These are some of the questions that leapt to my mind when I read author Joel Kotkin’s Forbes article, “Inside the Sinosphere: China’s New ‘Diaspora’ Economy.” The piece sounds the alarm against a seemingly Borg-like race: The Chinese are coming! There’s something called a Chinese diaspora! And they’re gonna control the global economy—and hand that control over to China!

Here’s my rebuttal, which was published in China Beat:

China’s rapid rise has long been heralded, but now that the country is economically leaving industrialized nations in its wake, many are trying to make sense of its success. A recent Forbes article, “Inside the Sinosphere: China’s New ‘Diaspora’ Economy” by columnist Joel Kotkin, depicts a monolithic “Sinosphere,” or ethnic Chinese sphere of influence, that relies on the overseas Chinese for funding and technological leadership. Not only is this view simplistic and misguided, but it is also stokes atavistic fears of a “yellow peril.”

Kotkin, who co-authored the piece with Hee Juat Sim of the Civil Service College of Singapore, attempts to link together several unrelated points, but I will focus only on the concept of the Sinosphere and the role that ethnic Chinese people outside of China play in China’s rise.

There are indeed ethnic Chinese people in practically every corner of the world, but this doesn’t mean there is a singular Sinosphere to speak of. Kotkin has lumped PRC nationals with Hong Kongers, Singaporeans, Taiwanese, Chinese-Americans, Chinese-Australians, and so on. He even calls Hong Kongers and Taiwanese “expatriates” from China.

In just a few sentences, Kotkin traces the growth of this Sinosphere from Zheng He, the Chinese admiral who led voyages as far as East Africa, to what he calls the “diasporic colonies” to, finally, the successful Chinese immigrants in the U.S., Canada and Australia. Kotkin conflates more than 600 years of Chinese immigration to disparate destinations and suggests, wrongly, that ethnic Chinese the world over share an agenda with the Middle Kingdom.

Today the Chinese diaspora includes tens of millions of ethnic Chinese living outside of China, Hong Kong and Taiwan. But they and their forefathers did not leave China—whether recently or centuries before—in order to expand Chinese state power. (In addition, the Chinese who settled in Southeast Asia were immigrants, and not, as Kotkin suggests, Chinese colonials.)

Like many immigrants, the vast majority of the Chinese diaspora ventured beyond China’s borders for personal reasons, usually because they were poor and economic opportunities elsewhere held greater promise, or because they longed to escape a chaotic, poor, or war-torn China. Even though many in the diaspora have maintained aspects of the Chinese language and culture, it is dangerous to equate ethnicity with nationality or allegiance. As much as Kotkin, the author of Tribes: How Race, Religion, and Identity Determine Success in the New Global Economy, prefers to view the global economy in terms of ethnic groups—the Jews, the Chinese, the Japanese, etc.—the Chinese “tribe” is one that consists of different factions.

Kotkin makes the valid point that investments from Hong Kong and Taiwan helped launch China’s manufacturing engine in the 1980s, and are helping to propel China’s economy forward today. But he mistakenly assumes these investments are driven by a desire to expand the sphere of Chinese influence, and that China relies on these Chinese “expatriates” to expand its economy.

Hong Kong and Taiwan have injected cash into China because they hoped to access the domestic Chinese market and, until a few years ago, benefited from lower tax rates—not because they shared an agenda with Beijing and worked toward an ethnic Chinese domination of the global economy. Hong Kong and Taiwan had many reasons for investing more capital in China (and earlier, too) than Western nations, chief of which were that they were next-door neighbors, foresaw huge market opportunities, and could easily do business in China because of a shared language and culture.

Kotkin highlights the fact that Hong Kong and Singapore have increased their investments in China, as if this is evidence of a collusive Sinosphere. But is the increase at all surprising, given that China has been the top destination for global foreign direct investment since 2002? Throughout Asia, countries are playing up their connection to China in order to access the Chinese market—just look at the revival of Mandarin in Indonesia, or at Kevin Rudd, the Chinese-speaking former prime minister of Australia.

