Overseas Chinese

The Price of Malaysia's Racism

2011-02-08T04:05:00.000-08:00

The Price of Malaysia's Racism
By JOHN R. MALOTT
Malaysia's national tourism agency promotes the country as "a bubbling, bustling melting pot of races and religions where Malays, Indians, Chinese and many other ethnic groups live together in peace and harmony." Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Tun Razak echoed this view when he announced his government's theme, One Malaysia. "What makes Malaysia unique," Mr. Najib said, "is the diversity of our peoples. One Malaysia's goal is to preserve and enhance this unity in diversity, which has always been our strength and remains our best hope for the future."

If Mr. Najib is serious about achieving that goal, a long look in the mirror might be in order first. Despite the government's new catchphrase, racial and religious tensions are higher today than when Mr. Najib took office in 2009. Indeed, they are worse than at any time since 1969, when at least 200 people died in racial clashes between the majority Malay and minority Chinese communities. The recent deterioration is due to the troubling fact that the country's leadership is tolerating, and in some cases provoking, ethnic factionalism through words and actions.

For instance, when the Catholic archbishop of Kuala Lumpur invited the prime minister for a Christmas Day open house last December, Hardev Kaur, an aide to Mr. Najib, said Christian crosses would have to be removed. There could be no carols or prayers, so as not to offend the prime minister, who is Muslim. Ms. Kaur later insisted that she "had made it clear that it was a request and not an instruction," as if any Malaysian could say no to a request from the prime minister's office.

Similar examples of insensitivity abound. In September 2009, Minister of Home Affairs Hishammuddin Onn met with protesters who had carried the decapitated head of a cow, a sacred animal in the Hindu religion, to an Indian temple. Mr. Hishammuddin then held a press conference defending their actions. Two months later, Defense Minister Ahmad Zahid Hamidi told Parliament that one reason Malaysia's armed forces are overwhelmingly Malay is that other ethnic groups have a "low spirit of patriotism." Under public pressure, he later apologized.

The leading Malay language newspaper, Utusan Melayu, prints what opposition leader Lim Kit Siang calls a daily staple of falsehoods that stoke racial hatred. Utusan, which is owned by Mr. Najib's political party, has claimed that the opposition would make Malaysia a colony of China and abolish the Malay monarchy. It regularly attacks Chinese Malaysian politicians, and even suggested that one of them, parliamentarian Teresa Kok, should be killed.

This steady erosion of tolerance is more than a political challenge. It's an economic problem as well.

Once one of the developing world's stars, Malaysia's economy has underperformed for the past decade. To meet its much-vaunted goal of becoming a developed nation by 2020, Malaysia needs to grow by 8% per year during this decade. That level of growth will require major private investment from both domestic and foreign sources, upgraded human skills, and significant economic reform. Worsening racial and religious tensions stand in the way.

Almost 500,000 Malaysians left the country between 2007 and 2009, more than doubling the number of Malaysian professionals who live overseas. It appears that most were skilled ethnic Chinese and Indian Malaysians, tired of being treated as second-class citizens in their own country and denied the opportunity to compete on a level playing field, whether in education, business, or government. Many of these emigrants, as well as the many Malaysian students who study overseas and never return (again, most of whom are ethnic Chinese and Indian), have the business, engineering, and scientific skills that Malaysia needs for its future. They also have the cultural and linguistic savvy to enhance Malaysia's economic ties with Asia's two biggest growing markets, China and India.

Of course, one could argue that discrimination isn't new for these Chinese and Indians. Malaysia's affirmative action policies for its Malay majority—which give them preference in everything from stock allocation to housing discounts—have been in place for decades. So what is driving the ethnic minorities away now?

First, these minorities increasingly feel that they have lost a voice in their own government. The Chinese and Indian political parties in the ruling coalition are supposed to protect the interests of their communities, but over the past few years, they have been neutered. They stand largely silent in the face of the growing racial insults hurled by their Malay political partners. Today over 90% of the civil service, police, military, university lecturers, and overseas diplomatic staff are Malay. Even TalentCorp, the government agency created in 2010 that is supposed to encourage overseas Malaysians to return home, is headed by a Malay, with an all-Malay Board of Trustees.

Second, economic reform and adjustments to the government's affirmative action policies are on hold. Although Mr. Najib held out the hope of change a year ago with his New Economic Model, which promised an "inclusive" affirmative action policy that would be, in Mr. Najib's words, "market friendly, merit-based, transparent and needs-based," he has failed to follow through. This is because of opposition from right-wing militant Malay groups such as Perkasa, which believe that a move towards meritocracy and transparency threatens what they call "Malay rights."

But stalling reform will mean a further loss in competitiveness and slower growth. It also means that the cronyism and no-bid contracts that favor the well-connected will continue. All this sends a discouraging signal to many young Malaysians that no matter how hard they study or work, they will have a hard time getting ahead.

Mr. Najib may not actually believe much of the rhetoric emanating from his party and his government's officers, but he tolerates it because he needs to shore up his Malay base. It's politically convenient at a time when his party faces its most serious opposition challenge in recent memory—and especially when the opposition is challenging the government on ethnic policy and its economic consequences. One young opposition leader, parliamentarian Nurul Izzah Anwar, the daughter of former deputy prime minister Anwar Ibrahim, has proposed a national debate on what she called the alternative visions of Malaysia's future—whether it should be a Malay nation or a Malaysian nation. For that, she earned the wrath of Perkasa; the government suggested her remark was "seditious."

Malaysia's government might find it politically expedient to stir the racial and religious pot, but its opportunism comes with an economic price tag. Its citizens will continue to vote with their feet and take their money and talents with them. And foreign investors, concerned about racial instability and the absence of meaningful economic reform, will continue to look elsewhere to do business.

Mr. Malott was the U.S. Ambassador to Malaysia, 1995-1998.

Mayor Lee Leads Growing Asian-American Clout

2011-01-16T03:39:00.000-08:00

Mayor Lee Leads Growing Asian-American Clout
Adithya Sambamurthy/The Bay Citizen

The Asian Law Caucus was a fledgling civil rights organization when Edwin M. Lee began there as a law clerk more than three decades ago.

Working out of two dingy rooms above a garment shop in Chinatown, Mr. Lee and a handful of lawyers defended poor immigrants whose concerns included the threat of deportation and restaurant owners who refused to pay their wages.

Now the Asian Law Caucus is putting the final touches on its new 9,000-square-foot office with floor-to-ceiling windows near the foot of the Transamerica Pyramid. Mr. Lee, the group’s most famous alumnus, is settling into a new office as well.

Mr. Lee’s rise to become the city’s first Asian-American mayor — an interim appointment last week that followed Gavin Newsom’s election as lieutenant governor — mirrors the 40-year arc of a handful of community organizations that sprang up in the 1970s to represent the Bay Area’s growing Asian population. Those groups now wield considerable political clout.

