A Typical Conversation

One of the types of experiences I had with culture shock was intrusive questions about my and my family's financial background and situation. Here are my thoughts on it.

When I enter AN’s house, I unexpectedly find her grandfather sitting near the window, facing the door when I enter. He rises to greet me, and automatically I tell him to sit out of habitual politeness. “It’s my house, I’ll sit when I want to sit,” he responds with a small smile, and I laugh in embarrassment, covering my face with my hands. It is not the first nor the last time I will fumble with proper etiquette. 

He is missing several teeth and his face is tan and deeply wrinkled. He wears a doppa, and has a long white beard. AN tells me that he is over 80 years old. They invite me to sit and we chat amicably about the weather. After a long pause, the questions from bowa start rolling in. (Bowa means grandfather and is a polite address for old men.)

“How long does it take to get from America to here?”

“Can you take a train from here to America?”

“What’s the time difference between America and here?”

“What kind of food do you eat there?”

“Do you eat pork?”

“How much does meat cost?”

This requires an explanation of exchange rates, Purchasing Power Parity, as well as different types of meat (lamb is more expensive than beef, I explain), pounds versus kilos, and different prices for different cuts of meat. Ground beef is one of the cheapest types of meat but steaks are one of the most expensive, I point out. They slowly shake their heads back and forth, eyebrows furrowed. This is confusing for them because everyone knows how much the current cost of mutton per kilo is here.

“What’s the average salary in America?”

When I respond, they exclaim, “MY GOD THAT IS SO MUCH MONEY! That is more money than I can ever dream of. You guys are all so rich. Life must be so richly beautiful and plentiful for you all.” (The truth being that in reality money rules and dictates many of our lives, and economic oppression in the US holds many people in invisible chains more powerful than an authoritarian dictator. But I digress.)

I explain again about exchange rates, and the cost of a basket of goods, and how with the cost of rent in America, such a salary is just that, an average standard of living. But they still won’t stop talking about what a high salary that is and how great it would be if they could live in America.

“How much do houses cost in America?”

This also takes a long explanation of the fact that we don’t use square meters—we use square feet, I tell them—to measure the size nor value of a house. I explain how a house in Shanghai is going to cost different from a house in Guizhou and they nod.

“But what is the average cost of a home in your city?”

I explain how housing prices vary depending on where the house is located, the condition of the house, and other amenities, so the range of housing prices varies widely—a penthouse in Manhattan is going to be different from a tenement in The Bronx. They are not too satisfied with this answer since everyone in every city in China knows how much the average cost of a home is by square meter and they don’t understand why we don’t use the same measuring system, nor pricing system.

I sigh and talk louder, gripping my hair and waving my arms as I explain what to them are completely new concepts. I’m starting to get annoyed and frustrated now. I am bored of talking about this topic that I have talked about so many times before, frustrated that they aren’t understanding these brand new concepts that I’m introducing, and annoyed that all they seem to care about is money and how much things cost. The truth is that I don’t know. I don’t know what the average cost of a house is in Pittsburgh or Boulder. I really have no idea. It’s not something I think about. For them, however, everyone knows the latest average real estate price values. Saving for and buying a house is a major part of life here.

“How much do your parents make?”

I say, I don’t know. We don’t discuss such things with each other, this is a very private matter for us, but again I have to explain that with the exchange rate it wouldn’t translate correctly into yuan anyway.

“How much do you spend each month?”

I react by getting more annoyed as I experience this as an extremely intrusive question on my personal life. The truth is that I don’t know because I don’t actually keep very good track of my money here. I do keep a strict budget in the US, but in China the dollar stretches far enough that I can live comfortably without having to track my expenses very closely. The question touches the core of my American privilege, and I get insecure, sitting in my privilege and wealth of not having to keep close track of my monthly expenses. I avoid the question by saying my scholarship covers my living expenses. The questions do not cease, however.

“How much scholarship money do you get?”

I respond with “enough to live on” to try to avoid the subject, but they press me several more times, thinking that I don’t understand their question. I say, I understand what you are asking, but we don’t talk about such things in my culture. But they press me again, and I refuse again. This is easier now, I’m not so annoyed anymore. Setting up the boundary gives me some space to breathe from being self-conscious. The truth is that my scholarship, which pays in American dollars, is a higher salary than they will ever dream of earning, and I do not dare reveal this.

They continue with their questions.

“What’s your rent?”

I cave and I tell them the truth this time. That it’s 2,000 yuan a month ($300/month). Their eyes grow even wider. This amount is higher than their monthly salary. Again, I try to bury my privilege by explaining that the school pays for it, but they look at me with wide eyes, speechless, their jaws hanging open, and their heads shaking in confusion and wonder and awe.

The questions continue, “What is the different between education here and there?,” “What age do you marry over there?” “How many children does your government allow you to have?” “Is there a cure for cancer over there?” “Is it easy to find work over there?” and I answer as patiently and as calmly as I can, the truth being that it is difficult for me to make such broad generalizations about life as a whole in America. The truth is that experience in America varies widely, and that me as a representative of white girls is a minority of Americans. Such conversations happened on an almost daily basis.

My negative reaction to their questions about money is rooted in being self-conscious about my American privilege because my salary from my graduate fellowship is many times more than most people will ever dream of. I live in an apartment that is nicer, bigger, and more expensive than most people would ever imagine. So I get defensive when people ask and if I do answer, I lie.

Of course, the narrative for myself is that I came from a working middle-class background and worked really hard all my life to build up to this point where I was awarded a very prestigious scholarship. The story I tell myself is that the scholarship is not that much in American dollars, but it goes far here, and I do struggle to make ends meet when I’m in America.

But the truth is that my American bank account—the one that lets me stretch the dollar up to 6 times more its value while I’m in China—is the very core of the imperial privilege that the American dollar has built itself on through a legacy of genocide and colonialism. Our history of slavery and labor exploitation is exactly what has allowed us to set the standard of value of this piece of paper and say that it’s worth 6.5 times more than the yuan.

And then there’s the privilege that allows me to cross those national borders and spend the dollars in a place that is on the losing side of imperialist and colonialist manipulation of the value of money. I can buy a plane ticket and obtain a passport and a visa that allows me to live in China and spend those dollars at 6.5 time their value.

These are the reasons—because I am white from a country built on the blood and sweat of black and brown bodies—that I am able to live comfortably without a budget, that is the reason our average salary is higher than they will ever dream of having their entire lives, that is the reason my measly scholarship is higher than their annual salaries ever will be, that is the reason why I can afford to live in an apartment whose monthly rent is considered cheap for me, but for them is higher than their monthly salary for a large family.

And that is why I get frustrated with their questions. At its core, it’s not a cultural thing. Yes, their questions are intrusive, but why? Why do we shrink from disclosing such information? Because it exposes our privilege built on vast differences in access to material resources, differences built on genocide, racism, and colonialism, a difference in access to resources that will shape the trajectory of our entire lives.