be recognized. When parents of high achievers demand recognition from

the ethnic community, however, they inevitably put others down. In a recently published novel,

historian Renqiu Yu tells a story of an immigrant who throws a big party and uses the occasion to

brag about his earned success—his son has graduated from Harvard and his daughter has been

admitted there. Yu’s nuanced details, with the exasperating host on the one side and his guests

(many attended unwillingly) on the other, capture the tensions among the Chinese when some try

to renegotiate their social status using their children’s academic achievements.58

Efforts to put their wealth on public display, to compare one’s success with another’s, and

to demand social recognition of their newly achieved mobility, reflect both the desire for higher

class status and the pressure to get ahead. Since the California gold rush, generations of Chinese

immigrants have come to the United States to pursue their gold mountain dreams. Who gets to

realize such a dream is subject to interpretation, and mobility is understood from a

multidimensional comparative perspective. Cindy Jeu, who came from Hong Kong, thought

comparison has its purpose: “America is a paradise for risk takers; one can move up overnight.

Our people do like to compare everything back and forth, but how would you know who is

successful and who is not without the comparison?” Available opportunities as well as success

stories encourage individuals to try hard and take risks. At the same time, however, no one is

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immune to failure. Constant comparison with one another creates more uncertainty, anxiety,

insecurity, and stress.

Class and Regional Variations

To some extent, the effort to draw class boundaries is a result of increased interactions

among Chinese of various socioeconomic backgrounds after World War II. The early Chinese

immigrants came from Guangdong province, China, mostly of humble rural origins. Before the

war, they concentrated in highly isolated ethnic ghettos in San Francisco, Oakland, Los Angeles,

New York, Chicago, and Honolulu, with little chance for social mobility outside their

community. The participation of Chinese Americans in the war effort signified the beginning of

desegregation. When the war ended, Chinese American war veterans and former defense

industrial workers ventured out and moved up.

In workplaces, children of the early immigrants met people of their own ethnicity from a

different stratum of the Chinese social structure; many of the latter were Western-trained students

who came to the United States in the late 1940s and early 1950s, during and after the Chinese

Civil War. The victory of the Communist revolution created a great deal of uncertainty; many

students in the United States decided not to return. In the two decades following the founding of

the People’s Republic of China in 1949, the United States also admitted a few thousand refugees

from China; among them were top government officials and military officers, bankers, business

owners, and intellectuals. An increasing number of young students from Hong Kong and Taiwan

also began to arrive. All these changes facilitated interactions among Chinese of different

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socioeconomic backgrounds and made some people anxious about the blurring of class

distinctions.

George Lew, an American-born Chinese who grew up in Oakland, California, and went to

college at the University of California, Berkeley under the G.I Bill, remembers this time of

change. “It was a very interesting time,” he said. “Suddenly, I found myself talking to Chinese

people in English. You see, I had to speak English to Chinese people. They had a strong accent,

but they didn’t understand a word of Cantonese! [laugh]”59 Andrew Wong, who worked in a

company in San Francisco, was called by his boss to meet a newly hired engineer. “I showed

Denney around,” he recalled. “I grew up here, so naturally I became the host. He slept on our

living room sofa for a few nights before moving into his own apartment. That’s before we bought

this house. He left in the late 1970s to start his own company, a smart guy. He must have been

twenty-seven or twenty-eight then, in the early 1960s. I ran into him last year and was glad that

he remembered those days—sleeping on the sofa.”60 Maggie Gee, a retired research scientist at

Lawrence-Livermore National Laboratory in California, became friends with some scholars who

came to work at the lab, most of them from Taiwan and Hong Kong: “I watched these kids grow.

Some of them are now quite Americanized.”61

To the highly educated and mostly non-Cantonese new immigrants, differentiating

themselves from earlier immigrants, and the class connotations associated with them, is of great

importance. They do not like to be seen as the same as earlier immigrants. Asked whether class

was an issue among the Chinese she got to know from work, Caroline Jin, a medical research

scientist born in San Francisco, at first said she did not think so. She saw everyone as her equals

! 65

because they were all educated in the United States, and they were doing the same job. But she

took it back moments later, after she had a chance to reflect:

It’s interesting that you brought this up. Actually, as I think about it, class was a point

made from time to time. Not directly, but implied. Do you remember Kenneth? I don’t

mean to criticize; I like him a lot. But he was quite status conscious. I don’t remember

exactly how he put it, but there’s this sense that people from Taiwan were the best—

they were the upper class. My grandfather came here to make a better living. His

grandfather, being well-off, wouldn’t do that, I guess.62

To distinguish themselves from the laborers, some of the newer immigrants stayed away

from traditional community activities. Kathy Yan, who came from Taiwan with her husband in