Until these organizations emerged, “the Chinese community didn’t have that engaged, political grass roots that could mobilize,” said Jason McDaniel, a professor of political science at San Francisco State University. “It’s easy to see that all coming to fruition now.”

Today, nonprofit organizations like the Chinatown Community Development Center have set up “a pipeline of young Asian activists,” said Randy Shaw, the executive director of the Tenderloin Housing Clinic, which operates many of the city’s low-income housing units. “They’re trained as organizers and then they go out into the world,” he said. “This is the future.”

While some local Asian-American politicians, like State Senator Leland Yee, followed a different path, many among the current generation of elected officials started out as community organizers.

The recently elected Supervisor Jane Kim, who is of Korean descent, and David Chiu, the Chinese-American president of the Board of Supervisors, both worked at the Chinatown Community Development Center.

Another Chinese-American supervisor, Eric Mar, who like Mr. Chiu was elected in 2008, worked as a law clerk in the 1980s under Mr. Lee at the Asian Law Caucus.

In Oakland, the politics of the recently elected Mayor Jean Quan were shaped during her many years as a student at the University of California, Berkeley. In 1982, Ms. Quan, the daughter of Chinese immigrants, planned Bay Area-wide demonstrations with Mr. Lee, then a staff lawyer at the caucus, to protest the killing of Vincent Chin, a Chinese man who was beaten to death in Detroit.

“You don’t have a lot of Chinese leaders coming out of small-business backgrounds, nor are they the sons and daughters of elected officials,” said Henry Der, the former executive director of Chinese for Affirmative Action. “It was the activism during the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s that created opportunities for appointments that opened the doors.”

A confluence of factors propelled the rise of Asian-American community organizations as a political force, according to observers.

Part of it is demographic. The local Asian population, particularly Chinese, has surged in recent years, with an influx of immigrants coming from both Hong Kong and the mainland. The immigrants have brought with them Cantonese and Mandarin dialects that have slowly swept aside the Taishanese heard in Chinatown for a century before their arrival.

By 2009, about one-third of San Francisco County’s population was Asian, including 21 percent Chinese.

These immigrants, often poor and elderly, were organized by leaders like Gordon Chin, the head of the Community Development Center, into increasingly potent forces that lobbied for health services, public safety and better housing conditions.

Organizers like Mr. Chin and Rose Pak, the influential consultant for the Chinese Chamber of Commerce who helped engineer Mr. Lee’s appointment as mayor, also forged alliances with business interests and the political establishment that would prove critical.

“People who come from activist backgrounds generally don’t have political power, and they needed money,” said Ling-Chi Wang, a professor of ethnic studies at the University of California, Berkeley. “But they formed fascinating coalitions.”

During the 1980s real estate boom, for instance, Chinatown leaders, many of whom were veterans of progressive social movements, became worried about commercial development encroaching from the south. They struck a deal with John L. Molinari, the former pro-business president of the Board of Supervisors and an ally of then-Mayor Dianne Feinstein, guaranteeing the preservation of Grant Avenue, which has become the spine of Chinatown.

In 1989, Ms. Pak tapped into her Chinese business connections to raise significant campaign contributions for the progressive Art Agnos, who was Mr. Molinari’s opponent in the mayoral race. Mr. Agnos won and appointed Mr. Lee, by then the managing attorney at the Asian Law Caucus, to his first government job.

Over the next 20 years, Mr. Lee transformed into a career public servant, receiving appointments from Mayors Willie L. Brown Jr. and Gavin Newsom, both of whom maintained close relationships with Ms. Pak and Mr. Chin.

Mr. Lee was born in 1952 in the Beacon Hill neighborhood of Seattle, to parents who emigrated from Guangdong Province in China in the 1930s. His father served in the Korean War and died when Mr. Lee was 15. His mother raised her children while working as a seamstress.

Mr. Lee received a full scholarship to Bowdoin College and moved to the Bay Area in 1975 to enroll in law school at the University of California, Berkeley.

He began at the Asian Law Caucus in his second semester and immediately began working on housing issues that after three years led to San Francisco’s first organized rent strike in 1978.

“Decades ago, I was about as anti-establishment as one could be,” Mr. Lee said after his swearing-in Tuesday in the City Hall rotunda. “But today, like you, I’m trying to make the establishment work for all San Franciscans.”

William R. Tamayo, who worked at the Asian Law Caucus as a staff attorney and is now a lawyer for the federal government, recalled giving up part of his $600-a-month salary to support Mr. Lee, who had put off taking the bar exam to lead the rent strike even though the caucus could not afford to pay him.

People who worked with Mr. Lee said he had become known not only for his work ethic and self-sacrifice but also for an understated manner that won him the trust of immigrants throughout Chinatown.

Mr. Lee understood both Cantonese and Taishanese, the dialect spoken by many immigrants, his colleagues said.

Mr. Lee left nonprofit work in 1989, when Mayor Agnos offered him an advisory position in his administration.

In his inaugural remarks, Mr. Lee spoke not of his two decades in government but of his formative years, as he acknowledged some of the people who shaped his worldview and then elevated him to the top.

"As a Chinese-American, I am well aware of my community’s long and troubled and proud history in this city," Mr. Lee told the crowd. “The San Francisco of old was directly involved in racism and neglect. The San Francisco that I fought as an attorney began to change.”

“And now today, Rose,” he said, casting a smile at his friend Ms. Pak. “Our struggle is here, and it is succeeding.”

Warriors' Jeremy Lin beat all kinds of odds in reaching the NBA

2010-10-31T06:04:00.000-07:00

Warriors' Jeremy Lin beat all kinds of odds in reaching the NBA
October 30, 2010|7:36 p.m.
The odds of making an NBA roster are slim.

They're near impossible if you're Asian American (only two have done it), if you attend Harvard (only three), or if your name isn't one of the 60 called during the NBA draft.

And if, by chance, you happened to be blessed/cursed with sharing all three of these traits, the odds then would be, well . . .

"Very, very, very small," said Jeremy Lin, an undrafted Asian American Harvard alum rookie guard for the Golden State Warriors, No. 7 in Sunday's Staples Center program.

Lin, 22, took a statistics class in high school, and again in college — he majored in economics — so he knows Halley's Comet comes around more often (visible from Earth about every 75 years) than someone like him.

"It's definitely unbelievable," Lin said.

After leading his Palo Alto High team to a 2006 state title against powerhouse Santa Ana Mater Dei, Lin failed to get any Division I scholarship offers, despite being named state player of the year in several publications.

Some Pacific 10 Conference schools courted him as a walk-on, but the strongest pitches came from Harvard and Brown. Lin picked Harvard, which has produced eight U.S. presidents and 41 Nobel laureates but just three NBA players, the last nearly 60 years ago.

Had Lin simpler aspirations, the odds of finding gainful employment would have stacked nicely in his favor. The name "Harvard," after all, bumps resumes to the top of most application stacks.