China’s economy would likely continue to gallop ahead even without investments from Hong Kong or Taiwan. It is not, as Kotkin suggests, that China relies on Hong Kong, Taiwan and Singapore for capital or technological leadership. Rather, these are the economies that have managed to benefit the most from China’s rise.

Now, I definitely had delicious Chinese meals in London (thanks to Dr. Cheng and the Association of Traditional Chinese Medicine), but that’s not the food I’m talking about here. I’m talking about popular Chinese-British creations that one can usually find at takeaways, like crispy seaweed and aromatic duck. Two Londoners, Gerald and Winky (who writes a fun blog at Winkypedia), introduced me to these local specialties recently in a restaurant on Gerrard Street.

For the Cheesy Poof Generation: Crispy Seaweed

This popular appetizer is a deep-fried concoction that is simultaneously sweet, salty, fried, and crunchy. Those little white specks in the photo? Sugar, lots and lots of sugar. The dark green color comes from food coloring, since crispy seaweed isn’t made from seaweed at all, but from cabbage. I am embarrassed to admit that my taste buds have placed crispy seaweed rather high in my pantheon of irresistible junk food, just below cheesy poofs. Amazing as a late night snack.

Why hasn’t anybody found a way to package this for the supermarket shelves?

0% Seaweed, 100% British

100% "Really Cheesy". Photo by Flickr member Yaili.

Complete Abomination: Sesame Prawn Toast

This one is just incomprehensible. Take shrimp and chicken bits, slap them on toast, batter and deep fry the whole thing. For a final touch, pour sesame seeds all over the toast. Slice neatly into four wedges and serve. I imagine this might be a hit in the South or anywhere deep fried Twinkies are on the menu.

Please clog my arteries

Meh: Crispy Beef

Deep fried, shredded. Smothered in a sticky orange sauce. Sensing a pattern here?

By Flickr member Kake Pugh

Peking via the British Isles: Aromatic Crispy Duck

The English version of Peking Duck takes the iconic northern Chinese dish one step farther by — surprise! — deep frying the duck. The bird is brought to your table, at which point a waiter will proceed to shred the somewhat overcooked meat into smaller chunks. Wrap one up with scallions and hoisin sauce in a little steamed pancake. Not too shabby!

Can someone please explain the preponderance of deep frying in British-Chinese food?

Claudia behind the counter

During the weeks I spent in Prato, I often stopped by the bubble tea cafe on Via Pistoiese to talk to Claudia and Silvia, who served me numerous sweet, milky teas with chewy tapioca “pearls.” Here Korean pop videos played on the overhead TV. Young mothers came in pushing strollers and droves of teens descended after school.

Claudia and Silvia were both 18, but Claudia, who was taller and more confident, seemed older, even a bit jaded. Claudia’s family owned a pronto moda shop — not a factory, she stressed — and she had lived in Prato for seven years. Silvia, quick to smile, came to Italy four years ago. She told me her grandmother had raised her; until she was 14, Silvia lived in China while her parents worked in Italy.

Claudia had made Italian friends at her high school, but she hadn’t seen them since she dropped out of school earlier that year. Like a lot of Chinese teenagers in Prato, Claudia left school so she could work. Claudia said her Italian wasn’t good enough for her to go to college, and anyway, a college degree didn’t guarantee a job. The cafe’s hours were long — Claudia and Silvia both worked 11 hours a day — but the job was easy enough and paid as well as a job at a clothing factory. They had one day off a month.

One afternoon, two young Chinese women walked into the cafe. They peered at the menu on the wall for a while, then asked Silvia what it said. I asked, in Mandarin, where they were from.

“Italy!” the tall one said. She told me her name was Irene — pronounced “ee-rain-nay.”

