Meditations

Words by Rowena Chow 鷺壅筽 | She/Her

noun
a foreigner, especially one who is not a naturalised citizen of the country where he or she is living. example “an enemy alien”

adjective
unfamiliar and disturbing or distasteful. example “principles that are alien to them.”

For Chinese New Zealanders, the grounds in Aotearoa have been fertile, rocky, and diasporic for some time. During the gold mining era, Pākehā welcomed Chinese immigrants. However, the pleasantries were short-lived. ‘Yellow Peril’ prejudice became pronounced soon after profits ran scarce. 

When the Chinese Immigrants Act of 1881 was introduced, all Chinese immigrants—and only Chinese immigrants—were required to pay a Poll Tax. Originally, it was a payment of £10 on arrival into New Zealand. A debt with a lifespan, £10 was likely 10 months earnings for a Chinese farmer back home. This soon increased to £100 per person fifteen years later. The Poll Tax was a catalyst for more anti-Chinese measures and continued to rear its ugly head despite Chinese pushback. 

As a Wellingtonian, two stories stand out to me. The first is an innocent man accused of having leprosy who was exiled to Matiu/Somes Island in 1904. This was directly related to New Zealand government propaganda that claimed Chinese people were disease-carriers. His name was Kim Lee and he died alone 9 months later on Mokopuna Island. Not long after, a Pākehā man takes the life of an unarmed, elderly man on Haining Street (Wellington’s then central Chinese district) in 1905. His name was Joe Kum Yung. 

Both men were victims not only of a narrative that didn’t protect them, but sought to use them as scapegoats—tragedies founded on racial disdain and alienating grounds. 

Art-making offers some reconciliation from these histories—a form of healing. In her short documentary: Cast Out: 磊, Matilda Boese-Wong draws attention to the unjust nature of Kim Lee’s death. She wants to  preserve his story, telling me, “I believe when I was making this project I really wanted to not only give him a voice and tell his story… but also to honour his soul, you know?” 

Kim was a green grocer on Adelaide Road, just like Matilda’s grandparents and great-grandparents. As a third gen Chinese New Zealander, Matilda, with a mix of Japanese and Pākehā heritage, also feels “that level of pain and hurt does transcend through generations”. 

She  acknowledges the sacrifices her family have made to be able to afford the lives they lead now. She admires “all the work generations of Chinese people put in to be able to ensure that future generations could have a safe life here.” It is humbling, to be able to sit in the knowledge of your ancestors, and to acknowledge the gravity of their sacrifices—what feels like an extension of pain, and love.

Many young Chinese New Zealanders share a collective yearning to understand our histories and be critical of how they’ve been told. Reclaiming our stories through art is our way of saying, “I see you and I hear you, and I won’t let us forget you”.

As a response to her graduate design brief, Kimberley Zhou felt compelled to tell the story of growing up behind the counter of her parents’ business. “‘Fortunate Takeaways’ is a project serving you familial stories on life growing up in a Chinese takeaway.” Kimberley is a second gen Chinese New Zealander whose upbringing, like mine, revolved around the aroma of chips and deep fried fish after school. 

Through typographic research, Kimberly tells me she “noticed the use of ‘ethnic lettering’ in the signage of Chinese restaurants and questioned the authenticity and reason as to why it’s been used as a visual short-cut for an entire culture.” These short-cuts feed into Chinese/Asian stereotypes. A meditative work, Kimberley reclaims the stories of assimilation and internalised racism from a deeply reflective standpoint.

Reclaiming our histories is understanding that Chinese people have always been a part of New Zealand’s cultural narrative. But where does the responsibility of representation lay—who has the power to shape our stories? What struck me about Joe Kum Yung was how little we knew about him, as opposed to his killer, and the different kinds of barriers posed to our elderly Chinese generations today. 

Kirsten Wong tells me that “people can be alienated for all sorts of reasons, and probably age and access to language is a big one.”  Kirsten is one of the organisers of the Māori Chinese Waiata group, a small collective that has, “grown up organically” and includes, “old and young. Different generations. [The] Waiata group was kind of bringing that altogether… It’s more of a cultural exchange by the people who come to the group.” 

As we talk about fostering connections, Kirsten says “belonging is the anti-alien.” The real value in creating these pockets of community is forming those individual relationships, because that is fundamentally how we understand our identity and engage in society. The group began as a candid idea between friends in the beginning of 2019 to “set up a kaupapa of a family based multi-generational thing. And that’s really why it works, is because there’s a whole bunch of shared values.” 

Like in Te Ao Māori, Chinese families are built on a communal and multi-generational base. The meetings always feel like a rich experience, and I am reminded of why I must pick up the phone and call my grandparents more often. Exploring concepts of identity with other generations and ethnicity groups “does actually change the way you view the world.”

The Chinese New Zealand experience has always been complex. The term ‘alien’ may be a homage to the extraterrestrial, but it is also an inherently loaded guise with racial denunciations that impact identity. Dealienising is wrapped in the cyclical nature of art, and an increasing number of young Chinese New Zealanders are using it to deconstruct stereotypes as well as heal from dark histories. By adopting spaces in the creative realm, my generation can be cynical, but hopes that the freedom and intersectionality of art can enact change.

I recall many times where I have been ashamed of my Asian-ness and upbringing. But now I want to talk about it. This came about after reading Rose Lu’s All Who Live on Islands. Her concept of “The perceived wrongness of somewhere that is different” stuck with me. I have always been a storyteller through visual art. But, it was never a priority to convey notions of my multi-cultural identity until I realised just how dense the Chinese New Zealand experience was. I can embrace my Chinese heritage as well as my kiwi lifestyle. It’s a symbiotic relationship. There is solace in the manifestations of art, which continue to undo assumptions and widespread beliefs of identity.