But Lin was determined: Basketball or bust, never mind Harvard's pathetic NBA track record, or that Lin, the son of Taiwanese immigrants, was trying to become just the third player of full Asian descent to earn an NBA paycheck.

"I didn't have any backup plan. I didn't apply for any jobs," Lin said. "I was going to try for the NBA."

Lin recognizes how a few key things fell into place late for him to make it.

After four years at Harvard in which he became the first player in Ivy League history with 1,450 points, 450 rebounds, 400 assists and 200 steals, eight NBA teams invited him to pre-draft workouts. But none drafted him.

Then, Lin received one invite to play on a summer league team: the Dallas Mavericks, a team that would play against the Washington Wizards with No. 1 overall pick John Wall. And on the night the Mavericks and Wizards squared off, another Mavericks guard happened to be injured, so Lin received more playing time than usual.

And soon, the focus turned from Wall to the 6-foot-3 Lin, who kept one-upping the Kentucky star in one-on-one matchups. With the crowd on his side, Lin finished with 13 points, and a few days later, teams, including the Lakers, started calling.

Eventually, Lin, a Palo Alto native, chose his hometown Warriors, where in limited minutes he'll play the combo guard position after playing point in college.

In July, he signed a two-year deal with the Warriors — the first year partially guaranteed, and the second with a team option that Warriors General Manager Larry Riley has said is likely to be picked up.

However, Lin is now on a team with talented guards Monta Ellis and Stephen Curry, so he's near the bottom of the Warriors' depth chart.

Warriors Coach Keith Smart said Lin is "a driver, not a shooter," but that he can defend, rebound and is a quick learner, though he now needs to learn that "you have other good players on the team, it's not just you anymore."

Lin, a devout Christian, one day hopes to become a minister, regardless of where professional basketball takes him.

But that he ever made it to the NBA at all, considering the odds, is, well . . .

"A miracle from God," he said.

baxter.holmes@latimes.com
Copyright © 2010, Los Angeles Times

Chinese Remake the ‘Made in Italy’ Fashion Label

2010-09-13T06:16:00.000-07:00

Chinese Remake the ‘Made in Italy’ Fashion Label
Nadia Shira Cohen for The New York Times
Published: September 12, 2010

PRATO, Italy — Over the years, Italy learned the difficult lesson that it could no longer compete with China on price. And so, its business class dreamed, Italy would sell quality, not quantity. For centuries, this walled medieval city just outside of Florence has produced some of the world’s finest fabrics, becoming a powerhouse for “Made in Italy” chic.

And then, China came here.

Chinese laborers, first a few immigrants, then tens of thousands, began settling in Prato in the late 1980s. They transformed the textile hub into a low-end garment manufacturing capital — enriching many, stoking resentment and prompting recent crackdowns that in turn have brought cries of bigotry and hypocrisy.

The city is now home to the largest concentration of Chinese in Europe — some legal, many more not. Here in the heart of Tuscany, Chinese laborers work round the clock in some 3,200 businesses making low-end clothes, shoes and accessories, often with materials imported from China, for sale at midprice and low-end retailers worldwide.

It is a “Made in Italy” problem: Enabled by Italy’s weak institutions and high tolerance for rule-bending, the Chinese have blurred the line between “Made in China” and “Made in Italy,” undermining Italy’s cachet and ability to market its goods exclusively as high end.

Part of the resentment is cultural: The city’s classic Italian feel is giving way to that of a Chinatown, with signs in Italian and Chinese, and groceries that sell food imported from China.

But what seems to gall some Italians most is that the Chinese are beating them at their own game — tax evasion and brilliant ways of navigating Italy’s notoriously complex bureaucracy — and have created a thriving, if largely underground, new sector while many Prato businesses have gone under. The result is a toxic combination of residual fears about immigration and the economy.

“This could be the future of Italy,” said Edoardo Nesi, the culture commissioner of Prato Province. “Italy should pay attention to the risks.”

The situation has steadily grown beyond the control of state tax and immigration authorities. According to the Bank of Italy, Chinese individuals in Prato channel an estimated $1.5 million a day to China, mainly earnings from the garment and textile trade. Profits of that magnitude are not showing up in tax records, and some local officials say the Chinese prefer to repatriate their profits rather than invest locally.

The authorities also say that Chinese and probably Italian organized crime is on the rise, involving not only illegal fabric imports, but also human trafficking, prostitution, gambling and money laundering.

The rest of Italy is watching closely. “Lots of businesses from Emilia Romagna, Puglia and the Veneto say, ‘We don’t want to wind up like Prato,’ ” said Silvia Pieraccini, the author of “The Chinese Siege,” a book about the rise of the “pronto moda” or “fast fashion” economy.

Tensions have been running high since the Italian authorities stepped up raids this spring on workshops that use illegal labor, and grew even more when Italian prosecutors arrested 24 people and investigated 100 businesses in the Prato area in late June. The charges included money laundering, prostitution, counterfeiting and classifying foreign-made products as “Made in Italy.”

Yet many Chinese in Prato are offended at the idea that they have ruined the city. Instead, some argue, they have helped rescue Prato from total economic irrelevance, another way of saying that if the Italian state fails to innovate and modernize the economy, somebody else just might.

“If the Chinese hadn’t gone to Prato, would there be pronto moda?” asked Matteo Wong, 30, who was born in China and raised in Prato and runs a consulting office for Chinese immigrants. “Did the Chinese take jobs away from Italians? If anything, they brought lots of jobs to Italians.”

In recent months, Prato has become a diplomatic point of contention. Italian officials say the Chinese government has not done enough so far to address the issue of illegal immigrants, and they are seeking a bilateral accord with China to identify and deport them. Some Prato residents suspect that the flood of immigrants is part of a strategy by Beijing to exploit the Italian market, though the Chinese government does not generally use illegal migrants to carry out its overseas development plans.

Italian officials say Prato is expected to be on the agenda when Prime Minister Wen Jiabao of China visits Rome in October.

China in Italy’s Backyard

According to the Prato chamber of commerce, the number of Italian-owned textile businesses registered in Prato has dropped in half since 2001 to just below 3,000, 200 fewer than those now owned by Chinese, almost all in the garment sector. Once a major fabric producer and exporter, Prato now accounts for 27 percent of Italy’s fabric imports from China.

Resentment runs high. “You take someone from Prato with two unemployed kids and when a Chinese person drives by in a Porsche Cayenne or a Mercedes bought with money earned from illegally exploiting immigrant workers, and this climate is risky,” said Domenico Savi, Prato’s chief of police until June.

According to the Prato mayor’s office, there are 11,500 legal Chinese immigrants, out of Prato’s total population of 187,000. But the office estimates the city has an additional 25,000 illegal immigrants, a majority of them Chinese.

With its bureaucracy, protectionist policies and organized crime, Italy is arguably Western Europe’s least business-friendly country. Yet in Prato, the Chinese have managed to create an entirely new economy from scratch in a matter of years.