Lilli and Irene after an afternoon shopping

Irene lived in Pisa and was visiting Prato for the weekend with her cousin Lilli, who lived nearby in Florence. The cousins were shopping for a dress for Irene’s 18th birthday party, which would take place in a few weeks and, based on what they said, was as important as a sweet sixteen party and prom combined. Irene expected to get a car from her parents.

We spoke in Mandarin for a while, then switched almost entirely to English.

Silvia handed a tall cup of bubble tea across the counter, and asked, “Do you want the free bread with the bubble tea?”

“What kind of bread is it?” Lilli asked, speaking Chinese. “I prefer Italian bread, and I’m not sure what this Chinese bread is like.”

Irene and Lilli were the same age as Claudia and Silvia, but they came from a different world. They were not immigrants. They spoke Italian at home and they socialized mostly with other Italians. They planned to go to college. They weren’t even the family’s first generation to be educated in Europe; Lilli’s mother had left China and moved to Portugal as a teenager. Lilli admired Jean Paul Gaulier and Alexander McQueen and wanted to be a fashion designer. She already knew how to cut cloth and sew, she said, because her relatives worked in the garment industry.

The three of us left the cafe and checked out the stores on Via Piestoiese. In the bridal shops, where dresses could be rented for EUR 35, the girls tried on dresses. It was a tumble of red and white satin, everything bedecked with sequins and tulle and lace.

But Irene wanted something super short and tight. She pointed to one dress in a storefront window. “That one’s cute,” she said, “if I can cut it in half.”

The cousins raved about Italian food. They listed all the foods they loved: milk, cheese, chocolate, nutella, coffee. “Ooh the pasta!” they said, almost groaning. They advised that I eat parmesan with honey or grapes, or pair pecorino with ham.

Lilli explained what Chinese people were like in Italy. They named their daughters Eliza and Monica, and their sons Marco and Angelo. If they were younger, they often worked in the factories, sewing buttons or small pieces.

Chinese people, Lilli said, asked why she listened to punk and rock. “They like techno,” she said, “but I don’t.”

“Chinese people always care about work work work,” Irene said. “They want to earn money –“

“They don’t know how to enjoy life,” Lilli interjected.

How Italian they sounded, I said.

“Yes, because we are Italian!” they said.

Would Claudia and Silvia ever feel the same way about Italy? Would they think of Italy as their home? I didn’t know. But I was sure that even though they spent their days in a cafe in Chinatown, they dreamed of lives with greater freedom, more money. Claudia thought she would probably get married and then open a pronto moda business with her husband, just like her parents did. In the meantime, she was looking forward to her next day off. She planned to practice driving so she could get a license.

Prato's Duomo

I’ve been in Prato, Italy for three days now, and am happily adjusting to the abundant sun and the slower pace of life. I spent last week in London and had a blast zipping about the city, riding the Tube everywhere and exploring the city’s Chinese community (more on this later). But I did this all while bundled up in layers and frequently through the rain; even a romantic mist can wear you down after a while.

Here in Prato, a Tuscan town about a half hour’s train ride from Florence, palm trees stand beside white stucco houses topped with orange roofs. Church bells chime throughout the day and no one, it seems, is in a rush. From one to three o’clock each afternoon, businesses shut their doors and everyone goes home for a leisurely lunch.

Well, not quite everyone; the Chinese in Prato keep working.

I’d read a lot about the Chinese in Prato, who’ve made headlines in recent years for the success they’ve had in the pronto moda – fast fashion – business. But still I’ve been astounded by just how many Chinese people are here.

Walking down Via Pistoiese, the long, narrow street that forms the central artery of Prato’s Chinatown, I discovered that most of the people on the streets and in the shops are Chinese. Wenzhounese is the language most commonly heard, while Mandarin is second and Italian a distant third. Of Prato’s 200,000 residents, about 40,000 are Chinese; one-fifth of the city’s population is Chinese.