1967, recalled a “weird” time when every Chinese was seen as associated with Chinatown. “One

of my American friends got into the habit of passing on information about Chinatown events to

us. I eventually told her that we didn’t like Chinatown at all—I hated the way it smelled, and I

didn’t even care for the grocery there since my son wouldn’t eat Chinese food. She was very

surprised. She thought all Chinese are the same—that’s frustrating!”63 There were signs of

clashes in Chinatown as well. Growing up in San Francisco, Mary Lew recalled seeing a new

restaurant started by a new immigrant on the same block where her uncle worked in the 1960s:

“People were saying that the food there was overpriced. The owner said, ‘Too expensive? Find a

Cantonese restaurant then. Mine is not here for the poor people.’”64

But class is not immutable. A family’s past in the old country may not determine a

person’s success in the United States. Once uprooted, an individual often has to start anew in his

or her adopted country. If backgrounds should be taken into consideration, then some believe

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those associated with American citizenship, a higher level of assimilation, or the seniority of

one’s family in the United States should carry more weight. The value of citizenship has been

perpetuated by government legislation. During the exclusion era, only the American-born

Chinese were allowed to participate in American politics, and their birth right has played a big

part in the articulation of ethnic identity by second-generation Chinese Americans. As part of the

struggle to gain recognition and acceptance from mainstream American society, scholars also

maneuvered to draw lines between immigrants and their American-born children. Equipped with

citizenship status, a good command of English, a higher level of cultural assimilation, and family

wealth accumulated in the United States over a relatively long period of time, the senior

members of the ethnic community are indeed in a better position to make the best of what

America has to offer. The later arrivals, in contrast, do have more obstacles to overcome. Unless

a person comes with sufficient financial resources or marketable skills, social status back in the

native land probably will not have a big impact on his or her accomplishments in the United

States.

The value of a made-in-USA tag was quite clear to Wen Li, a naturalized citizen who

came to the United States in 1991. Wen said that she was used to receiving questions from

strangers about her immigration background (when did she come, how did she come, did she

gain citizenship through marriage, etc.), questions her U.S.-born husband did not have to face.

“Once people heard that he was born here, you can see a kind of approval on their faces, and no

more interrogation. They would consult him on legal issues, financial issues, or politics as if he

were an expert on everything.”65

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After the United States established diplomatic relations with the People’s Republic of

China in 1979, new waves of immigrants from the Chinese mainland began to arrive, adding

more complexity and anxiety vis-á-vis class status. The opening of China allowed reunions for

members of thousands of Chinese American families that had been separated for three decades

and introduced new Chinese faces on university campuses. In many ways the newcomers from

the PRC are very similar to their counterparts from Taiwan and Hong Kong. Most of them speak

Mandarin instead of Cantonese, and they come from all walks of life. A large number of students

and scholars from the mainland are graduates of China’s top universities.

In the eyes of those from everywhere else, the newcomers from the PRC, known as the

mainlanders [daluren], are not only different, but also inferior. As their fellow ethnic Chinese in

Taiwan, Hong Kong, and the United States enjoyed the fruits of capitalist economic

development, for several decades after 1949, the largely isolated mainlanders devoted most of

their energy to one political movement after another called by the Communist Party. To the new

immigrants, the United States resembles little of the world that they had left behind. Their

proletarian outlook, rather than political ideology or family backgrounds, subjected them to

prejudice, alienation, and resentment once they set foot on American soil. (Before the late 1990s,

the vast majority of immigrants from China came with very little financial resources.) “I can spot

a mainlander on the street by a single glance, their mannerism is very awkward,” said one

woman.66 A businessman said that the mainlanders in his garment shop and restaurant are lazy

because they are products of the socialist system: “People who are used to getting their rice from

the big pot [daguo fan] cannot do the hard work.”67 A restaurant owner from Taiwan said that she

never lets her husband’s nephew, who is from China, near the cash register because she is afraid

! 68

that he might steal: “Precautions are necessary [fang ren zhi xin bu ke wu]. I don’t mean to say

that he is a bad person, but who knows what the poverty-stricken people might do?”68

Jerry Tong, now a software engineer, came to the United States in 1981 with the

assistance of his uncle. Jerry’s grandfather, an entrepreneur from Shanghai, took the family to

Taiwan before the Communist takeover in 1949, leaving Jerry’s father behind. “My father did not

leave because he was in love. When my grandparents were busy packing, he hid in his college

dorm and refused to go home. Thirty years later, when word suddenly came from my

grandparents, father burst into tears. He had never mentioned anything about his family until

then.” Jerry’s uncle, who had settled in New Jersey, was the first to go back to visit, and he

helped Jerry, then a college student, apply for college in the United States. Jerry would stay with

his uncle for two years while finishing college, but was on his own two months after he arrived.