A common technique used, often with the aid of knowledgeable Italian tax consultants and lawyers, is to open a business, close it before the tax police can catch up, then reopen the same workspace with a new tax code number.

“The Chinese are very clever. They’re not like other immigrants, who can be pretty thick,” said Riccardo Marini, a textile manufacturer and the head of the Prato branch of Confindustria, the Italian industrialists’ organization.

“The difficulty,” he added ruefully, “is in finding a shared understanding of the rules of the game.”

Prato’s streets have slowly become more and more Chinese, as the Chinese have bought out Italian-owned shops and apartments, often paying in cash. Public schools are increasingly filled with Chinese pupils.

Hypocrisy abounds. “The people in Prato are ostriches,” said Patrizia Bardazzi, who with her husband has run a high-end clothing shop in downtown Prato for 40 years. “I know people who rent space to the Chinese and then say, ‘I don’t come into the center because there are too many Chinese.’ They rent out the space and take the money and go to Forte dei Marmi,” she added, referring to the Tuscan resort town.

A short walk past the city’s medieval walls, past the cathedral with Filippo Lippi’s Renaissance frescoes, lies Via Pistoiese, the heart of Prato’s Chinatown. Here, shop signs in Chinese and Italian advertise wedding photography, hardware, electronics and gambling parlors.

Outside a supermarket selling foodstuffs imported from China, an electronic job board flashes a running ticker of garment-industry jobs.

The work — long hours at sewing machines — takes place in back-room workshops with makeshift sleeping quarters. The heart of the “fast fashion” sector is an industrial area on the outskirts of town, Macrolotto, filled with Chinese fashion wholesalers.

Here, vans from across Europe line the parking lots as retailers buy “Made in Italy” clothing to resell back home at a huge markup. By buying in relatively small quantities and taking advantage of the fluid borders of the European Union, most manage to avoid paying import tariffs.

On a recent afternoon, a couple from Montenegro loaded racks of cotton summer dresses into boxes in the back of their van. The wife wielded a label gun, tagging each dress “Made in Italy.”

Just blocks away, Li Zhang, who immigrated to Italy in 1991 from Wenzhou, a city in southeastern China known for its global network of entrepreneurs, explained how his clothing company, Luma, produced on-demand fashion.

He showed off bolts of fabric, which he said he bought locally or in India or China. He often buys white fabric and has it dyed and cut by other Chinese companies in Prato before giving the pieces to subcontractors to produce the requested items — 1,000 green skirts, in a typical example — in a matter of weeks, if not days.

Mr. Zhang and hundreds of other Chinese like him are at the center of Prato’s so-called gray economy, whose businesses are partly above board in that they pay taxes, and partly underground, in that they rely on subcontractors who often use illegal labor. (Asked if his subcontractors used illegal labor, Mr. Zhang laughed and said, “You’d have to ask the subcontractors.”)

Since founding Luma in 1998, Mr. Zhang said, he has exported clothes to 30 countries, including China, Mexico, Venezuela, Jordan and Lebanon. He said that his biggest order was for the Italian retailer Piazza Italia, but that he had also sold to wholesalers who said they had sold to Zara, Mango, Top Shop and Guess, European retailers specializing in bargain chic.

The raids, he said, are hindering business, unsettling the local Chinese community to the point that many workers had gone into hiding.

“People are afraid,” Mr. Zhang said. “This was a political decision. At first, they left us too free. Now they are tightening things too much.”

The New Sheriff in Town

Much of the tightening comes from Prato’s new administration. In 2009, the traditionally left-wing city elected its first right-wing mayor in the postwar era, whose winning campaign tapped into powerful local fears of a “Chinese invasion,” and who seeks a broader European Union response to Chinese immigration.

“How can China leave a mark like this in the E.U.?” the mayor, Roberto Cenni, asked. “Noise, bad habits, prostitution. People can’t live anymore. They’re sick of it.”

An elegant man in a well-cut gray suit, Mr. Cenni is a former president and a current shareholder of Go-Fin, a Prato holding company that is behind several midrange Italian fashion companies. At least one of these, Sasch, has moved much of its production to China within the last 10 years.

Powerless to reverse the broader economic currents, the mayor has instead focused on small initiatives, including new rules that prohibit drying fish on balconies and require all Prato shopkeepers to speak Italian. These have won him praise from some local people, but also criticism for bigotry.

The mayor has also stepped up raids on Chinese businesses. Critics say they are little more than media spectacles, but local Chinese have seen them as unwarranted attacks.

On a rainy recent morning, a team of police officers, tax collectors and other state officers swooped in on two Chinese workshops in a residential and industrial area just outside Prato’s downtown.

Tucked behind apartment houses, the garage-like space was filled with rows of sewing machines, with white fabric strewn about and lace shirts lying unfinished on the concrete floor.

The police rounded up the workers in the courtyard. A woman in plastic flip-flops carried a black bucket filled with urine downstairs, accompanied by a young boy wearing only underwear. “Pantaloni,” she told the officers in broken Italian, “Pants.” “O.K., let him put on pants,” an amenable officer agreed with a shrug.

Next door, the police brought some Chinese workers in a small, windowless bedroom to be identified. A woman in a blue T-shirt sat on the bed and sobbed uncontrollably.

The officials sorted through paperwork. “This is the last name, right?” one asked an interpreter.

Between the two workspaces stood a little house with hydrangeas in the yard. The Italian couple in the doorway did not want to reveal their names.

“It’s an ant colony,” the man said. “Who knows how many? They closed the door and covered up the windows.”

His cautious wife tugged on his arm. “You can’t get into these discussions,” she said, drawing him back inside.

Soon an owner of the workspace came in from his home down the block. Paolo Bonaiuti, 73, a tall man with white hair, blue eyes and a look of unflappability, waved his lease, showing that he rented out the space for $2,220 a month. To judge from their expressions, the police officers did not look as if they believed it.

Italy’s Immigration Woes

But crackdowns like these can only do so much. In the first half of this year, the authorities raided 154 Chinese-owned businesses — out of more than 3,000. To do the job, “We’d need an army of people,” said Lina Iervasi, the head of the Prato Police Department’s immigration office.

Earlier this year, several officers in that office were arrested on charges that they took bribes in exchange for granting residence permits.

“We don’t go on the hunt for the illegal immigrants. We’re not so crazy as to do that,” said Mr. Savi, the former police chief. “But we seek a balance between norms and reality.”

That balance has been strikingly hard to find.

Many illegal Chinese immigrants arrive by bus from Russia or the Balkans, and either destroy their passports or give them away to the organized crime groups that help bring them. Many others overstay their tourist visas.

“Italy has a 20th-century immigration law; it tends to think of immigrants as a phenomenon linked to work, in which people move from poor countries to rich ones,” said Andrea Frattani, a former social welfare commissioner in Prato’s previous center-left government.

Instead, he argued, what Italy is witnessing in Prato is “a precise strategy” on the part of the Chinese government to create an economic foothold in Europe.

