Asian identity in Berlin

More often than not, I am aware of my “Asian identity,” and have been accused for carrying the label too bluntly. I carry this label to set myself aside from the crowd and use it to express a point of view different from the norm of the western world I live in. In high school I felt lonely as one of the only few Asians in my white school, and clung closely to anyone who looked and acted more like me. In college, I found that I can become easily invisible in the sea of straight black hair and brown eyes, and always tried to sit as far from the Asian crowds as possible. In each case, I’ve use my Asian identity to filter my surroundings and influence my actions.

When I’m traveling though, I travel as an American: with my American passport, casual American attire, and sometimes, though I try hard to avoid it, an American tourist attitude. My parents used to tell me that it was safer to travel as an American; that the American life is worth more than the Chinese life. Every American life endangered or lost in a foreign country has a name reported in the news, but there are just too many Chinese people for the Chinese embassy/government to take notice of.

How things have changed, especially in the last decade, now the American identity does not ensure safety. My dad, working in Afghanistan, sometimes carries his Chinese passport around with him through the streets of Kabul, even though it is long expired.

Never the less, when I am traveling, I travel as an American.

In Berlin, more so than almost any other country I have visited (Ecuador, UAE, France, Italy...), I feel that my American identity has been challenged, maybe even over shadowed by my physical appearance. This question of who I am in Berlin, or more accurately, who Berliners think I am, has continually resurfaced during my stay here.

Psycho Christian homeless person
The first somewhat social interaction I had in Berlin was with a thin shaggy haired, shaggy bearded man, waving around a bible and proclaiming angrily (in German and broken English) God’s merciless plans for those who do not accept Him. Stepping off the train into Hauptbahnhoff late in the evening after most of the food courts were closed and people were sparse, this man approached me speaking German and flaring his arms. Tired and a little frightened, not knowing what he wanted, I tried to smile, shook my head and turned to head off the other way. He ran after me screaming “ni hao ma.” I was a shocked, but turned around and said hello to be friendly.

“Buddhist?” he asked a few times, before I understood what he was saying.
“No, Christian.” I said, starring at his bible. I am not really Christian.
“Nein, Nein… Buddhist!” He yelled, in a most disgusted way
“I am not Buddhist, I …love God…” I reinserted, as I frantically looked for the exit.
“Nein, Nein! You must turn to God for salvation!” More angry German words followed as I scrambled away.
Besides being overwhelmingly frightened for my life, I also had a different uneasy feeling. It wasn’t a new feeling, it was definitely something from my past, but it was not immediately recognizable. I thought about how strange it was that he wouldn’t believe my false claim as a Christian. I wondered if there were many Buddhist in Germany, or why he even brought that up in the first place. I thought that he was probably just crazy and drunk. But for some reason, the fact that maybe the assumption was made because I was Asian never came up in my head that day. I traveled with my American passport, spoke my English, and maybe I just momentarily forgot what I looked like to everyone else.

Construction men and Japanese
I am amused by how little clothes construction men wear here in Berlin and Eastern Europe. I wonder how they don’t burn their bare backs laying tiles on the roofs, and how they don’t rip up their bare shoulder carrying around lumber and metal construction materials.

One evening close to dinner time, I walked passed a group of topless construction workers wearing very small shorts each with a beer in their hands. Upon seeing me, one yelled “konnichiwa,” and the rest joined in. My immediate thought was: what a bunch of ignorant men, I don’t even look Japanese. I yelled back annoyed, “not Japanese!” and walked away.

Their tone was definitely not that of a typical group of bored young men, standing around the street, whistling and cat calling to anything with legs walking by. Their greeting sounded friendly and harmless; maybe just excited for the opportunity to practice their Japanese phrase. So thinking about that later in the evening, I felt that perhaps my response had been rude and unjustified. I had felt labeled and labeled incorrectly by a group of strange foreigners, but why did I feel so offended? When did I become so sensitive to labeling?

Children
It’s amazing how many occurrences I’ve had with little kids of running passed me screaming “ni hao ma.” Sitting on a bench along the Spree across from the Berliner dome reading, walking through Alexanderplatz trying to catch up with the rest of the group, sitting in a museum, sun bathing near the fountain under the TV tower, each time I become a little less surprised by the Chinese greeting spoken by little German children followed by giggling.

It makes me think of when we meow at cats and bark at dogs, as if we are communicating something to them.

Asians in a group
I don’t see groups of Asians walking together on the streets of Berlin during the day or chilling at a bar late at night. I don’t see many Asians at all. This gives me a strange feeling when I am out only with the “Asians” of the program. We see ourselves as a group of Americans, but I think I can tell that the passengers on the U-bahn may be confused by our combined presence.
We mention it every once in a while, in our “Asian” group, wondering what Germans think about us, or what Germans think about Asians in general. We’ve asked about it every once in a while, with Germans we meet at social events, most notably Steffan (Sam’s friend). But the responses have been ambiguous.

Do they think we’re loud and annoying? Like a herd of Asian tourists that obscure the view of monuments and sites? Are there traces of yellow fever here in Berlin? Are there popular spot where young Asians like to gather?

Group reaction to yet another “ni hao ma”
2 Koreans, 1 Vietnamese and a Chinese walked into Burger King in Alexanderplatz. When addressing the server in perfect American English, what does the she say?

She greets us all too confidently with “ni hao ma,” and smiles a huge smile.

All 4 Asians are left speechless and stunned. One Korean responds timidly… “I’m not Chinese…” then quickly asks her question “… is there free refills?”

Pretty hilarious… especially since I think all of us felt something odd and uncomfortable.

I think it’s been a long time since that has happened to any of us, especially living in and around Seattle. Most people I meet at home will make sure they know what I am before attempting anything cute like that. I think many of us even felt that in Seattle, that could have been offensive. But we’re in Berlin, and now we may understand a little bit more about how we “Asians” are perceived in this global city.

Reflection
It must be confusing for others to categorize Americans. Even as Americans, we try so hard to define the American identity to include everyone of all different backgrounds. Perhaps seeing a group of Asians, the first instinct of many is not that they are America, even if they are jabbering in English. But many of us, some who are 2nd, 3rd or 4th generation Asians can longer identify with our ancestral heritage. We belong to a new identity that is always changing, “Asian-Americans,” and who knows what that is. In the states, Seattle especially and safe in the UW campus, we don’t have to contemplate our identity as much on a daily basis. Here though, there are jarring reminder in the streets of Berlin that we are still associated by physical appearance with our Asian ancestors, or maybe just to Chinese people, whether we want to be or not.