“My uncle promised to take care of me, but in his house days wore on like years. It’s torture,

mentally. My parents could not afford to cover my expenditure here; what else could I do? I

moved in with some restaurant workers and someone tossed me two blankets. Oh, let’s not talk

about this anymore.”69

Some reunited families were torn apart due to such prejudice. Annie Feng, now an

accountant in Simi Valley, California, came to the United States to be with her family. Born in

1949 in Shanghai, Annie was left to care for her grandparents when her parents went to Taiwan.

Thirty years later, when her parents sent for her to come to America, she was the envy of many

of her peers. But she soon sensed that she was a shame to her family because she was from the

mainland. The adjustment she tried to make was never enough. Tensions mounted when she

refused to go out with guys her mother introduced her to:

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She [mother] introduced me to a few men, quite a few. This one was the father of two

kids—I don’t remember what happened to his previous wife. I was told he was an

honest person, with a good job and a house. He was on the shorter side and plump.

When we met, he looked me up and down, critically, as if I was a commodity in a

store. That turned me off. He ordered food, but I barely touched it. I said I had a

headache—which was true—and he had to drive me home. My mother and sister

were furious. I was 32 and eager to get married, but no one ever asked what kind of

person I would like to live with. Since then, my mother and sister—my father was not

like that—have not shown me a smiling face. When Luke and I were seeing each

other, I overheard my mother saying something to the effect that she could not afford

to deal with another pauper [qiongguangdan]. Imagine: I was a pauper to my own

mother!70

Wilson Wang, who was stationed in Los Angeles for a Chinese export company in the

late 1980s, had mixed feelings about dealings with coethnic entrepreneurs. Common language

and cultural background made it easy for him to establish business ties with other Chinese, but

the fact that he represented a mainland company made things rather complicated:

Once I delivered two containers full of dry chili pepper to a wholesaler. The owner,

who was from Taiwan, told me to find a pest inspector and leave the goods in his

parking lot. When I returned with the inspector, the containers were gone--they

were found a few days later near the freeway, empty. My first inclination was to

report it to the police, but he was very much against it. He said he would give me

some money and I should just tell my company that the goods were stolen. He said

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that this would be a small loss to a government-run company, and that since I had

job security there was nothing for me to worry about. It’s hard to believe. We had

businesses with several Mexican-American wholesalers; no one treated us like that.

71

In institutions of higher learning that reward academic merit and hard work, it is

relatively easy for mainlanders to ignore bias against them. Min Jiang, a division manager

of a pharmaceutical company, said that she never lets stereotypes bother her. “I got along

fine with other Chinese students. Of course there were unfriendly things said about us in

general. We dressed differently and did not know much about American social etiquette.

Most important was the fact that we did not have the money to buy fancy things. But so

what? Honestly I didn’t care what they had to say. What matters in school are merit and

ability. So if you have them, who cares how much money you have?”72 Hua Xie, a research

scientist, said that sometimes people would say that she did not look like a mainlander, “I

suppose that’s a compliment, but it’s annoying. It assumes that people from China are

inferior.”73 Weiping Wu, a college professor, said that when some students from China

were found having problems, their origins would be seen as the causes. And some people

used that as an excuse for not admitting mainland students.74 Another professor recalled an

incident when he first entered the job market in the early 1990s. When he called to inquire

about his status in the application process for a faculty position, the search committee chair,

who was also a Chinese immigrant, told him he had no chance: “Do you know what he said

to me? He said that ‘the job market has been flooded by you mainlanders.’”75

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While memories of the cold receptions from others are still fresh to some immigrants

from China, others said that they can now understand why. A few even admitted that they had

changed as well. “Only after I came to America did I learn how important it is to have money,”

said Rick Li, who immigrated in 1989. “I should not expect people to respect me when my

pockets are empty. I tell every newcomer the same thing: work hard and earn a lot of money.