On Via Pistoiese

Stretching northwest from Porta Pistoiese, a 14th-century stone gate that demarcates the edge of the old city, Via Pistoiese doesn’t at first look too different from other streets in Prato. But nearly all the store signs feature Chinese, and the shops lining the street offer just about every product and service that Chinese immigrants may need: Wenzhou-style food, fashions plucked from Shanghai (some of the Chinese here favor the all-black look you might recognize from mafia or triad movies), hair salons, graphic design services, traditional Chinese medicine, mobile phones and electronics, Chinese groceries, wedding photography studios and Chinese classes for children.

The Chinese neighborhood – some locals describe it as a ghetto – is growing, and some Chinese have also started to settle in other areas in Prato. Especially troubling to many Italians is the fact that Chinese businesses have set up shop in the center of the old town as Italian-owned businesses have shut down or moved away. Some of these endeavors, like the cafes, cater to Italian as well as Chinese customers. But others, such as the clothing stores, exclusively target the local Chinese.

Say the name “Prato” in Italy, one Pratese told me, and it’s now synonymous with Chinatown.

John with son Logan at Shanghai's Pudong Airport

Name: John Tai
Age: 34
Birthplace: Milan, Italy
Location: Shanghai, China
Occupation: System Admin

How did your family end up in Italy?

My grandparents on my father’s side emigrated from Taiwan to Italy in the 1960s, so my father went to high school in Milano. My mother, also Taiwanese, went there in the early ‘70s to study opera singing at the conservatorio.

We were one of the first Taiwanese families in Milano. At that time there were few people from China; China wasn’t open yet.

What was it like growing up Chinese / Taiwanese in Italy?

During my childhood there were some Taiwanese families in Milano, sometimes I would see them at events. Most of these families had Chinese restaurants, including us. They branched into trading and other businesses, and some worked for the Taiwanese government. Through the 80s to early 90s there was a small religious community, started by my mother. A bunch of Taiwanese people met every week at our place for worship.

My closest friends were my Italian classmates. Growing up I really didn’t feel ostracized too much. Obviously they made fun of me, but not more than any kid. I definitely felt Italian and I had plenty of friends, despite being introvert. I think the few other kids from Taiwan had similar experiences. At that time I definitely felt more Italian than Chinese.

My mother had a few Italian friends from church, but she moved back to Taiwan 10 years ago. Can you believe that she doesn’t have an Italian ID? She lived there 40 years, and she has nothing to show for it! On the other hand, my grandparents are still in Italy because my two uncles married Italian women.

How’s your Chinese?

My grandmother taught me and my brother Chinese once a week when we were kids. So I have a basic level, but I really can’t read or write Chinese, even now.

Italian is obviously my mother tongue, but I didn’t realize that I had a Milanese accent until I went to the South for a summer, and the people there told me I sounded Milanese.

How have things changed for the Chinese in Italy?

I honestly don’t know how the recent Italian born Chinese feel. It’s different for them, because they have a huge community now, whereas at my time there were only a few Taiwanese families.

What’s most Italian about you?

A moment of levity before the kids arrived

When I speak Italian I gesticulate a lot. I’m sure you’ve heard of Italian hand gestures (some normal, some very offensive). But when I speak in Chinese, I hardly move my hands.

Will you go back to Italy?

In 2002 I joined my Taiwanese/South African wife in Shanghai and unfortunately I haven’t been back to Italy. I will definitely go back to visit relatives and friends; that’s what I miss most about Italy. It’s just a matter of logistics and finance, what with having two little kids and living in China. Being away from Italy, the culture, the language, it makes me feel less and less Italian.

On the other hand, I don’t feel Chinese or Taiwanese either. A man without a nation, or to put it nicely, a citizen of the world. I don’t even want to think about what my kids will feel like, having an Italian passport, but not even speaking the language!

Cover photo of Italian stamps by Flickr member Lutrus.

