When I returned from studying in Beijing, a lot of people asked me what it was like to live in a Communist country. Part of me felt like I should have said it was awful, that I felt repressed as an individual and was glad to be back living under a democracy.
That is the answer many would expect, but to be honest, it didn’t feel a whole lot different. Sure, YouTube was blocked 75 percent of the time, and our campus had large message boards detailing the history of the Communist party in China.
There was even a library owned by the program I studied with that excluded native Chinese university students due to the large collection of books on controversial subjects. And while there were moments when my friends and I encountered the sometimes-illogical strictness of the Chinese bureaucratic system, we would just laugh and say, “Oh, China.”
That became our motto for the semester. Even when we had to take cold showers, or accidentally ordered raw chicken feet because of some linguistic SNAFU, we laughed because there was so much more to appreciate than to complain about.
We were 45 minutes away by train from Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, we were at a university with a live goat pen on campus and across the street was a line of vendors selling the most delicious, dirt-cheap (if not potentially harmful) street food. Our lives had suddenly become so much more interesting, and everyday details of our new surroundings constantly amazed us. We were so busy absorbing this new culture that Communism just seemed to be a minor detail in the complexity of China.
There were times when I almost forgot about the country’s politics. Honestly, I preferred to ignore the questionable actions of the Communist Party; I would only discuss politics with my Chinese friends when they brought up the subject. And even then I walked on eggshells, not wanting to offend them with my disapproval.
When my Chinese roommate talked reverently about “our Chairman Mao,” I just smiled and nodded. I was a student and a guest in her beloved country; I was in no position to remind her that the Cultural Revolution ruined the lives of millions of Chinese, especially since both her father and grandfather were in the army. It was not important to me to debate Mao’s ethics or the efficacy of the Communist party with Chinese students. My goal for the semester was to learn the language and to study China as much as I could, not to convince my friends that their government was flawed.
One of the main things I learned from living in China is that it’s easy to make judgments about other countries and their political systems when you learn about them through the news or textbooks. You are distanced, removed from any personal connection to that country. So when people ask me about living in a Communist country with that hint of scorn that most Americans attach to anything concerning Communism, I almost feel a little hurt.
When I think of China, I don’t think immediately of the government. I think first of my roommate, my Chinese friends, my American friends in China, street food, the Chinese language, bicycles, karaoke, fried rice and dumplings, taro-flavored ice cream, over-night trains, taxis and subways, red New Years signs taped to front doors, Houhai Lake and so much more. My experience in China taught me not to focus on negative aspects and preconceptions of a country, but to absorb and learn as much as I could while I was there.
Sara Brouillette is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences, studying in Beijing.
