A Black Woman in China| 一位在中国的黑人女性 (Yí wèi zài Zhōngguó de hēirén nǚxìng)
Celebrity, Spectacle, and the Quiet Power of Just Being
Zài Zhōngguó (在中国), or “In China,” details my almost three-week trip to China in 2024, and uses that trip as a springboard to explore a wide range of topics – travel, culture, history, the arts. Most importantly, I hope this blog will serve as an opportunity to celebrate our global humanity. The blog reflects my own thoughts and recollections. Please forgive any errors or omissions. Respectful corrections are appreciated. 谢谢。
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What’s it like being Black in China? Some version of this question often comes up when I talk about my visit to China in the closing months of 2024. It’s a question I expected—especially from Black people—and one I asked myself for nearly a year before my trip. Well, experience offers clarity. So, let me share some of my experiences traveling as a Black woman—Zài Zhōngguó.
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The Paparazzo in the Bush: Getting the Celebrity Treatment in China
I had arrived in Shanghai the night before from Hong Kong, and I was finally starting to feel fully recovered from jet lag. My hosts had generously taken me out to visit a few tourist sites in the city. Just before (or after) lunch, we were strolling through a crowded plaza when this paparazzo started taking pictures of me like I was a “supastar.” I was annoyed, but I was prepared for this. You see, I had done my homework. I had spent nearly a year researching what to expect as a Black woman traveling in China. But more on that later. I digress.
The first time I saw him, the paparazzo emerged seemingly out of nowhere from amongst the people walking by and immediately started snapping pictures of me in rapid succession. Most people would probably do it on the sly or at least without a lot of fanfare. But naahhh, this guy approached me like I was a top model cruising down the catwalk. His behavior was so over the top. But I just kept moseying along, figuring this would all soon be over. And then it was—over. I could breathe a sigh of relief.
My companions and I continued our walk in peace—for about another minute.
But then, homeboy returned—with the same enthusiasm. He really acted as though he had not just taken dozens of pictures of me. It was like I was another celebrity who had just stepped out of a limo and onto the red carpet. Whatever. Just like the first time, he eventually stopped. But then, just like the second time—he returned.
“Lord, Fadda, Jesus! Help me!”
Okay, so by this time, I’d had about enough of his shenanigans.
Eh heh?! I go show you! (In my best Trinidadian accent).
Now, I was not about to make a scene in a foreign land, and land myself in a foreign jail. My solution was to start taking pictures, too—of him. I was quite stealthy about it, though. It wasn’t super obvious, but just enough for him to recognize what I was doing. I was letting him know that if my picture was found plastered all over the Internet, his would be right there alongside it.
Truth is, I didn’t really have an issue with him taking my picture. Quite frankly, I expected this would happen at some point during my time in China. Besides, in today’s world—even in the U.S.—I assume that we are all on camera all the time. You never know who is going to record you arguing over a seat on the subway or take a picture of you picking your nose just to upload it to a social media platform for clicks and likes. What bothered me was the dramatics of it all. I mean if there was a bush for him to jump out of, he would have! He was just doing too much. Not for nothing, later while relaying the story to one of my Chinese friends, he told me that this paparazzo sounded like a lǎo fǎshī—老法师, or “old wizard.” The term is apparently slang for enthusiastic older male photographers who go to public spaces, including tourist sites, looking to take pictures of something—or someone. Lucky me. 哈哈
The paparazzo situation was the most dramatic interaction that I had in China. The others were much milder—most pleasant, and all a little comical. But I’ll get to those a little later. Fortunately, my years of experience traveling have helped me to navigate awkward situations effectively and be more understanding of cross-cultural gaffes.
Being Black Abroad: Seeing the World Through a Unique Lens
I’ve been traveling overseas since the age of four. But I really cut my teeth traveling right after graduating from college. I had won a prestigious Watson Fellowship, which would see me travel to four countries in Europe—England, France, Portugal, and Spain. One of the conditions of the fellowship was that recipients could not return to the U.S. (and their home country, if applicable) for one year—the duration of the fellowship. I set out to Europe on August 1, 2001. A few short weeks later, the events of September 11th would forever change my city, and indeed the entire world. My experience traveling abroad during that period of time is perhaps worth discussing on its own, but I will have to reserve that for another day.