Photo from Flickr member tsuacctnt

True or False: “The Chinese are very clever. They’re not like other immigrants, who can be pretty thick.“

This quote by an Italian textile manufacturer comes from a lengthy article in today’s New York Times about how the Chinese in Prato, Italy have given Italy’s fast fashion industry a Chinese makeover — at least on the business side.

Is the statement entertaining or prejudiced? Either way, it reflects the attitude of some Italians: Better the Chinese than the Romanians or Albanians, but the Chinese are still a little too clever. Italy’s one in a growing list of countries (e.g. France, Kyrgystan, Angola, Zambia) having trouble absorbing their new Chinese presence. On the one hand, Chinese immigrants work hard, build businesses and don’t make a fuss. On the other hand, they out-compete locals and keep to themselves.

I recently talked about the problems facing the Chinese in Italy with Laijun Song, a former Bain consultant who plans to go into business advising Italian and Chinese companies. Song, who immigrated to Italy from Wenzhou when he was 10, lives in Rome. (Also, see my posts about the Chinese Italians here.)

Q: Why did your family come to Italy?

At that time China was still quite poor. My mother’s sister was already here, so we joined her. We got visas; if you have an employer, regular work, accommodation, then you can apply for family reunion.

The Italians are very warm, but they still keep a kind of cultural barrier. They’ve faced massive immigration just in the last 20 years, so they are less open than some other countries.

Q: Do you see similarities between Chinese and Italian culture?

They’re both very traditional. Italian parents care a lot about their children; they keep their children at home until 30, 35 years old — this doesn’t happen in Northern Europe. Chinese parents are similar, always thinking about their children, always trying to build up their children’s future.

From a production point of view, the Italian system is based on small companies; the Italian clothing industry is very fragmented, mostly made up of small brands. Wenzhou’s business structure is similar.

Q: What’s the relationship like between Chinese and Italians?

The Chinese community here is silent and insular. Even young teenagers tend to socialize only with other Chinese. But if you close yourself off and don’t want to learn Italian, then you put yourself into a lower social status compared to the Italians. Italians can feel this and take advantage of the situation. We must ask for respect from the locals, and make clear how we are contributing to the economy.

I have known people who were very badly treated by the Italian police, but they are afraid [to say anything] because they don’t have the right knowledge, the language or the right skills. The Wenzhounese are very brave. And some are very uneducated. They are able to not only survive but also live in a context in which they don’t know culture, language or law.

I’d like to see in the next future a community that is more confident, more integrated into the Italian community. The first thing to do is to raise the education level among the young Chinese here; we still have a low literacy level. We must open ourselves to the local people; Italy is going to be a multiethnic country.

Q: How’s the Chinese food in Italy?

It’s very standard food, like “Cantonese rice,” “sweet and sour chicken,” fried ice cream. But this is just for Italians, not for Chinese. Sometimes I criticize Chinese people: Why do you all offer the same product? You should diversify!

Q: Do you identify with Italy?

I am a hybrid. My thinking is closer to that of a very traditional Chinese, but my knowledge and my culture is like an Italian’s. I appreciate the romantic vision of life that Italy has, the cultural heritage. I’m lucky that I was brought to Italy, rather than to countries that are more commercial, like the U.K. and U.S.

1)    Chinese vs. Japanese. According to Life magazine (Dec. 22, 1941), the Chinaman has “parchment yellow complexion” and “never has rosy cheeks,” whereas a Jap has a “heavy beard” and “less frequent epicanthic fold.” Are you getting a whiff of physiognomy? Me too. Stop by Urban Outfitters for your phrenology bust.

During WWII Chinese became the “good Asians,” were characterized as hardworking, intelligent, brave and religious. The Japanese were portrayed as sly, treacherous, cruel and warlike. Got it? This could have helped you ace the AllLookSame quiz that used to be online.