Asked at a recent public appearance if that was the case, China’s ambassador to Italy, Ding Wei, said only that Prato had been a central issue in his portfolio since he arrived in the spring, and that he had sent advisers to investigate.

“I’ve been very attentive to resolving the question of Prato, which is unique and particular,” he said in late July. “It should not have an impact on the cooperation between our countries.”

Italians in Prato are feeling less sanguine. “At 20, I was sure the world was mine,” said Mr. Nesi, 45, the culture commissioner and a writer whose family sold its three-generation, high-end textile business in 2004.

“It’s hard to accept that all this happened in a short time,” he said, bewildered. “It makes us feel old and without hope.”

The problems will not be resolved easily. “There’s no plan,” said Xu Qiu Lin, a local entrepreneur and the only Chinese member of Confindustria in Prato, echoing a widespread sentiment. “There’s no plan; that’s the problem.”

Gaia Pianigiani contributed reporting.

Unemployment lasts longer for Asian Americans

2010-09-07T07:40:00.000-07:00

Unemployment lasts longer for Asian Americans
By Alana Semuels, Los Angeles Times
September 7, 2010

Asian Americans typically have the lowest unemployment rate of any ethnic group in the United States. But in this weak labor market, once they lose their jobs, they have an especially hard time reentering the labor force, data show.

In July, nearly half of all jobless Asian Americans in California had been out of work for 27 weeks or longer, compared with 40% of Latinos and 42% of whites, according to an analysis of data from the state Employment Development Department.

Experts said the strong family and cultural ties that bind Asian entrepreneurs and a largely foreign-born Asian workforce can be a liability during tough times; laid-off workers often aren't sure where to turn for work outside their ethnic circles.

About 13% of the 37 million people who live in California are of Asian descent, according to 2009 census data. About two-thirds of them are first-generation immigrants, said Paul Ong, a UCLA professor who has served as an advisor to the census. Many of them work in businesses owned by Asians, many of whom typically cut employees' hours as a first response to an economic downturn rather than let them go, Ong said. That explains in part why the California unemployment rate for Asians is relatively low, just 9.5% in July, compared with 17.1% for blacks, 14.9% for Latinos and 12.0% for whites.

But when these employers are forced to lay off staff, their workers often encounter hurdles to new employment. About half of Asian immigrants have difficulty speaking English, Ong said. Cultural differences also can prevent some from understanding how to apply for jobs with employers outside their communities, he said.

"They are heavily reliant on employers from the same ethnic group, so if for some reason those jobs are no longer available, it is more challenging for those workers to find employment, given the language and cultural barriers they face," said Kent Wong, director of the UCLA Labor Center.

Shirley Tam, a recent widow, returned to the workforce after a long absence caring for her sick husband. But the 50-year-old is finding that entry-level jobs are scarce.

"I don't have any more money," said Tam, pulling out a bank statement that showed she had $54 left in her savings account. "I need a job. I just need a chance."

She recently began attending college part time to get an accounting degree to improve her employment prospects.

Southern California's Asian community is diverse and employed in all manner of industries. Still, Asians are heavily represented in some sectors that have been particularly hard hit by the economic downturn, including garment-making. The number of people employed in apparel manufacturing in the state has fallen 23% to 58,500 since 2007, according to the Employment Development Department.

Also, new federal regulations require employees to verify workers' Social Security documentation. That has proved especially disruptive to businesses in the garment industry. Los Angeles clothing maker American Apparel Inc., for example, said in July that 1,600 of its employees were not authorized to work in the U.S.

Some employers are avoiding potential problems by not hiring immigrants, said Mark Masaoka, policy coordinator for the Asian Pacific Policy & Planning Council.

Asian American banks, which invested heavily in commercial real estate during the boom, have faltered during the downturn, said Sung Won Sohn, a Cal State Channel Islands professor and the former chief executive of the Korean American Hanmi Bank. Koreatown's Mirae Bank was shut down by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp. and acquired by Wilshire State Bank, a Los Angeles company. Innovative Bank, based in Oakland, was acquired by Koreatown's Center Bank.

And the Korean community has many small businesses in immigrant neighborhoods, which are probably affected by the retail slowdown, said Glenn Omatsu, a professor at Cal State Northridge. In addition, many Pacific Islanders work in the construction industry, which has lost 42% of its jobs in California — or 402,800 positions — since a February 2006 peak.

Some Asian Americans have computer engineering or software jobs that are vulnerable to outsourcing, said C.N. Le, director of the Asian American studies program at University of Massachusetts-Amherst. And a wave of anti-immigrant sentiment rippling through the country might also hurt Asian Americans' chances of finding work.

"In times of recession, Americans are most likely to feel economically threatened by immigrants, and their prejudices, suspicions and tensions rise to the surface," he said. "That can happen on a personal level or an institutional level."

In the Asian American enclaves of El Monte and South El Monte, unemployment in July reached 15.5% and 15.1%, respectively. Garden Grove's unemployment rate was 11.8%.

Rosemead resident Wesley Huang worked at Wells Fargo Bank for 11 years before losing his job three years ago. After a short stint with the U.S. Census Bureau, he's now back to job hunting again, trying to find work as a teacher. He speaks four languages but says it's tough to find work even with that skill.

"There are so many people competing for jobs," he said.

The poor economy has some looking for alternatives. The U.S. military saw its highest proportion of Asian recruits in 2009. Almost one-fourth of all Army recruits in Los Angeles County last year were Asian American, although they make up only about 13% of the county's population. And Asian Americans suffered the sharpest decline in homeownership in 2008, falling 1.24 percentage points, compared with a 0.4-percentage-point decline for whites, according to the American Community Survey.

That's because many Asian American small-business owners relied on home loans to support their businesses and are now at risk of losing both their homes and their businesses, Masaoka said.

Accountant Teresa Tran has been out of work for two years, and her husband, who was in marketing, is also unemployed. They're living on money they've been able to take out of their El Monte home. Tran now goes to a job center in El Monte at least once a week, often taking her kids along. "I go everywhere and don't get a call back," she said.

Bruce Cheun has a degree in sociology and experience in business administration. He spent the last year looking for work while taking care of his ailing mother. He doesn't have a car and hasn't yet found a job. The Hacienda Heights resident said he wished there were more resources for people like him.

"I don't think things are turning around."

Charlie Chan: A Stereotype and a Hero

2010-08-12T18:57:00.000-07:00

Charlie Chan: A Stereotype and a Hero
By CHARLES McGRATH
Published: NYTimes.com August 10, 2010

To many Asian-Americans, Charlie Chan is an offensive stereotype, another sort of Uncle Tom. Chan, the hero of six detective novels by Earl Derr Biggers and 47 Hollywood movies between 1926 and 1949, not to mention a 1970s Hanna-Barbera cartoon series, is pudgy, slant-eyed and inscrutable, and he speaks in singsong fortune-cookie English, saying things like, “If befriend donkey, expect to be kicked.” The California-born author and playwright Frank Chin, who has written essays denouncing Chan, would like to see him disappear altogether.

