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How can you reconnect to a culture that you didn’t grow up in? A culture that your parents also didn’t grow up in? Nor your grandparents? Should you even bother trying? Especially if you no longer live on those lands? With an ongoing pandemic where you must physically distance from the very community you want communion with--what’s the point of reconnecting at all? None of these questions, however, would even need raising had the British just left my ancestors alone.
My grandparents were all born in South America, in a region once called British Guiana. Because my grandparents are of mixed ancestry, I hold six stories inside of me. Although each of these stories has a particular relationship with the British colonizer, they all had one thing in common: there was no calculated future for them on Crown lands. Each group had a planned obsolescence that was baked into the ledgers and the political strategies that governed those lands. I am, therefore, keenly aware that these six stories survived to create me, and that I carry certain responsibilities in nurturing a future generation. I refuse to allow my child to forget where we really came from because to do so enables England to forget what she did. I resist my forced membership into an English-speaking world that does not respect or is inclusive of my peoples.
Our acts of cultural reconnection are ones of defiance.
What follows is an account of how my child and I reconnected with our Chinese heritage through multiple art projects centred on the Lunar New Year, exploring how we became “Chungs”.
To understand the celebration of the Lunar New Year as members of the Asian diaspora in Canada, we must first glance towards our past
Ian Too-Chung was my great grandfather, and his parents were indentured from Hong Kong to British Guiana.
After the first Opium War, Britain began its occupation of Hong Kong. In 1834, with slavery abolished, indenture became England’s next economic enterprise. In 1851, England used Hong Kong as a port to indenture people from various parts of China to its other colonies. Chinese labour was priced at £15 a head, £2 more than labour from India—a land Britain was also occupying. Some volunteered for the international trip, while others were outright duped. It is doubtful that those indentured could have imagined what the actual working conditions were on the plantations or in the mines, nor were they apprised of just how many died en route to the final destination. Contracts of indenture were drawn up for a period of five to seven years, after which workers were considered “free”. In today’s parlance, this state-legislated action of indenture is called human trafficking, and ended in 1917.
The history of Chinese migration to Guyana via indenture is mostly understood from the viewpoint of plantation and mining interests, rather than the labourers’. Our family’s survival provides a window into post-indenture.
Ian died when my grandfather was still in his mother’s womb, meaning that my granddad never got a chance to learn any of his Chinese language or culture, nor does he even have a picture. Growing up in a British colony in the early 1920s meant that few, if any schools, would have been funded to enable my grandfather to learn about his Chinese heritage.
I grew up with Chinese food on the table at every family gathering on both sides of my family. It was normal to have curry, roti, chow mein or fried rice, and baked chicken.
When it comes to re-learning my Chinese heritage, I consider myself very lucky. Because of China’s large population and diaspora, I can google facts about Chinese culture, read translated stories, and explore the religions–it’s all still readily available for reconnection.
To understand the celebration of the Lunar New Year in Asia, you must first glance towards the sun
The first shared discovery that my child and I had was the role of the winter solstice. Transformed into Christmas on the Western calendar, this day in December marks the period with the fewest hours of sunlight. The second new moon that follows the solstice signals the beginning of spring and the new year in China, Vietnam, Thailand, and Mongolia. The cultural traditions surrounding Lunar New Year celebrations draw on storified elements from past dynasties that incorporate Taoist and Buddhist beliefs.
On February 1st, we emerged from the year of the Ox and entered the year of the Tiger–the king of beasts. Tigers are formidable animals able to abide in the heavens to guard the Heavenly Palace, stalk the earth to overthrow pernicious lions, and thrash the waters to defend against mystical turtle attacks. Although Tigers are associated with destruction, the yin/yang duality reminds us that this also means a time of renewal.
To understand our future, we must first appreciate our present
Learning these stories with my son, and re-activating traditions, like cleaning the house before the new year, or gifting lai see and oranges to one another, have been acts of love that connect him to his great-great grandfather Too-Chung, and of gratitude for our ancestors’ survival through the colonial process.
During the project, I asked myself on multiple occasions: Am I doing this right? Am I being respectful enough? Yet my child never seemed bothered by such questions; he only knew how to act. His ebullience for learning the stories and drawing the images never failed our family’s project.
I drew inspiration from his quiet study of figures and his diligent renderings, and suddenly found our roles reversed: I was not the creator nurturing my creation; he was the author, and I was his apprentice.
In outlining his drawings, I revisited the free-flow of his hands across the paper.
By painting his blank spaces, I brought colour to his design.
We may have been learning about our Chinese identity, but he demonstrated total agency over his art, leading the way for us to create something together:
Reconciliation
Our project ended on February 15th with the Lantern Festival, when the full moon emerges. It represents a time of honouring our ancestors and of personal reconciliation.
I reflected on the ebb and flow of emotions that came with the numerous conversations with my family (particularly my grandmother with her amazing memory) and on the recording and organizing of names, dates, details, and regions (often in Dutch pronunciations) to better understand my family’s trajectory. Throughout it all, as my grandparents relived their nine decades of memories, I felt deep admiration and love for my family. In terms of actually piecing together where we are from, I am still working with a genealogist who has mapped the migratory movements of the Chinese diaspora in Guyana. I still don’t know exactly what region in China my ancestors are from or the names of Ian’s parents, as there isn’t exactly an ancestry.com for our situation. I will have to work with specialists for my other five stories.
As lanterns ceremoniously float from outstretched hands into the air, they symbolize release—a fitting image for all the emotions this process brought out: it’s time to let them all go…for now. It may take a lifetime for me and my child to weave all the threads that the colonizer tried to unravel in our family’s stories, but I am lucky to be surrounded by humorous, loving, and patient people who support me in remembering and celebrating my ancestors.
