Lăowài. If you are a Westerner in China you will hear this…often, although early on, you probably won’t catch it because, amidst the inner and outer confusion of your first days here, you really won’t catch much of anything. But, as you become more familiar with your surroundings, it will begin to register. I’ve heard various breakdowns of this word, or words, from different sources, but its general meaning is “Foreigner”. For those of you from the West who may be passing through someday, if you hear it, it’s you that they’re talking about. I began to recognize this in the weeks after my arrival in Nanjing. I might be walking down the street and some fat little kid pulling his granny the other way might see me, point one pudgy finger at my face, say it, and then his granny would cackle as they both paused for a better look. This would happen repeatedly, in varying ways, with both children and adults, and I never really minded; I found that there was and still is, sometimes, a certain strange and cheaply fulfilling pleasure that comes with being acknowledged by strangers. But in my case, at least, there was a level of growing uncertainty that went along with it as well, so I asked some Chinese friends about it. They all assured me that it was just a colloquial expression, not at all derogatory. More at ease after this reassurance, I was able to laugh it off or ignore it when I heard it. This went on for about a year before it, or should I say the unintelligible comments that always followed which I strongly suspected were about me, became irritating. It all crystallized when, one day on the street, I passed two men going the other way. One of them gave me a sidelong glance and then said “Lăowài.” to his friend. Spoken by a child, there’s a feeling of wide wonder and openness in what they say. They walk right up to you and make their proclamations with no malice. You are their strange new discovery. Not so with most adults. Adults need to be safe. Walking in the opposite direction. Speaking a language that they assume you don’t understand. Saying what they do out of the sides of their mouths as they snicker. You are not their new discovery. You are their joke. At least that’s how it often feels. Why else would he have said what he did? I am a six-foot tall white man. Obviously, I’m not from around here. His friend wasn’t wearing dark glasses or holding a cane and seemed to be walking well without assistance so I assumed, I think correctly, that he wasn’t blind. I then made the further assumption (also, I believe, correct) that he could see me and figure out for himself that I wasn’t Chinese. What on Earth could have possibly been added to the conversation by that comment? These aren’t small kids and Nanjing isn’t some little village where the goats get to ride the bus for free. Do these people realize what complete country bumpkins they look like when they say things like that? Those of you who read this may say that they were just trying to be friendly. Or you may say that I should be more mindful of cultural differences and adjust to the environment that I’m in. Or you may say that I’m paranoid. And in all of these cases you may be right. But think about it. Let’s say that every time you went outside, you understood only enough of the language to realize that, by the openly telltale actions of those around you, you were their source of instant entertainment, like some kind of sideshow freak or zoo animal. You’d probably get irritated, too. Cultural awareness is important-to be aware of a culture is to be aware of its people, but sometimes it also promotes a distinct lack of awareness towards elements of itself, and ourselves, that might be in need of closer examination. After all, when you come right down to it, bad manners are sometimes just that, bad manners.

Note: An edited version of this essay appeared in the July 12th, 2007 edition of Beijing Review.