But Yunte Huang, who was born and grew up in China, can’t get enough of Chan and has written a book about his obsession: “Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous With American History.” The book, which comes out from Norton next week, is part memoir, part history, part cultural-studies essay and part grab bag of odd and little-known details.

Biggers, who overlapped at Harvard with T. S. Eliot but did not exactly share his literary taste, said he got the idea for Chan while sitting in the New York Public Library in 1924 and reading about a real-life Honolulu detective named Chang Apana. Mr. Huang suggests that Biggers may have misremembered the details, but there is no doubt that Apana was the model for Chan, and Mr. Huang gives a full account of a life that was in many ways more interesting than the fictional version: born in Hawaii to Chinese parents, Apana moved to China and then back to Hawaii, where despite being virtually illiterate, he rose in the detective ranks of the Honolulu police. He wore a cowboy hat, carried a bullwhip and was said to leap from rooftop to rooftop like a human fly.

Mr. Huang gives an equally full account of Chan’s movie history and of the actor with whom he was most memorably associated: a Swede named Warner Oland, who played a Jew in the first talkie, “The Jazz Singer,” and then, because he had vaguely Asian features, made a specialty of Oriental villains. (The original Chan, George Kuwa, was Japanese.) Oland was a heavy drinker, Mr. Huang writes, and liked to take a nip before slipping into the Chan persona: it slowed down his speech and put a congenial, Chan-like grin on his face. In 1938, after Oland had boozed himself to a premature death and was replaced by an American named Sidney Toler, movie producers encouraged him to try the same trick.

But the most interesting story in “Charlie Chan” is Mr. Huang’s own. “I have an alphabetic destiny,” he said, laughing, over lunch in Chinatown last week. In the late 1980s he had been a student at Beijing University and, after the protests in Tiananmen Square in 1989, where he would have been on the day tanks opened fire if his parents hadn’t lured him home on a false pretense, he determined to leave China. He got hold of a guidebook to American colleges, and “Alabama starts with A,” he pointed out. “I was pretty desperate to get out of the country and the University of Alabama was the first school I looked up.” He added that when he got there, “Tuscaloosa was another planet,” and went on: “Nobody walked in the street. Everything was so slow, so clean and so empty.”

When he got sick of the South, Mr. Huang said, he decided to go to Buffalo for a Ph.D. in English literature. He felt, he writes in “Charlie Chan,” “like a bottom-feeding fish, one that cannot see the light of day in the muddy pond of America.”

But why Buffalo? “Buffalo begins with B,” he said, grinning. He worked as a delivery boy there, but happily gave up the restaurant business. “Graduate school is really easy compared to restaurant work,” he pointed out.

At an estate sale he bought a couple of Biggers’s novels and was immediately hooked. He began renting all the Chan movies he could find.

Mr. Huang, who is 41, divorced and the father of a young daughter, speaks nearly perfect, idiomatic English. He learned the language, he said, from listening to Voice of America broadcasts with his family and also from going to church in Tuscaloosa. “On Sunday morning I’d stand on the corner carrying a Bible,” he explained, “and people would stop and ask what church I was going to. ‘Yours,’ I’d say. I saw a lot of churches that way.”

After Buffalo he spent four years teaching literature at Harvard, in Cambridge, Mass., before taking a job at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and next year he has a fellowship at Cornell. “I’m kind of stuck in the C’s right now,” he said, “and I can’t really move on. “Charlie Chan — that’s a double C.”

Chan was an obsession he pursued for years, he said, while trying to write a memoir called “The Yellow Alabaman” until a friend encouraged him to put that book aside and write instead about the detective. It was the aphorisms, the fortune-cookie sayings, that first attracted him, and then he became interested in the way Chan is a projection of American fears and American imaginings about China — an embodiment, as he writes in the book, of “both the racist heritage and the creative genius” of his adopted nation’s culture.

Over lunch he said: “I grew up watching Chinese opera, where you have some of that same exaggeration, and growing up in that literary culture was very useful for understanding cultural ventriloquism and the whole idea of crossing over. It was fascinating to see how Chan was a sort of ‘yellowface’ performance.” He added that in the 30s the Charlie Chan movies were immensely popular in China, of all places, where they were seen as an antidote to the sinister caricature of the Fu Manchu films, but that attitudes had changed. Not long ago he was discussing with a Chinese publisher the possibility of translating “Charlie Chan” himself and bringing it out in China. The publisher listened politely and said, “Right now we’re actually more interested in Fu Manchu.”

Pain, fear and longing: memories of Angel Island

2010-07-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

Pain, fear and longing: memories of Angel Island
By Maria L. La Ganga, Los Angeles Times July 18,

The photograph that changed Charles Wong's life went on display Friday at the Chinese American Museum in Los Angeles. It is a small black-and-white portrait of a somber woman, a little boy in a new suit and a handsome youth on the cusp of manhood.

Wong found the family portrait — his family portrait — tucked in a suitcase, hidden in a closet, on the day his father, Gun Chown Wong, was buried. The woman in the photo was his mother, Jook Sue. The boy was Wong himself, 6 and scared. And the young man? He was the family secret.

In 1935, Gun Chown boarded the U.S. liner Coolidge and headed to Los Angeles, leaving his family behind in the Chinese village of Hoi-Seun. His first stop was Angel Island, the notorious immigration station in San Francisco Bay, which processed more than a million immigrants before closing in 1940.

By the time the Wong family could afford to reunite, Angel Island was history. So Jook Sue took her two sons to Hong Kong. That was where the portrait was taken, where she was interviewed repeatedly by immigration officials, where she was finally granted permission to fly west.

Charles was allowed to go with his mother. But Liang, 18, was denied entry. Forced to stay behind, he eventually jumped to his death from a five-story building. His family never spoke of him again.

Until Wong found the portrait, "I didn't know I had a brother. I had suppressed his memory," he recalled, as he wandered the Chinese American Museum, where workers were busy installing a new exhibit called "Remembering Angel Island."

"Our story is representative of Angel Island, of the possibility, of the difficulty and traumas that many others went through," said Wong, now 62, as he spoke of immigration's effect on his life, of his mother's depression, his father's silence, his own ongoing survivor's guilt. "It was not just our family."

The immigration station opened 100 years ago, and the exhibit highlights the stories of Angelenos who entered America through its doors. "Remembering Angel Island" is on view through May 29.

There are photos of the station's cramped quarters and dining halls, reproductions of poems that were etched on the walls by Chinese immigrants aching for home and fearing the future. The passport of 9-year-old Florence See is on display; a U.S. citizen, she was still detained and interrogated. See was the great-aunt of Los Angeles author Lisa See.

Actor Jack Ong created an installation in honor of his mother, Jeung Shee Ong, who fled Japanese troops in 1939 with five children in tow. She made it to Hong Kong, then sailed to America aboard the Coolidge only to languish for more than a month on Angel Island, according to the exhibit, "terrified of the ghosts of those who committed suicide in the barracks rather than face deportation back to China."