I will say that my experience in Europe as a Black woman was undoubtedly colored by my simultaneous identity as a U.S. citizen—born and raised—and as the child of immigrants from the Caribbean, specifically Trinidad & Tobago. Despite the traumas of being raised Black in the U.S., it was immediately clear to me that my status as an American came with privileges not afforded to other Black and Brown folks from the “non-Western world.” These folks, the current and former colonial subjects of European nations, were noticeably treated in a hostile way that I, for the most part, did not experience. (Portugal was a noticeable exception; I felt the hostility as soon as I arrived).[1] At that time, one of the things that struck me as a crucial difference between the U.S. and Europe was that, despite all our racial strife, we have been dealing with this issue of race since the founding of the nation. And in particular, we have been dealing with the clash of colonizer and colonized, enslaver and enslaved, living in the same space. It was clear to me that Europe was fairly new to dealing with the ramifications of colonization and imperialism in their own backyard. They were now having to confront the people they subjugated—and were still subjugating—on their own soil, up-close and personal. I remember how, during this period, many friends would talk glowingly about Europe. And while there are many things I love about Europe and European culture, I have never forgotten, and I have never let Europe off the hook; they started this mess. And by this mess, I am referring to the enslavement of Indigenous and African-descended people and the dehumanization of Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian people across the globe.
But as someone who has traveled extensively, I know not to expect the experience I have in one place to be the same as in another place. The countries I had traveled to in Europe—each of them with their own differences—were not China. But I’m not stupid 哈哈. Like I said, almost a year before my trip to China, I had started doing my research. Again, Black people, particularly those of us born and raised in the U.S., have been gestated in an environment where we learn from a young age that not only are we Black, but also that being Black is a problem. And it is with this knowledge that we move through the world.
I am sensitive to racism. I’m not overly sensitive—I don’t believe that every injustice I face in life is due to my skin color. However, my sensitivity means that I am generally aware when it is. And that comes from experience. From being followed in a store as a child; from being called the “n-word,”—that too, as a child. From being accused of being on drugs by a police officer who stopped me in my car—on my way to church, no less—only to release me without even a ticket. I was likely saved by the college parking pass that hung from my rearview mirror. Many people the world over do not truly understand the level of violence—mental, physical, and emotional—that Black people have faced historically in this country and abroad. Don’t get me wrong, even as a Black woman, I have been fortunate to enjoy many privileges in my life. That being said, your girl was not trying to get caught unawares and unprepared in a foreign country where she didn’t speak the language. So, I did what any self-respecting researcher would do—I went to the Internet 哈哈.
I binged on YouTube videos, read articles, perused Reddit, all in the name of trying not to be a statistic—of what, I wasn’t sure. I did searches to find anything about being “Black in China.” There was a ton of content on YouTube that I immediately dug into. Much of the content that came across my feed was from Africans living in China. This was not surprising. As I mentioned in a previous post, China for decades has been making inroads into Africa and Latin America and the Caribbean. Many young Africans have gone to China for college with some staying. Guangzhou has such a sizeable African population that there is even a neighborhood called “Little Africa.” I also found a few channels by Black Americans living in China. One thing that seemed consistent across channels was that as a Black person traveling the streets of China, prepare for the very real possibility that you may low-key become a celebrity.
Being Black in China: My Personal Experience
As evident by my interaction with the paparazzo, those content creators told no lies. Yes, people may want to take a photo with you, or be curious about your hair. However, most of my experiences while being Black in China were much more mundane. The most common experience? Stares. People would stare at me. And quite frankly, if I were them, I’d do the same. 哈哈 I, myself, have the particular habit of staring at tall people. As someone close to the ground, they fascinate me. I mean is the air really different up there? 哈哈
But seriously, it is human nature to notice things that stand out, or don’t fit the expected pattern. Remember Sesame Street’s “One of these things is not like the other?” We notice and categorize things. That is normal, and by itself doesn’t pose a problem. I don’t get mad at people staring. Of course, if it appears dangerous to me, I will respond in a way I deem appropriate. But in China, I got the sense that the stares were simply an expression of curiosity. While riding the subway in large cities like Beijing and Shanghai, commuters reminded me of New Yorkers. In New York, when someone “different” comes on the train, you stop; you look. And if there’s nothing there there, you go back about your business. That’s what happened to me in China. Most people looked, took note, and then continued their day.
When Curiosity Becomes Spectacle
I went to the People’s Park in Chengdu at the suggestion of my friend. It was within walking distance of my hotel. As I was winding down my time in this incredible park, I came across the Monument to the Martyrs of the Railway Protection Movement. I decided to take a picture of the plaque explaining the significance of the monument for future reference. While doing so, I noticed that I was blocking a lady who was also trying to take a picture. I gestured apologetically, and proceeded to move out of the way so that she could take her picture.
“No. No, stay!” she said cheerfully.
