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PJ Final Project by Austin Wang A Weekend at the Wong's Family Association |
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The Wong's Family association is located on Beach Street, next to the Chinatown Gate, the center of activity in Boston's Chinatown. This is an especially active spot on the weekends, when Chinatown locals join early-rising non-Chinese Bostonians for Dim Sum at the restaurants on Tyler Street, shoppers bargain loudly as they gather food for the weekly family dinner, while stress-free youngsters romp in the local playground. Apart from all the chaos of the street, members of the Wong's family association prepare for a day of learning and relaxation. The association was established in the 1960s in Chinatown to act as a community body and gathering place where members can socialize. Since the mid-1970s, its headquarters has been relocated to No. 78 Beach Street, and it has served as the center of their social, managerial, and ceremonial functions, as well as a general activity center. The two prior tenants were dress manufacturers; hence the building witnessed the garment industry boom in the 20s. One is reminded of its past by its industrial stone facades and utilitarian interior layout. The trek up to the main offices on the fifth floor took me pass two leased out offices, a library stocked with Chinese cultural reading material, and an open function room where various classes are held. In theory, only members of the Wong family can join the association. When I first raised the idea of photographing the association, I received nothing but frowns until I pointed out that I am a Wang - and in reality Wangs are also eligible to join the Association. Which made Association members more receptive to having me photograph. A volunteer at the Chinese Historical Society of New England, who happens to be a family friend, introduced me to her brother-in-law, who is a member. After several phone calls to his friend, who would be present on the following Sunday, I was instructed to arrive on the fifth floor of the headquarters at noon that day. The fifth floor is the neural center of the association and houses its various units. The president's office, the women's association office, meeting hall, and ancestral hall intersect in a central courtyard illuminated by a skylight. The atmosphere is jovial and communal; the experienced elderly practicing Tai Chi contrasts a young girl completing her homework. It exudes the qualities of a home where the family members are going about their own business. The ancestral hall is a traditional Chinese family altar: a portrait of the founding fathers sits in the center, with customary ornaments and offerings, and a large (and complete) collection of name plates of past members surrounds the altar. An American flag juxtaposed to the altar symbolizes symbolizes the union of the American values with the Chinese heritage. Almost as revered are the people listed on the donations board, along with the photos of their beneficiaries, who are students attending high school on scholarships. I barely had a chance to relax when a friendly woman in her 60s approached me and offered me tea. After enquiring about my reason for being there (apparently they don't see young members there often) and discovering that I was a student at MIT, she immediately launched into an academic biography of her children. Mrs. Wong's three elder children graduated from MIT, BU, and Simmons University, while her youngest daughter attends Mount Holyoke College. She reacted adversely to the prospect of an interview, but I did not have time to anyways: the Tai Chi class had finished and now it was time for the Mandarin class. Mandarin class takes place on the fourth floor in the large multipurpose function room. The setting is almost clinical, with white vinyl floors and sparse décor; the Chinese lanterns and red pillars seem oddly out of place. Nonetheless, the room is extremely well-lit, with a series of windows lining East and South walls, resulting in a light and inviting ambiance. The Mandarin teacher is from China, and I practice my rusty Mandarin with her; she complements my Chinese, which is an encouraging yet humbling experience since I know my Chinese is only good by American Chinese standards. The class acknowledges my presence and continues their Pinyin exercises, which involves enunciating the phonic alphabet. It only after several shots with my camera that I realized the teacher was the youngest person in the class, probably by twenty years or so. Suddenly there was a burst of laughter when the roleplaying exercise involved a conversation at a 40th birthday party. The teacher, class, and I all laugh together, but for different reasons. The
classes ended and the pupils took a quick tea
break before the dancing lesson. I took this opportunity to interview
one of the members. Mrs. Wong immigrated to the US in 1966 with her
parents; she didn't know English at the time, but I didn't detect a
hint of foreign accent. The interview quickly became a monologue about
her children and her theory on raising kids away from home. To instill
a sense of patriotism, she told bedtime stories every night of Chinese
history; when the children got tired of bedtime stories, she would entice
them with the possibility of a bubble bath, during which she read Chinese
books to them. Even with such a strict ethic in education, she is still open to her children's interests; Mrs. Wong attended Harvard night school and learnt Spanish, Latin, and French so that she could practice with her kids at home. It was a family tradition for her to wear an apron with three pockets on the front, and in each pocket was a collection of vocabulary cards for each of the languages; an example of language barrier between parent and child that is uncommon in the typical immigrant household, in that the languages include foreign languages other than the mother tongue. By day, her work involved data entry at a local Chinatown office; by night, she devoted time to her kids. Her efforts paid off: her daughter held no interest in Chinese as a child, but pursued a degree in Chinese Linguistics during college. Her eldest son is a hotel manager, while the youngest daughter is studying graphic design at RISD. Now that her children have settled down, her hectic lifestyle as a devoted mother has also changed, she spends weekends at the association with her husband, taking classes in Mandarin, ballroom dancing, and Tai Chi. When asked about her commitment to learning, she said: "It's for my own benefit - Tai Chi is good for your health. It is also important to set a good example." Mr. Wong interrupts cautiously since the dancing lesson has begun, and I've stolen his partner from him. The ballroom dancing lessons seem to reinforce the duality of Eastern and Western culture at the association, but more obviously, they seem to be much more fun than Tai Chi or Mandarin classes. Couples spin around the open space in harmony among the red pillars and lanterns, ones without partners, look on and tap their feet with the music. It must be hard work since before you know it, everyone is taking another tea break. This time, there's even pastry. A woman in her sixties forced a home baked cake into my hands, and remarks: "Julie bakes this every week for the women's association meeting, it's delicious. Eat it." Madeline Wong immediately comes across has a successful woman; her sincere and candid approach created a reassuring familiarity even with strangers. After several exchanges, it clear that she has drastically different priorities, and also a very different background to Mrs. Wong. She is a second generation immigrant, whose father moved to the US in the 30s. Having been involved in a family restaurant business since its founding, she is an enterprising women who does not take no for an answer. Her persistence has promoted her into many positions of leadership in an environment where female leaders are a rarity: from her being the president of the women's association, to overseeing the operation of the family business, she commands respect and radiates authority. After mentioning that I was interested in seeing how a traditional Chinese family business operated, she promptly invited me to her restaurant for dinner that night. How naïve I was, the establishment was the exact opposite of the traditional family business I had imagined. Kowloon, named after the peninsula across the harbor from Hong Kong Island, is the largest Chinese restaurant in New England; on a busy night, the restaurant caters to over 1,200 customers. Madeline's father founded the business in 1950, a sizable restaurant at the time, which she helped grew to its maturity today. It wasn't just its size that was unconventional, its resemblance to an American bar/lounge was also quite striking: Keno games and large screen TVs at the lounge, the themed dinning rooms with extravagant interiors have names like Volcano Bay, Tiki Lagoon, Luau Room, and standup comedy at night. It almost seems like a casino who adopted Chinatown as its theme; in that respect, it is quite authentic. I had experienced this sort of commercial manipulation of Asian cultural stereotypes before, but never by on such a scale and never by a Chinese family. My distraught reached a pinnacle when the tour led to the oversized function room, at which a standup comedy act was performing. The comedian cracked a mild racist joke, and the crowd roared. My appall was not towards the comedian or the crowd, but towards Madeline's stoic ignorance to what takes place in her establishment. Such different attitudes towards patriotism between the first and second generation immigrants lend some insight into the effects of immigration. |