Everything comes your way when you have money. I don’t think rich people and poor people

behave the same way. That’s just a fact.”76 It took only five years for Diana Yang, a graduate

student, to develop a very critical eye toward people in her homeland, and the latecomers: “You

can say that I have changed; it is inevitable. Obviously what I think and do is very difficult for

people in China to understand.”77 The impact of the American experience upon the value system

of individual immigrants is revealed in a television series, Beijing ren zai niuyue [The Beijingers

in New York]. The main character, Wang Qiming, a cellist from Beijing, is outraged when he and

his wife first arrived in New York because their relatives, after dropping the couple off in a cold

basement apartment, refused to offer the couple any more help. Years later, when an old friend

arrives in New York from Beijing, it is Wang, well on his way to become a middle-class

American, who emulates what had happened to him.78

Similar to the experiences of the Okies in California in James Gregory’s study, prejudice

against mainland Chinese is not directed at all Chinese from the PRC. Students and scholars have

encountered relatively less resentment, and those who came with sufficient money have no

problem of getting accepted. Internationally renowned athletes, movie stars, artists, scholars, as

well as successful businessmen from the mainland are often quickly embraced by Chinese

! 72

Americans as their own people. The stereotype was not a matter of regional prejudice. “Class,”

as Gregory puts it, “is the essential dividing line.”79

The Underclass

Sitting outside a Starbucks on a fine spring afternoon in Queens, New York, Lisa helped a

two-year-old girl clean up after a snack of milk and cookies. Next to her chair was a light-

colored stroller, where the girl’s five-month-old sister was asleep under a white flannel blanket

dotted with pink roses. For fourteen years since she first left Haining in Zhejiang province, Lisa

has worked for more than a dozen Chinese American families. She was able to get legal status

with the assistance of one of her former employers, but things did not change after that.

The young girls’ parents were both at work. Their father, a lawyer, traveled often, and

their mother, a free-lance architect, worked in her home office. For ten hours a day, Lisa took

care of the girls and cooked meals. Occasionally she would be asked to stay for extra hours in the

evenings or over the weekend with additional pay. Dinner with her own son after work was

usually simple; only on weekends would she cook something special. When the subject shifted to

her son, Lisa’s face lighted up. It turned out that he had been accepted by a state university, and

financial aid from the federal government would cover tuition, fees, plus room and board. At 44,

Lisa had developed lower-back pain from lifting and carrying children over the years. She could

not envision herself doing anything else, however, due to her lack of marketable skills. “My life

is going to be the way it has been; I do not expect much for myself,” she said. “He [the son] has a

shot. I know he will do better, that’s enough.”80

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In California, Yamei (see Introduction) still worked in a restaurant after seven years in the

United States. Her son, Lulu, was finishing his junior year in high school, his third year of

American education after his mother got him out of China through political asylum. He was quite

relaxed. While his old classmates back in Shanghai must work hard to prepare for their college

entrance exams, the door of community colleges would be open for him. Through Yamei’s

connections Lulu got a job in a restaurant, working twenty hours a week. In the small one-

bedroom apartment that he shared with his mother and her boyfriend (Yamei divorced her

husband shortly after he came to the United States) was a large-screen television in the living

room, facing a couch right next to Lulu’s bed. Lulu and his mother split the cost for the

television. He had a second job lined up for the summer, in another Chinese restaurant. The next

goal was to buy a used car. After that, he said he would take a trip to China. Yamei was proud of

her son: Lulu had matured since coming to America. She also understood the price they had to

pay; he was not spending time on his school work, he had not touched his flute since coming to

America, and he had absolutely no time for sports, although through their apartment window

they could watch boys his age playing basketball downstairs. “I asked him to work fewer hours,

but he wouldn’t listen. I have no way out, but I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life

working in restaurants.” There was not much more that Yamei could do to change the situation,

however. She could not afford music lessons or summer camps for her son. The real irony is that

if her son could contribute more to the family budget, she could see the possibility of purchasing

a restaurant herself.81

Starting out as undocumented immigrants, many Chinese like Lisa and Yamei come to a

new country with no money, no knowledge of English, no marketable skills, and no work permit.

! 74

Through personal contacts or ethnic networks they find work in restaurants, garment shops, or

private homes. These contacts and networks allow the undocumented to survive, but in doing so

they also funnel the workers into dead-end occupations. Both Lisa and Yamei eventually adjusted

their legal status; but only after they were freed from their illegal status did they realize how

difficult it is to move up. They are trapped. They have no property and no money to purchase

property. They have no skills to find better jobs and no time to train for career advancement.

Their past experiences have made them a permanently disadvantaged group within their own

ethnic community: the Chinese American underclass.

