Back in Old Shanghai
And the moon and the stars are the same ones you see
It’s the same old sun up in the sky
And your voice in my ear is like heaven to me
Like the breezes here in old Shanghai
John Denver, Shanghai Breezes
Looking at Pudong from The Bund in 2018.
I first arrived in Shanghai in August of 1995. The Bund was underwhelming and relatively empty. I popped into a cafe and people on the streets filled the window and watched me eat. People asked me to (use my own camera) and take a picture of them—still not sure how they expected to get the photo. A lot has changed in the last almost 30 years.
I’ve been to Shanghai many times since. I’ve spoken at universities, and to groups of prospective international students and their parents. I’ve transitioned through Pudong airport (always getting delayed!) as well as the various rail stations. I’ve visited offices, factories, friends, and famous restaurants. But this next week will be the first time that I’ll be teaching at a university there, and the first time I’ll be back in Mainland China since 2019.
So I thought I should get some help with prep for both teaching and staying for a few weeks in one of China’s largest and most famous cities.
Chinese Professor’s perception of teaching in China
Last week I had a wonderful hotpot dinner with a recently retired professor from Shanghai and his wife, my own wife (also Chinese), a Chinese professor from Hong Kong now teaching in the US, and his wife, who works for a global non-profit. The two Chinese/HK couples have both immigrated to the US within the last year.
Sidenote: In my opinion, the appeal of hotpot isn’t the food, though sometimes it can be quite tasty, it’s slow and there is never enough. Also, there is never any dessert—what’s the point of a dinner without dessert?! No, even in a great hotpot meal the value is in the conversation and the relationships. It’s basically an excuse to spend hours talking with friends over constantly hot and varied foods and drinks. Doesn’t get much more Chinese than hotpot!
Below are my post-meal notes of the Shanghai professor’s take on what I need to know about going back to Shanghai later this month to teach global strategy at a university. Reflexive note: I recognize the bias in this perspective; most involved are over 50, have advanced degrees, and now live in the US.
Professor:
Teaching the younger generation is really tough nowadays. They only know a prosperous, strong China, and they are also products of the one-child policy. In addition, because they are in a university they are likely from relatively privileged backgrounds. They don’t even know what their parents went through let alone their grandparents—no one has told them anything about the past.
This combination means that they are proud, nationalistic, and enabled. They think that China is the best and the US is the enemy; “even second-graders are taught this.” If a professor says something they don’t like, or don’t agree with, or is politically incorrect they will call him out. They will make formal accusations and get the professor censored or fired. It’s quite tense right now.
Don’t talk about anything controversial—politics, legal issues, foreign policy. Even something (true) like saying that China isn’t the very best at everything could be problematic.
This includes talking positively about other countries. Complimenting the US, Japan, or SK could be politically sensitive. And it goes without saying that you don’t want to go anywhere near Taiwan—no examples, no comments, no references, etc. There are some good Taiwan case studies but the potential for mispeaking is too great. Just don’t go there.
Just “kiss their ass” (拍马屁). Ignore questions that are baiting or even honestly curious but could be sensitive. In that same vein, don’t ask questions that could get students in trouble. Be sensitive to their inability to independently answer questions about sensitive topics.
There will be someone in your class who is there just to watch you and report on what you say and how you say it. Likely also someone who is in charge of knowing where you are at all times and tracking with whom you meet outside of class.
Off-campus, don’t take pics of anything government-related or “negative” (car accidents, fights, dirty or undeveloped areas), and don’t be confrontational. People in China are now officially incentivized to report on the activities of others, especially foreigners. Understand that minding your own business still might get you in trouble.
But still, go out and participate in every opportunity the university gives you, it will be the best way to get to know the staff and some of the students. They are good people and you can make great connections for future cooperation.
In class stick to the textbook. It’s your cover. Your US university approved it, and the Chinese university (tacitly) has as well by allowing you to use it (and, in my case, by asking for a copy). If you’re challenged, refer back to the book.
Teach things simply and clearly. If you’re too academic the students will complain that you’re not a good teacher. Students don’t know what they don’t know so if they don’t understand something they’ll blame you. Use case studies as much as possible—let the events tell the story and have the students use models to discuss what they mean.
Emphasize your practical experience as well as your academic credentials. The fact that you're a professional in addition to being an academic sets you apart. “Chinese professors know books, but can’t do anything.” Everyone in China is so impressed with the Taiwanese professors who created the 85C bakery—“professors who actually do business!” They are unique in Chinese academia.
The Bund in August 1995.
My thoughts:
Though I previously lived in China for almost two decades, the last time I was in a Chinese classroom was in Chongqing in 1995. At that time, China was still recovering from PTST (Post Tiananmen Stress Disorder). Before I started teaching the Department Chair told me specifically to not talk about the “three Ts:” Tiananmen, Tibet, Taiwan, and religion. Over the course of the year, I found out that I had a student observer in every class whose job was to report on my content. And I had to register where I was going and when I would return every time I left campus; “for [my] own safety,” of course.
Outside of class, everyone was very personal, helpful, and kind. On many occasions, Chinese teachers would plan dinners at my apartment because “we can speak freely there, they won’t listen to us.
Fast forward to today. I’m excited to spend time in Shanghai, where previously I’ve only been to attend trade shows, visit factories, and speak at educational and corporate events.
I have WeChat but other than that account, I’ve been told by colleagues in defense in Singapore and at universities in the US to not take any personal electronic equipment. I’ll get a clean kit (blank laptop) from my university and take a phone that I’ll wipe before and after using there. All this may sound paranoid, but one of my buddies in the aerospace industry says that China, now including Hong Kong, is one of the places where the government will have access to your phone in less than 5 minutes after you deplane. His company won’t allow anyone to travel there without a clean kit. And there are some universities in the US that already require this level of protection too, though mine does not yet (they are discussing it, though).
One additional perspective.
Yesterday I spoke with a QA professional who has been working full time in China for more than 7 years now. He’s fluent in Chinese and expects to be in China for years to come, at least “until it gets too uncomfortable to stay.” He mentioned that while it’s much better being a foreigner in China now than it was even last year, it can still be a bit dicey at times. At least people don’t get up and move away from him when he’s on the subway anymore. He’s pleased with his position in a foreign company and likes his work but recognizes that as a white male, he’s got some advantages that others do not. Of course, he’s not still not considered Chinese or local, despite education, fluency, and time in country, but “it’s more comfortable for [him] than for others.” “There is a clear distrust of foreigners and many times it’s just not worth it to engage in conversations with some people.”
He is like me and many others I know, who love China, many of whom even have Chinese families—but the environment, for many reasons, foreign and domestic, has become more difficult than it was before.
As it always has been, Social position makes living in China more or less tolerable. White-collar professionals who speak Chinese and who are both socially and professionally privileged find it much easier (insulated?) to navigate the frustrations of Chinese society and politics. Living in a gated community and working in an MNC is very different than living in a Chinese apartment complex and working for a Chinese company or SME. Not just in degrees of unfiltered contact with people but also in terms of the number of interactions with people who are not familiar with foreigners, or foreign news, and have never been abroad.