Angel Island is often described as the Ellis Island of the west. But Pauline Wong, executive director of the Chinese American Museum, is quick to point out that most immigrants processed in New York Harbor were quickly sent on their way, while those who came through the California facility were often held for weeks, months, even years.

Opened after the passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act, it became the physical symbol of America's aggressive policies. Although immigrants from more than 80 countries spent time on the inhospitable island, Chinese immigrants arrived in greater numbers, were detained longer and deported more often than Europeans.

"The Angel Island experience is a very painful chapter in Chinese American history, a hidden chapter," said Eddie Wong, executive director of the Angel Island Immigration Station Foundation. Being held in the spartan barracks, repeatedly interrogated and subjected to invasive medical exams was an experience that "seared the psyche."

"For people like Tyrus Wong to speak out now," he said, "is a way of reconciling inner turmoil."

Artist Tyrus Wong, who is almost as old as the Angel Island Immigration Station itself, spent two weeks there alone as a young boy, a so-called paper son.

Because the exclusion act capped the Chinese population in America, very few new immigrants were allowed into the country. When the 1906 earthquake and fire destroyed the San Francisco Hall of Records, many Chinese immigrants claimed the identities of those whose paperwork was lost.

They became free to travel to China and bring back relatives or sell their documentation. Paper sons would study "coaching papers" with information about their stolen lives so they could pass detailed interrogations on Angel Island.

The coaching papers of Tyrus Wong's brother are on exhibit at the Chinese American Museum, and visitors can listen to a reenactment of his own interrogation.

His sojourn on Angel Island, he said, was a combination of terror and boredom: "I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. To me, it was just like jail."

maria.laganga@latimes.com
Copyright © 2010, The Los Angeles Times

Malaysian Court Strikes Down Ban

2010-01-03T23:11:00.001-08:00

Malaysian Court Strikes Down Ban
By JAMES HOOKWAY

Malaysia's High Court Thursday ruled that local Roman Catholics can resume referring to God as Allah in Malay-language publications, in a decision that appeared to partially halt the steady Islamization of the majority-Muslim nation in recent years.

The court overturned a three-year-old government ban that prevented the Catholic Church from using the term Allah as a translation for God in its local-language publications. The Arabic word has been used by various faiths in this predominantly Muslim nation for centuries, and the Church argues that it is the only suitable translation for God in the Malay language.

The ban came alongside a spate of other religious disputes that have convinced many Malaysians that their country is adopting an increasingly politicized interpretation of Islam that could browbeat its substantial non-Muslim ethnic-Chinese and Indian minorities and eventually turn off the international investors who helped develop the country's vibrant economy.

In recent months, a Muslim Shariah Court sentenced a woman who ordered a beer in a hotel bar to be caned, while a group of Muslim men desecrated the proposed location of a Hindu temple by tossing a severed cow's head onto the site as police stood aside. Political analysts say the country has become increasingly Islamist in its outlook over the past two decades, and Shariah law is now widely applied to the country's Muslims, who make up around 60% of Malaysia's population of 28 million people. Non-Muslims are governed by civil laws.

Thursday's ruling by Judge Lau Bee Lan, however, suggests that some parts of the Malaysian establishment are beginning to push back against this steady Islamization of what had been one of the world's most moderate outposts of the Muslim faith. Ms. Lau said Christians have a "constitutional right to use Allah," but the government can appeal to a higher court where the ban can be reinstated.

Prosecutors said they are still deciding whether to appeal, but political analysts, including James Chin, a political science professor at the Malaysian campus of Australia's Monash University, expect the battle to continue in the appeals court.

Still, Rev. Lawrence Andrew, the editor of the Malaysian Roman Catholic Church's Herald newspaper described the decision as a "landmark case for our nation," and said it upholds constitutional guarantees for freedom of speech and religion.

And there are signs that Malaysia's political leaders also are keen to preserve the country's religious freedoms. In an interview with The Wall Street Journal in Singapore in November, Prime Minister Najib Razak said the government would resist efforts by Islamist hardliners to turn Malaysia becoming a more faith-based nation. "We are going to maintain what we are today- a moderate, Muslim state. There may be some incidents along the way that take place, but that should not be seen" as evidence of a radical shift, he said.

The Herald newspaper filed the lawsuit against the ban on the word Allah in 2007. The government banned non-Muslims from using the word in their literature, fearing it would confuse or mislead Muslims, and said that the term should be used exclusively by Muslims.

The ban hindered the Malay-language edition of the Herald, which is mostly read by indigenous tribes who converted to Catholicism and other forms of Christianity decades ago. It added to the grievances of the Malaysia's religious minorities, who frequently say they are discriminated against by the Muslim-dominated government.

Earlier in 2009, the Malaysian government confiscated a shipment of 10,000 Bibles from Indonesia which shares a very similar language to Malaysia, because they used the word Allah.

36 Hours in Kuala Lumpur

2009-12-21T18:22:00.000-08:00

36 Hours in Kuala Lumpur
Roslan Rahman for The New York Times
Published: December 20, 2009

SITUATED at the juncture of two rivers, Kuala Lumpur means “muddy confluence” in Malay, but this fast-rising city has redefined itself. With its looming skyscrapers, stellar cuisine and thumping night life, the Malaysian capital has emerged as one of Southeast Asia’s most alluring metropolises, offering all the amenities of a major city but on a friendlier scale. It’s not just the rivers that converge: founded in 1857, Kuala Lumpur is full of odd juxtapositions. Old cafes are tucked under gleaming expressways. Calls to prayer beckon white-collar professionals from towers of steel and glass. And disparate ethnic groups — Malays, Straits Chinese and Indians — rub shoulders in glitzy malls and leafy parks, all of which gives this city a cosmopolitan flair unrivaled in the region.

4 p.m.
1) COLONIAL BEGINNINGS

Just 150 years ago, Kuala Lumpur, or KL as locals call it, was little more than a dingy outpost chopped out of the jungle by Chinese tin prospectors. But commerce served it well, and eventually Merdeka Square (at the intersection of Jalan Raja and Lebuh Pasar Besar) would become a center of British colonial life. The expansive, palm-tree-edged plaza is lined with 100-year-old landmarks like the Sultan Abdul Samad Building (Jalan Raja), which features a blend of Moorish and Mogul architecture that typifies the style favored by colonialists. Fittingly, the square is also the spot where the Malays declared their independence from Britain in 1957.

6:30 p.m.
2) HIGH LIFE

Ponder the city’s astronomic rise over a Champagne cocktail at the SkyBar, a futuristic lounge at the Traders Hotel (Kuala Lumpur City Centre Park; 60-3-2332-9888; www.skybar.com.my). The bar, on the 33rd floor (the space is dominated by the hotel’s pool), has picture-perfect views of the Petronas Twin Towers. Reserve one of the sunken, violet-hued couches for a front-row seat as the silver, scalloped buildings light up at night. Drinks from 29 ringgit (about $8.75 at 3.30 ringgit to the dollar).