Scholars and political commentators have long attempted to divide poor people into

different categories. In recent decades, studies on the underclass have focused largely on

contemporary inner-city crises associated with drugs, crime, teenage pregnancy, unemployment,

and welfare dependence. While some scholars examine the moral character of certain urban

groups as well as the relationship between the behaviors of individuals and the poverty that they

endure,82 their critics argue that the approach itself, which divides the urban poor into deserving

and undeserving individuals, has “reinforced images of social pathology,” imposed stereotypes,

and put the blame on the victims.83 The heated debate, joined by both liberal and conservative

researchers and political commentators, has generated a large body of scholarly work, which has

impacted the formulation of government policies on poverty. Unable to come up with acceptable

ideological arguments and theoretical solutions, some advocates of underclass research have

suggested that the term should be simply abandoned.84

My use of the term “underclass” in this study is not an attempt to solve the unsolved

theoretic or political issues (although studies on the underclass have never taken Asian American

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experiences into consideration), as I have no intention of reviving a historical debate. I am using

the term for practical purposes. In regard to social mobility, opportunities for the “have-nots” are

not equal; among Chinese immigrants, there is a permanently entrapped group that cannot be

easily classified with other poor immigrants as working-class or lower-class. While discussions

of the undocumented Chinese may at times appear similar to those in Douglas Glasgow’s Black

Underclass, because as a group they are also “collectively different” from and “left behind” by

the others,85 no effort will be made to draw parallels between the two. Nor do I link the enduring

hardships of this group of Chinese with inner-city problems or social pathology.

What differentiates the undocumented from the general working-class or lower-class

Chinese is their legal (illegal) status. It is not unusual for a person to start poor in the United

States; relatively few new immigrants come rich. This group of individuals shares a unique social

status not because its members are poor, but because they are excluded from the system that

provides ordinary Americans, immigrants included, basic rights, privileges, and protections.

Since these individuals have no legal rights to remain in the United States, sociologist David M.

Heer sees them as members of a legal underclass.86

The undocumented Chinese come from all walks of life; most of them originated from

different regions of China, but some are from Taiwan, Hong Kong, Southeast Asia, and many

other parts of the world. Among them are former peasants, factory workers, office clerks,

students, and professionals of different kinds, including individuals who face distinctive careers

in their native places. But the lack of legal status, which is required for formal employment in the

United States, means that these individuals have no access to the formal job market. They are

referred to as “blacks” [heiren] in the community because they are hidden in the dark, and they

! 76

are a vulnerable target for economic exploitation and other forms of abuse. An old couple from

China in the United States to visit their daughter, for example, answered a call to take care of two

young children for a Chinese American family. Although the going monthly rate for such a job

would be $1,200, they accepted $800 instead, fully aware that they did not have work permits

and their visas would soon expire. The employer seemed to enjoy their service, but said that she

would like to pay them all at once at the end of the year. Eight months passed before they finally

asked for their paycheck. By then, however, the employer requested to see their work permits.

When the couple’s daughter protested, the employer dismissed her and threatened to call the

police. Unfortunately, aside from the community newspaper, there was no formal channel for the

couple to file a grievance. Fearing their expired visas would have a negative impact on their

daughter, who was a student, the couple had to swallow their plight.87

Huiling Zhao, who came from Malaysia in 1985, said that she was paid $700 a month

when she started to work in a Chinese restaurant in Manhattan, New York—$100 less than what

the other employees received. Moreover, throughout the years when she did not possess legal

status, she was frequently bullied but had to submit to humiliation.88 When it was revealed that

two New York immigration firms swindled more than four million dollars from about 150

Chinese immigrant clients, most of the victims, almost all of them undocumented, did not come

forward to talk to reporters or help with the police investigation; many tried to hide instead.89

Legal status can complicate domestic disputes as well. Writing to a Chinese-language

newspaper, Ms. T says that her ex-husband has not paid his share of child support. She came as a

spouse in 1993. For eight years when her ex-husband was a graduate student, she supported the

family by working long hours in a Chinese restaurant. They divorced in 2001, shortly after their

! 77

son was born and right before he received his Ph.D. in electrical engineering. He later landed a

job and gained legal status, but she was left out. The child support and alimony she has received

since then was calculated based on a $20,000 annual income, $50,000 lower than his actual

earnings. In a telephone conversation with a Chinese-language newspaper reporter, the un-

apologetic ex-husband, a senior manager of a company, maintains that T should be thankful

because he has not “reported her [illegal] status” to immigration authorities. And, he adds, should

publicizing his personal issues cause him to lose his job, he will have no money left to pay her at

all.90 According to many reports that have appeared in community newspapers, undocumented

immigrants are often targets of swindles by lawyers, doctors, accountants, and employment

agencies.91 Although from time to time the victims will receive sympathy from community

newspapers, they rarely seek formal protection from law enforcement agencies.

Socially, the undocumented are isolated and excluded. According to a March 6, 2007

Shijie ribao report, the Chinese in America can be divided into two categories and only one of

them is “clean.” The reports reveal a new and “strange” phenomenon in the Chinese American

community [huaren shequ]: the emergence of xiaobailian [handsome young men] as companions

of wealthy women. In an age of globalization, a transnational lifestyle is common for

businessmen. Some of these men have cultivated extra marital affairs with women on the other

side of the Pacific, making their middle-aged wives, the mothers of their children, deeply

depressed. But now, say the reports, the married women are fighting back. Erika, financially

independent and physically attractive, is one woman who has turned the corner. Although her

husband has an ernai [a female companion outside of marriage] in China and spends little time at

home, Erika does not let herself get upset. She takes dancing lessons to stay in shape—no one

! 78

can tell from her appearance that she is in her fifties. She is not lonely either. In the absence of

her husband, Erika enjoys romantic companionship from a handsome young man—a world class

dancer from China.