MOCA exhibit: Life magazine, Dec. 22, 1941

Good Chinese

Evil Japanese

2)    The Repeal That Wasn’t. The 1943 bogus repeal of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 allowed only 105 Chinese immigrants into the U.S. each year.

by Flickr member VeganWarrior

3)    No Wonder I’ve Never Tasted Chop Suey! The dish was an American invention. In 1920 two friends from the University of Michigan, Wally Smith and Korean-born Ilhan New, founded the La Choy Food Products Company. La Choy’s products allowed any restaurant to serve “Chinese” dishes like chow mein, chop suey, egg foo young.



4)    Dragon Lady or Madame Butterfly? Screen star and second-generation Chinese American Anna May Wong (1905-1961) couldn’t kiss white men on screen (even if the men were in yellowface) because of anti-miscegenation laws. She also lost out on roles because she was “too Chinese to play a Chinese,” MGM executives told her. (So who did play Chinese characters in yellowface? Oh, John Wayne, Katharine Hepburn, Mickey Rooney, and many others) Cool video and voiceover by Ming Na.

From MOCA: Anna May Wong's immigration document

By Flickr member piccasoswoman

5)    “Poison Jim” the Squirrel Trapper. Never heard of this dude? Me either. Apparently he discovered the mustard plant growing as a weed in Salinas Valley in 1865 and sold the seeds to the French, paving the way for the commercial crop that would produce the yellow condiment Americans love. Oh, and he was Chinese.

6)    Move Over, Ellis Island. Less famous than its contemporary in New York harbor, Angel Island Immigration Station (1910-1940) near San Francisco processed the unwanted would-be immigrants: those banned by the Chinese Exclusion Act as well as people from Cuba, Mexico and other Latin American countries.

7)    Charlie Chinaman, Every Man. The stock name for the Chinese (and other Asians too), even in legal documents. Merchants got to go by “John Chinaman”; lowly servants were “Charlies”.

I may never need to eat again.

In the name of research for my upcoming trip to Kingston, Jamaica, I headed to De Bamboo Express, a Chinese-Jamaican restaurant in Prospect Lefferts Garden, just two subway stops away. Outside, the neighborhood was a mix of hair salons, 99 cent stores and restaurants advertising curried goat; music pumping from parked cars provided the soundtrack of the streets. (Nod to AppetiteForChina for the tip on De Bamboo Express.)

I ordered the jerk chicken fried rice ($4), which was peppery, moist and generally delicious. It’s hard to see in the photo, but the portion was enough for two; I practically gobbled down the whole thing. Now I’m completely stuffed and have no desire to eat again. Or at least not until tomorrow. Before today all I’ve tasted of Jamrock/West Indian cuisine have been patties (from Christie’s on Flatbush), but I can safely say I’m a fan. Though I wonder how people get anything done in Jamaica – I battled serious food coma after lunch. Burp.

I wanted to talk to the proprietor, a man who spoke a Jamaican patois and looked like he might be of Indian descent, but the constant stream of customers lining up to order made this impossible. Take a look at the menu and you’ll see what everyone’s chowing on; the mix of Jamaican, Indian and Chinese food means there’s everything from roti and plait bread to cow foot soup and jerk lamb lo mein. (Can someone explain what “cook up rice” is?) Wash it down with a Guyana or a Ting.

Now, to the gym.

De Bamboo Express 772 Flatbush Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11226 (718-469-0117)

Hankering for more West Indian food? Check out this West Indian restaurant crawl at Mouth of the Border.

A Sanlitun fella

CCTV Tower, aka "The Pants". Photo by Flickr member Speccycol.

I’ll miss a lot about life in Beijing: the thrill of seeing my corner of this old Chinese city evolve at lightning speed; multitudes of men rocking hot pink shirts like they’re white button-downs; the total embrace of public napping; lovebirds in matching outfits; learning to think in another language; great friends; dragon boating in Houhai; Chinglish; the Chinese people’s bemused disregard for official rules; everything being possible and negotiable (see previous); and lastly, the expat penchant for partying any night of the week.

