them from the sun. I could say that Hong Kong is just a bigger, gaudier, richer, more cosmopolitan version of Chinatown, but then I’d have to admit that it isn’t like my adopted home much at all, except for the food, the streams of white tourists, and the Chinese faces. I could say Hong Kong is closer to how I remember Shanghai, with its lively waterfront, the sex and sin for sale, and the smells of perfume, coal, and delectable treats being cooked right on the street, except that it isn’t nearly as grand or wealthy as the city of my girlhood.
An hour later, I reach the Soo Yuen Benevolent Association’s office and approach a thin man of about fifty years, wearing a cheap suit, standing behind a counter, drinking tea. I extend my hand. “I’m Pearl Louie and I’m from Los Angeles,” I blurt. “My daughter was born in America. She looks Chinese on the outside, but she’s an American. My daughter …” Tears well in my eyes, and I manage to hold them back. “She’s only nineteen and she’s run away to China—Shanghai, I’m pretty sure—to find her father. She thinks she’s smart and she has a lot of enthusiasm for what’s happening there, but she doesn’t know anything about it.”
How can I say these things to a total stranger? Because I can’t expect this man to help me, if I’m not honest with him.
“Are you planning on going to the People’s Republic of China?” he asks, unimpressed.
“You say that like it’s nothing, but China is a Communist country. It’s closed.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says in a bored tone. “The Bamboo Curtain and all that.”
I can’t believe his attitude. I just poured out my sorrows and worries and he acts like neither thing is important.
I rap my knuckles on the counter to get his attention. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“Look, lady, it’s a bamboo curtain, not an iron curtain. People go in and out of China all the time. It’s not a big deal.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask impatiently. “China is closed—”
“The People’s Republic of China is very good at propaganda, but so is your country. You Americans think the People’s Republic of China is completely closed. That’s part of your government’s campaign to isolate China—refusing diplomatic recognition, prohibiting trade, restricting family reunification visits …”
I’m fully aware that the United States is punishing China for its role in the Korean War and for supporting the Soviet Union in the Cold War. If that weren’t enough, there’s the constant irritant of Taiwan, as well as the threat of the spread of communism.
“But the British are still doing business there.” He leans forward to stress his point. “All those Eastern European countries are doing things there. Even Americans—journalists invited by Mao and the government—go in and out of China. But mainly, we Chinese have continued to do business there. Hong Kong and mainland China have had a special business relationship for hundreds of years, long before Hong Kong was a colony. How are we to live without Chinese herbal medicine, for example?”
When I stare at him blankly, he answers his own question. “We can’t. We need ingredients for all kinds of afflictions—mumps, fever, problems below the belt … And remember, in forty years Hong Kong will go back to the People’s Republic of China. Don’t think those Communists aren’t trying to get their fingers in the pie already. Through Hong Kong, the Peking regime can absorb foreign exchange, buy materials that are hard to get elsewhere, and export certain materials to other countries. Not that getting people and things in or out is completely painless—”
“One of my greatest fears is that my daughter went to China and was immediately taken out and shot. Are you saying that didn’t happen?” I ask, because nothing he’s telling me matches up with anything I’ve read or been told about what’s happening in the
An hour later, I reach the Soo Yuen Benevolent Association’s office and approach a thin man of about fifty years, wearing a cheap suit, standing behind a counter, drinking tea. I extend my hand. “I’m Pearl Louie and I’m from Los Angeles,” I blurt. “My daughter was born in America. She looks Chinese on the outside, but she’s an American. My daughter …” Tears well in my eyes, and I manage to hold them back. “She’s only nineteen and she’s run away to China—Shanghai, I’m pretty sure—to find her father. She thinks she’s smart and she has a lot of enthusiasm for what’s happening there, but she doesn’t know anything about it.”
How can I say these things to a total stranger? Because I can’t expect this man to help me, if I’m not honest with him.
“Are you planning on going to the People’s Republic of China?” he asks, unimpressed.
“You say that like it’s nothing, but China is a Communist country. It’s closed.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says in a bored tone. “The Bamboo Curtain and all that.”
I can’t believe his attitude. I just poured out my sorrows and worries and he acts like neither thing is important.
I rap my knuckles on the counter to get his attention. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“Look, lady, it’s a bamboo curtain, not an iron curtain. People go in and out of China all the time. It’s not a big deal.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask impatiently. “China is closed—”
“The People’s Republic of China is very good at propaganda, but so is your country. You Americans think the People’s Republic of China is completely closed. That’s part of your government’s campaign to isolate China—refusing diplomatic recognition, prohibiting trade, restricting family reunification visits …”
I’m fully aware that the United States is punishing China for its role in the Korean War and for supporting the Soviet Union in the Cold War. If that weren’t enough, there’s the constant irritant of Taiwan, as well as the threat of the spread of communism.
“But the British are still doing business there.” He leans forward to stress his point. “All those Eastern European countries are doing things there. Even Americans—journalists invited by Mao and the government—go in and out of China. But mainly, we Chinese have continued to do business there. Hong Kong and mainland China have had a special business relationship for hundreds of years, long before Hong Kong was a colony. How are we to live without Chinese herbal medicine, for example?”
When I stare at him blankly, he answers his own question. “We can’t. We need ingredients for all kinds of afflictions—mumps, fever, problems below the belt … And remember, in forty years Hong Kong will go back to the People’s Republic of China. Don’t think those Communists aren’t trying to get their fingers in the pie already. Through Hong Kong, the Peking regime can absorb foreign exchange, buy materials that are hard to get elsewhere, and export certain materials to other countries. Not that getting people and things in or out is completely painless—”
“One of my greatest fears is that my daughter went to China and was immediately taken out and shot. Are you saying that didn’t happen?” I ask, because nothing he’s telling me matches up with anything I’ve read or been told about what’s happening in the
Similar Books