In the eyes of her peers, Erika handles her love affair “wisely” because the man she sees

is “clean,” meaning he has a green card. The young dancer is shy of money, of which Erika has

plenty. She bought him a house and pays him to stay at home. However, the situation can be

complicated if the person is not clean—without legal status. For example, another rich woman

reportedly has defeated many competitors to win the love of a super handsome xiaobailian only

to learn that he is undocumented. In this case, the guy needs more than money; he wants to marry

a citizen to gain legal status. This, however, is more than the woman can afford, as her current

marriage is the source of her wealth.92

Money, talent (which can be transferred into wealth), age, appearance, and legal status

are some of the most important elements that intertwine in the highly commercialized world of

intimate relations. Age might be an obstacle for these women, who are also married, but their

wealth can work to tip the balance. The bargaining chips of the xiaobailian, on the other hand,

are what these ladies do not have: youthfulness, presentable looks, and dancing skills.

Relationships that cross class lines and age gaps are not necessarily insurmountable; they can be

mutually beneficial for both parties. But legal boundaries are more difficult to cross. The

undocumented are not simply seen as impoverished, but members of an alien social group

rejected by American society. These are the untouchables. For wealthy women, associating with

these people means to enter into rather unfamiliar and dangerous territory. While undocumented

immigrants might be able to upgrade their social status through intimate relations, their

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vulnerability is obvious. According to one of the reports on xiaobailian, two rich women in Los

Angeles got into a fight over an actor from China. When one of the women lost the battle, she

angrily reported the man’s legal status to immigration authorities. “The poor guy,” writes the

news reporter, “is forced to leave the country without getting a green card.”93

Jennifer Su, a twenty-six-year-old waitress in Pasadena, California, understands well the

social implications of being undocumented. When she came from Taiwan in 1998 with a student

visa, Jennifer was introduced to restaurant work by her roommate. She visited her parents in

2002, but could not get her visa renewed because she had not been enrolled in a U.S. school for

some time. She did manage to return, this time as the fiancée of a U.S. citizen, though that was

just a role she played to get back into the country. She continued to work and did not seem to be

bothered by her legal status. “If caught, I will just go home to Taiwan,” she said. She has a

meticulously maintained bright red Volkswagen Beetle, and is apparently enjoying the freedom

away from her parents. She can be taken as any independent young Chinese American woman or

student. When the topic of her legal status came up during our interview, a male co-worker of

hers joked that all she had to do was to marry a rich guy, a citizen. Jennifer gave her co-worker a

sharp look and took a long pause. Then she threw her cellular phone into her Coach purse and let

out her frustration:

It is easy for people to say that. Once the guys knew that I had an expired visa, they

would try to take advantage of me. I have met too many guys like that. People see

me as a happy-go-lucky person. Who has seen me cry? Every time I talk to my

mom on the phone, I cry for hours. She’s worried about me being alone here. Where

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can I go to find the right person [to marry]? If I stay here, I am afraid that I will be

by myself for the rest of my life. 94

Then, would she consider a relationship with someone in the same situation? To that Jennifer’s

answer was a firm “No.” “Not that I look down on them [the undocumented], but I can’t double

the burden. My whole life would be over if I make a stupid move like that.”95

For the undocumented, marriage is one of the few options to legality, and it is

commonly believed that this path is easier for women to take. Liye Chang, a hairdresser, had

a short-lived second marriage three years after she and her young son came to the United

States in 1990 from Hong Kong. She said that from the very beginning she was fully aware

that this relationship would not last. “You can say that everything about him was the opposite

of me,” she remarked. “He was a spoiled playboy—did whatever occurred to him, and had

several run-ins with the police; I worked hard and was frugal. My English was bad, and he

could hardly understand a word of Chinese.” She acknowledged, however, that she was eager

to get married; her mind was made up the first time when she was invited to his parents’

house. “I had no legal status and no money. Marrying into that family would give me

everything I wanted so desperately.” Narrowing her eyes in search of memories, Liye’s face

began to glow as she described the wedding reception: “My friends were stunned when they

saw with their own eyes the swimming pool and tennis court at his folk’s. I was the

‘Cinderella,’ and some must have wondered how the ‘prince riding a white horse’ came my

way!” That marriage allowed Liye to gain legal status, though the subsequent three years

were full of trauma and misfortune.96

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To secure their legal status through marriage, undocumented immigrant women often

have to tolerate abuse. Ping Lu, who received her permanent residence in 2005 before filing for a

divorce, described her three years of marriage as “endless torture” from her ex-husband’s family

—“a houseful of monsters.” Ping’s in-laws became possessive once she started to take classes at

a local college, and she was not allowed to go out to meet friends. Once Ping returned at about

9:00 pm from a classmate’s birthday party, only to find one of her sisters-in-law sitting on the

doorstep of their apartment (Ping shared a three-bedroom apartment with her husband’s family).