Caught in a bad romance? Nah

Victorious! With coach Heming after a dragonboat race

The husband and I flew to Toronto on an Air Canada flight packed with Chinese Canadian families. Immigrants in cultural flux, most of the parents spoke Cantonese or Mandarin while their kids gabbed in English. (Note to U.S. travelers to China: Air Canada has more leg room and better service than Continental. Wish I’d known about this about six transcontinental flights ago.)

In a sign of how far away we now were from China, that night we ate dinner — cheesesteak sandwich and iceberg lettuce salad — in a chain restaurant that had humongous moose and deer heads mounted on the walls. The next morning, we arrived in New York City.

And then, all of a sudden, it was over. Like a dream.

The Forbidden City, center of the (Chinese) universe

A family at the Piazza del Duomo in Milan. Photo by Flickr member Bjørn Giesenbauer

Ciao!

Earlier this week I found myself chatting in Chinese with two Italians — Italian-Chinese, to be exact — because it was the only language we had in common.

This is one of the things I’ve loved about living abroad: the swirl of different languages. I remember going to a party two years ago, soon after I’d moved to Beijing, and being baffled and delighted by the novelty of Chinese as the lingua franca. I used my rusty Mandarin in a conversation that included a Belgian colleague, a Brit, and a Beijinger. The Belgian and the Brit both had Mandarin that put mine to shame.

Back to the Chinese-Italians, two fun, affable fellows named Francesco and Bai. Francisco’s an expat in Beijing. Bai, who was in town for work, lives in Prato and heads up the Associazione Seconde Generazioni Cinesi — The Association of Second-Generation Chinese.

We met up at the Pavilion bar at the end of a blazing hot day, the kind that reminds you that Beijing is actually next door to a gigantic desert. If I had any questions about whether Francisco and Bai were more European or more Chinese, their two-cheek kiss-hellos gave me my answer. (The Chinese greeting would have been a light handshake.)

Speaking in Chinese — and occasionally to each other in rapid fire Italiano — Francesco and Bai told me how they had immigrated as children to a new country. Just as my family left Taiwan for the U.S., their families followed a well-trod path from Wenzhou, a city in southern China, to the European metropolis where Wenzhounese had been settling for decades: Paris.

Francesco told me his parents were soon lured to Milan by the promise of Italian greencards. They worked in restaurants for a few years, saved up money, then opened up a business of their own. Bai’s family ended up in Prato, where many Chinese immigrants work in garment factories.

We compared notes on what it was like growing up. In elementary school Bai and Francesco were among the few students who were italo-cinesi, and at the start they didn’t even speak Italian. But things worked out, and they didn’t have any real problems.

Me, I suffered what I’d consider a normal amount of teasing. It wasn’t just because I was a different ethnicity. I spoke English, but I had the misfortune of being bookish, wearing uncool clothes and being flat-chested in a classroom with plenty of pubescent, curvy Caribbean girls. Still, I had many classmates who were immigrants themselves too, and all in all, I came out relatively unscarred.

Italians have a tight-knit, somewhat insular community. So do the Chinese. What happens when the two are forced to coexist?

In today’s Italy, Bai said, there are more and more Chinese immigrants, and problems have cropped up. Some are minor cultural scuffs, like some Italians complaining that Chinese dried meats are stinky. Others, like the recent police raids, reflect deeper conflicts.

It’s not like in the United States, Bai pointed out to me. Italy isn’t a nation of immigrants, even though it now has four to five million residents originally from Romania, Albania, Morocco and other countries. Plenty of Italians have emigrated to other places, but the country simply isn’t used to having immigrants, he said. For example, children who are born in Italy to immigrants have to wait until they reach 18 years of age to apply for citizenship.

“You grow up someplace, that country should be yours,” said Bai. “But sometimes the small things get at you.”