An Insider's View by Richard Ng

When I was young I'd pretend to know karate by crossing my arms at the wrist and screeching like a demented parrot. It never failed to amuse me how the other six year olds watched me in wonder and bickered between themselves whether I actually did or not. Then, still with hands crossed, fingers outstretched, I'd kick the air and watch them take a step backward in unison. Which settled that.

I was born and raised in England, a BBC (British Born Chinese) if you will and I knew about as much karate as they did. I'd never seen a martial arts movie or taken a lesson and the authentic sound effects were more Miss Piggy than Bruce Lee. But amazingly, even eighteen years later, there are still people who expect me to have a black belt in some eastern art; they obviously don't get out much. Although in their defence I do now have two black belts, one from Next and the other from Marks & Spencer. And I can kick ass at origami and Jenga.

I was not and still am not afraid to use the stereotype to my advantage since it is an undeniably strong one. For example, when found to be in an inappropriate public place, pretending to be a tourist and squinting at signs is as good an explanation as any. A faux-karate stance and setting my eyes to 'extra squinty' even got me out of a couple of scrapes in school.

Luckily, for about five years now, I've hardly had to deal with anything abusive regarding my non-Englishness. I enjoy circles of friends who acknowledge that I'm as faulty as the rest of them, where my appearance means nothing. No-one expects me to be able to cook Chinese food or be able to use chopsticks (though I do). I see myself as a regular guy in the street and often forget that I actually do look so different from the crowd. So it came as a shock last week when a guy leaned out of the passenger window of a passing car and screamed 'Haa! Ooowaaa Hai!' at me while chopping the air and flailing his arms about.

No-one ever teaches you how to deal with the taunts or the name calling or any of that unprovoked abuse. The last time I remember having a tussle with anyone for this was during my A-levels. I was seventeen and he was making his friends laugh nervously while pointing Charlie Chan or Bruce Lee impressions my way. Normally I'd have just ignored him or have laughed along in a perverse kind of way, which was my regular response at the time. I must have had a particularly short fuse that day since I just laid into the guy. He was probably just as surprised as I was since I'm only a diminutive 5' 2" and normally passive, as is expected of small, thin Chinamen. I'm not sure whether I won or not but I remember walking away first and he never mocked me openly again. But him and others like him were always around so I was glad for the change of surroundings at University. Attitudes of the people I've known since then have been more worldly and even people in general. It's not cool to be racist, if it ever was. It's not fashionable to put down a minority and until last week, I naively thought that that was the same as there being no racism. So the shock of hearing Crap Karate NoisesTM from the moron in the car hit me two ways: one - that there are still racist jokers about; and two - that I was so unprepared that I had absolutely no idea how to deal with it.

My instant reaction was to point at him, smile broadly and laugh out loud, as I took to doing back at school. Which confused the hell out of me and I could only hope it was doing the same for him and his mates. They drove beyond shouting distance and left me walking along feeling a familiar old mix of confusion, hurt and fright, which I hadn't felt for a long time. The worst thing was I couldn't figure out why I was feeling that way.

I fretted for a while and in the end used that other Chinese skill, the art of forgetting, to get on with it. It's just not worth getting down about. Perhaps it was a reminder that I am different and that I don't belong. Or that I was being ridiculed for something I had no control over. That they judged me when they didn't have the slightest idea who I am. Whatever. Like it says on the cover of Jung Chang's Wild Swans, there is also a Chinese art of remembering and I find that a powerful tool indeed. I hope I've given some insight into my warped Chinese thinking and memories, even if it was more about a talking pig than swans.