“She pointed and shouted at me with obscenities for a long time, while my ex-husband watched

and listened,” she recalled. “Whenever they [her ex-husband’s sisters and mother] were mad at

me, they would say that it was bad luck for the family to take me in as an in-law. They said

repeatedly that he could have entered a fake marriage and easily made $30,000, and that instead

they had to feed me so that I could get my green card and leave him with nothing. I would have

run away from them long ago, but I couldn’t because I needed legal status to become

independent.”97

The presence of a large number of undocumented immigrants places real monetary value

on U.S. citizenship for both men and women. Katherine Fan, whose family came from Vietnam,

said that her sister bought a house for the family in Oakland, California, with financial assistance

from Denny, a clean-cut young Chinese man. Katherine was ten or eleven when the purchase

was made. Denny would come to visit every once in a while, and he would hand her sister

checks. She thought he was her sister’s boy friend, but her sister, who had a child out-of

wedlock, never acknowledged that. The memory of Denny was fresh in her mind: “Once he

came to tell my sister that he would need a few more days to deliver the money. My sister was

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furious; she let out a loud scream and threw a cup of coffee at him. I didn’t understand what was

going on and felt very sorry for Denny. My sister was so mean and crazy, but he did not talk back

or move a muscle. He just stood there, and I could see one of his arms was soaked with coffee.”

Long after he stopped coming, Katherine’s family ran into Denny in a shopping mall and

everyone asked how he was doing. Only then did she learn from her parents that he and her sister

had a legal, but fake, marriage. The deal was mutually beneficial: Denny needed legal status; her

sister needed help paying the mortgage.98

Still, Feng Yang, who turned thirty-five in 2004, believed that the need for a green card

was not important enough to violate the sacred union of two human beings. Feng came from

China with a temporary visa in 1992 and went to work in a relative’s restaurant in Queens, New

York. In 2002, he met May, a naturalized citizen from Malaysia, at a church gathering. The two

spent some time together, but when May expressed her desire to get married, Feng backed off.

The fact that all of his friends thought that he would have more to gain from the marriage made

him hesitant: “She was serious, and that bothered me,” he reflected. “Marriage should be a

solemn matter; the problem was that we couldn’t begin on the same mark [qi pao xian]. Maybe it

would be different if I were a woman. Maybe. But I found it hard to face her and had to end the

relationship.” While some of his friends laughed at him, Feng did not think he could marry

anyone for the purpose of getting legal status. “People would ask what my next plan is. Honestly

I have got no plan at all. I will just plan things one day at a time.”99

Even for those who overcome adversity and find true love, getting acceptance from their

families and relatives can be a difficult matter. Tommy Huang, who came from China with a

temporary work visa in 1992, was on his own after his work contract expired. In San Francisco

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and then Los Angeles, he bused tables and waited on customers before being promoted to a

managerial position. Tall, slender, and with a radiant smile, he was popular at work and in his

church. Sharing a house provided by his boss with eight co-workers, he and his fiancée, Shuhui,

were saving every penny for a property of their own. It took a lot of courage for the two to stick

together, as Shuhui’s parents were furious when they learned that Tommy did not have legal

status. “They [the fiancée’s parents] didn’t want to see me; we never met. They had no desire to

know what kind of person I am and just ordered her to end the relationship. When she disobeyed,

her parents cut her off completely.” Shuhui would have gained legal status with her family,

which was from Hong Kong, but her parents were so mad at her rebellious behavior that they

removed her name from their application. Still, Tommy said he could understand her parents’

harshness, “If my own daughter wants to marry an undocumented alien, perhaps I will be angry

too.”100

Social isolation can be initiated by the undocumented immigrants themselves, out of a

reluctance to reveal their legal identities to the public. Xinnian Guo, a man in his fifties from

northern China, said that he decided to be a day laborer instead of a restaurant worker because he

did not want to get to know anyone. “Occasionally I would run into someone with a familiar face

in Manhattan and we would nod to each other. I don’t like to talk to people. There is nothing to

say and I don’t have any questions for others. The rich ones are nothing but living reminders of

my failure.”101 In two separate accounts to the Shijie ribao, one woman from Taiwan, Zhen Ling,

describes her years in Texas as an undocumented immigrant as “pain beyond words.” Most

unbearable is the fact that some Chinese people seem to take great pleasure in talking about other

people’s illegal status. When people make loud inquiries in public about her status or ridicule her

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for getting a “good deal” because she does not have to pay taxes, she writes, “My heart bleeds.”