I looked at her a bit baffled and confused before realizing that she was videotaping me!
“Lord, Fadda, Jesus! Here we go again!” I thought.
But this interaction was a bit different from the one with the paparazzo. This woman tried to engage me in conversation—although, never putting down her camera once. She asked me if I (at my grown age) was a student.
I replied, “Yóukè. Yóukè.” (游客. 游客.—Tourist. Tourist), I repeated in Chinese.
She proceeded to ask me about my hair in Chinese. Although I understood what she was saying, I tried to play dumb. Then a guy walking by felt the need to get in on the action. He started pointing to his head and then mine while shouting, “Tóufǎ! Tóufǎ!” (头发! 头发!—Hair! Hair!)
“Who asked you, sir?!” I said, using my inner voice.
Yeah, that was my cue to walk. I’ve seen this rodeo before, in those YouTube videos I devoured earlier in the year. I was not about to draw a crowd and get caught taking pictures like a celebrity. No siree. No can do!
I walked away and went to explore another part of the monument. But I could see the lady through my peripheral vision. I knew she was probably still taking pictures of me, but I really didn’t care. I just didn’t want the attention. She later came up to me to show me some of the pictures she indeed took. As she showed me the pictures, she looked up at me with a big smile and said in English, “Beautiful. Beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” is a word that I had been called on more than one occasion in China. I don’t know if dem Chinee and dem was trying to mamaguy me. But “beautiful” is not a word that Black people in the U.S. (and I’m sure outside as well), especially women, expect to hear from non-Black people. And while it may be more fashionable now, Black women’s natural hair has historically been a problem.[2] I began wearing my hair natural around the turn of the last century (to make myself sound historical), and I took a lot of heat for that…mostly from Black people. The self-policing is real.
It’s funny. When I reminisce on my interaction with that lady in the park, I always think, “I wish I could have communicated better with her.” I really just wanted to say, “Sis. You doin’ too much.” 哈哈 I actually liked her. She was outgoing and had a kind spirit. I think I would have enjoyed talking with her. She was just a bit too enthusiastic.
One of the things that I wish I could have explained to her is that Black people—in the Americas in general, but especially in the United States—are sensitive to the ways that we and our bodies can and have been made spectacle. This is part of the trauma felt by those of us whose ancestors crossed the Atlantic in shackles on boats. Some of us know the history; some of us just carry it in our bones. I wish I could tell her and others about Sara Baartman and the Tuskegee Experiment, and the myriad ways that Black bodies have been gawked at, mutilated, and abused. I wish I could express that for many of us, receiving certain types of attention can feel less like flattery and more tantamount to spectacle—like we’re being exhibited at a 19th century World Fair. While traveling abroad, I am very cognizant that many people, not just in China, don’t fully know or understand how pervasive and insidious racism is, and how the legacy of slavery continues to impact Black people individually and collectively. And so, I do my best to remember that in my travels, and use my travel as a way not only to be educated, but also to educate.
Overall, my experience in China was very pleasant, including my interactions with people. I will continue to say that Chinese hospitality is second to none! When it comes to being Black in China, my impression was that for many people in China, Black people can be likened to a rare comet—something people don’t often get the chance to see, even in larger cities like Beijing and Shanghai.
When You’re a Star
While in Chongqing, waiting by myself to get on a sightseeing bus, a group of kids (maybe high school or college age) got out of the car. Upon getting out, one young man looked at me in amazement before finally saying in English, “Hi.”
I responded, “Hi. How are you?”
He looked even more shocked that I responded. He then replied with something like, “Fine.”
It was something short and unmemorable. But he waved goodbye, smiling and looking like I had just made his day. I’ve never had dreams of being a celebrity, but I’ll take being a star that brightens up someone’s world, any day.
Notes:
[1] From my observations and conversations, it appears that in recent years the experiences of Black travelers to Portugal have generally been more positive than mine. This is not surprising. When I lived in Lisbon—the capital—roughly twenty-five years ago, Portugal was not yet the global tourist destination it is today. If memory serves correct, at that time, there was a concerted campaign to transform the country into a major tourism hub within 10–15 years. It seems they succeeded. Still, during my time there, I often felt that Black people—especially those from Portugal’s former colonies—were not particularly welcome.
[2] The popularity of the “afro” during the 1960s and 1970s was a notable exception to the long history of Black hair being stigmatized.
Danielle Brown, Ph.D. hosts curated small-group tours exploring history, culture, and local communities around the world. Her work centers global stories and the diversity of human experience. Explore upcoming tours here: https://www.mypeopletellstories.com/travel-tours.