When I was growing up in California, one of my favorite books was the adventures of Sun Wukong, the mischievous monkey from the 16th-century Chinese story “Journey to the West.” I loved his bright eyes and wild capers, and he and his variegated group of adventurers felt like a close companion in childhood.
So it was shocking to see his name mentioned in a recent Chinese propaganda video. Over a quick montage that mixed waving flags with satellite clippings and other symbols of Chinese development, a rapper presented the achievements of the Communist Party, from supercomputers to poverty alleviation, and meant in English: “Monkey King to the West , legendary dragon to heaven, you all know it’s time for Chinese miracle. ”
My heart sank. As I moved to Beijing as a correspondent of the Wall Street Journal in 2014, I saw that the government of Xi Jinping regularly called on Chinese culture to strengthen the government, and the ‘great civilization’ of the country and the efforts of the party to preserve and maintain it. But it felt especially sad to also see a beloved icon of childhood in the attempt.
What does it mean to love and be proud of a culture, but not the government that serves as the main stimulant? For members of the Chinese diaspora, such questions can be tricky, all the more so in a time of growing distrust of China and its leaders. In a recent poll by Pew among 14 countries, for example, there is an unfavorable view of China, with a median of 78% of respondents saying they do not trust Mr. Xi does not do the right thing in the world.
As a child in the US in the 1990s, my identity as someone of ethnic Chinese descent mostly felt like a cultural issue: dim sum-sales, Chinese lessons, participation in the San Francisco New Year Parade. But fast forward to today, and as Beijing takes on a more conspicuous role on the world stage, politics and culture now feel much more confused.