Concealing her legal identity is especially difficult for her teenage daughter. When classmates

her age began to drive, the daughter had to make up reasons for why she could not get a driver’s

license. When Zhen Ling and her daughter finally gained legal status, the youngster was so

excited that she had the green card laminated and attached it to a necklace. Since then, Zhen Ling

writes, “my daughter’s life has changed from night to day; there is no reason for her to hide any

more.”102 Alice Fu, who came from Wuhan, China, as the wife of student, worked as a domestic

care provider after her husband died of cancer. A trained nurse back in China, she had no

problem finding work. Her most recent employer lived in Las Vegas. The lady was partially

paralyzed but with “a sympathetic heart.” She asked Alice to call her “cousin” and advised her

not to mention her undocumented status to anyone. “She is such a considerate person,” Alice

said. “She makes my life a lot easier. Because people believe that I am her relative, they are less

curious about my identity.”103

To Yinyin, who manages a match-making service in New York, the lowness of the

undocumented immigrants is quantifiable. Beginning with a preliminary evaluation, she

calculates each client’s worth using a formula based on information regarding the person’s

occupation, education, income, personal assets, age, legal status, and marriage history. She gives

a college graduate five points, while a citizen of the United States receives ten. A client on a

short-term visa or without legal status, on the other hand, is subject to a ten-point deduction. The

biggest reward of her job, said Yinyin, was to find marriage partners for undocumented Chinese

women. “I had quite a number of young, pretty, well educated, and capable girls. I helped them

find what they needed most in America—legal status. They did not feel secure without status,

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and I understand that well,” she remarked. As she recalled, most of the “girls” were easy to work

with because they “understood their own situation” and were not “picky.” And several of her

former male clients tipped her well because they got “really good deals.” One of Yinyin’s client,

a fifty-five-year-old, divorced father of three children, was matched to a woman about half of his

age. Before the two tied the knot, Yinyin said, the man made his bride-to-be agree on terms set

by his family. Although this was the woman’s first marriage, she had to agree not to have any

children of her own, and she agreed not to inherit any of his property should he die before her.

According to Yinyin, the marriage worked out very well.104

Without legal status, undocumented immigrants are basically seen as outsiders by people

in their own ethnic community. One recently naturalized citizen thought it was “natural” not to

include them because they were not “Americans.” To him, legal status differentiates a Chinese

from a Chinese American: “I didn’t think of myself as an American until I applied for permanent

status. Why would anyone want to stay here forever if they did not have the right to stay?” Xiao

Chen, who was waiting to hear the results of his asylum appeal, acknowledged that he did not

consider himself American even though going back was not an option. “I wish there is no appeal

process; the pain would just end if there was no more hope.” Because his wife in China was

counting on him to bring his daughter over, he had to do anything possible to stay, even if that

meant being an outsider for the rest of his life. One restaurateur who had employed a few dozen

undocumented workers between 1983 and 2000 said that more than half of these workers had

eventually adjusted their legal status. Although a number of them were still undocumented, only

two of them returned to China.105 One construction worker said that he would have returned if he

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had saved enough money: “Some of my friends in China have become rich; I missed out on the

opportunity. I cannot go backwards; I cannot return empty handed.”106

Over the decades many undocumented Chinese have gained legal status and become

American citizens, and probably many more will eventually join them. However, the avenues

that are open for them to adjust their status are few, and the price they have to pay to go through

the process is high. Moreover, their low-income occupations and inferior social status often do

not lead to a green card. Although their ethnic community provides them the only means

available to survive in the United States, the same networks that utilize their labor also work

effectively to isolate them socially and prevent them from entering the mainstream job market.

Undocumented immigrants have a long way to go before they can catch up because they trail so

far behind the others. To many undocumented immigrants, to see their children rising from

obscurity is their only hope, and it is this hope that leads them to view their move to the United

States with a sense of optimism.

Changing patterns of immigration after 1965, accompanied by new social and economic

developments in the United States, have caused class to play an increasingly important role in

Chinese America. This is understandable because class matters in everyday life. More often than

not, success is still directly linked to social status. The next chapter will examine the relationship

between class and the development of an ethnic economy and show how the ethnic community

itself has worked to perpetuate class divisions.

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