8 p.m.
3) CATERED CONSUMPTION

Like many places of note in the city, Enak KL (Starhill Gallery, 181 Jalan Bukit Bintang; 60-3-2141-8973; www.enakkl.com) is in a mall. It serves some of the finest Malay cuisine in the city in an elegant space filled with heavy wooden furniture and batik wall hangings. Dishes, slow-cooked, rich and spicy, are based on recipes passed down in the Razaly family, the owners. Try the smoky-sweet beef rendang (27 ringgit), grilled prawns with a tangy tamarind-based sauce (28 ringgit) and the kambing masak merah: lamb shank topped with a cinnamon-cardamom tomato reduction (45 ringgit).

10 p.m.
4) DRESS CASUAL

As the name suggests, the loungey club No Black Tie (17 Jalan Mesui; 60-3-2142-3737; www.noblacktie.com.my) was conceived as an antidote to the stuffiness of classical-music halls. But it has since grown into one of the city’s coolest and most eclectic night spots. Covered in polished, honey-hued teak and twinkling with candlelight, the club hosts jazz, world music, cabaret, poetry and, yes, classical performances, attracting a well-heeled crowd who sip wine and nibble Japanese-themed hors d’oeuvres. Cover from 30 ringgit.

Saturday

10 a.m.
5) DIVINE DECORATION

The architecture alone is reason enough to visit the turquoise-domed Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia (Jalan Lembah Perdana; 60-3-2274-2020; www.iamm.org.my). Built in 1998, the white interiors of the four-story structure are silent, airy and saturated with natural light — perfect for contemplating the collection of Islamic decorative art. After admiring old calligraphic scrolls, jewel-encrusted swords and embroidered horse blankets, take your enlightened understanding of Islamic iconography and design to the rose and ivory marble Masjid Jamek (Jalan Tun Perak), one of the city’s oldest mosques.

Noon
6) TWEET, TWEET, TWEET

The city’s unrelenting traffic jams take on a humorous form at the KL Bird Park (920 Jalan Cenderawasih, Lake Gardens; 60-3-2272-1010; www.klbirdpark.com), where you’ll share the path with psychedelic-hued scarlet ibises, posturing peacocks and Victoria crowned pigeons, whose electric-blue feather tiaras put their drab New York cousins to shame. The 21-acre aviary is home to more than 3,000 birds representing 200 species, some of which, like the snappy cassowary and loquacious, rainbow-colored lory, you’re allowed to hand feed. You can also feed yourself at Ikan Bakar Asli Pak Din (Stall No. 5, Tanglin Food Court, Jalan Cenderasari; 60-12-320-1731), a stall in a food court that’s a 10-minute walk away, which serves a terrific grilled fish from 5 ringgit.

2 p.m.
7) CULTURAL CRASH COURSE

Start your tour of Malaysia’s ethnic hodgepodge in Little India, where the narrow streets throb with Bollywood music, silk shops churning out Punjabi suits, roti vendors and men stringing fragrant jasmine garlands. Fuel up with a glass of teh tarik, a brew of black tea and condensed milk, before tackling nearby Chinatown, a bustling area with stores selling knockoff purses, medicinal herbs and delicate tea sets. For a quiet moment, duck into the 145-year-old Sin Sze Si Ya Temple (14a Lebuh Pudu), an incense- and red-lantern-filled space where Buddhists have their fortunes told. Finally, hop a cab across town to sleepy Kampung Baru, where Malay village life plays out in sun-beaten, pastel-hued wooden stilt houses surrounded by hot-pink bougainvilleas.

7 p.m.
8) NIGHT HAWKS

Though KL boasts its share of Michelin-worthy chefs, the best cuisine is arguably found in the open-air street kitchens known as hawker centers. The mega-popular food court along Jalan Alor kicks off around 4 p.m., serving sizzling, wok-fried noodles, freshly steamed seafood and mouthwatering barbecued meat late into the night. Try Cu Cha (71-75 Jalan Alor) for dishes like char kway teow (5 ringgit), flat rice noodles fried with clams and shrimp. Head to W.A.W. Restaurant (7 Jalan Alor) for what must be the world’s best chicken wings (4.40 ringgit).

10 p.m.
9) SIN CITY

Despite the Malaysian government’s efforts to curb drinking by imposing a steep “sin tax,” bars are thriving in Kuala Lumpur — a trend no more evident than along the stretch of Changkat Bukit Bintang, or CBB. The street is lined with Irish gastropubs, velvet-roped dance clubs and trendy restaurant-lounges. Hot spots include the year-old Werner’s on Changkat (50 Jalan Changkat Bukit Bintang; 60-3-2142-5670; www.wernerskl.com), a red-and-black-themed bar where passion fruit martinis (28 ringgit) are mixed to catchy beats. A few steps away is the concrete-and-brick Cloth & Clef (30 Jalan Changkat Bukit Bintang; 60-3-2143-3034; www.clothandclef.com), which draws pretty young things with live indie bands and D.J.’s. For a full-on club experience, taxi to Zouk (113 Jalan Ampang; 60-3-2171-1997; www.zoukclub.com.my), a complex with six individually themed dance floors.

Sunday

10 a.m.
10) COFFEE TALK

Kopi tiam, or coffeehouses, were once an integral part of Malaysian society but are hard to come by these days. Luckily, the caffeinated chit-chat hasn’t slowed down at Yut Kee (35 Jalan Dang Wangi; 60-3-2698-8108), which has been serving kopi peng (iced coffee with sweet milk) since 1928. Now in its third generation, the breezy cafe is beloved for its roti baba (7.50 ringgit), a luscious bread pocket stuffed with shredded pork and onions that’s dipped in Worcestershire sauce.

Noon
11) MAD FOR MALLS

Like much of Southeast Asia, Kuala Lumpur is a mall town — after all, the mercury often hovers around 90 degrees. There are plenty to choose from, but among the more interesting is Sungei Wang Plaza (Jalan Sultan Ismail; 60-3-2148-6109; www.sungeiwang.com), a teenagers’ mecca packed with some 700 shops peddling colorful head scarves, sequined microminis, Hello Kitty Pez dispensers and T-shirts with phrases like “The Love is All Need” — another example of the city’s exuberant and unpredictable convergences.

THE BASICS

Several carriers, including Cathay Pacific, Korean Air and Qatar Airways, connect Kuala Lumpur and New York with stopovers in Hong Kong, Seoul or Doha. A recent online search found round-trip airfares starting at $1,189. The hourlong taxi to the city center costs about 90 ringgit, or $27 at 3.30 ringgit to the dollar; a 30-minute express train is 35 ringgit.

The Mandarin Oriental (Kuala Lumpur City Centre; 60-3-2380-8888; www.mandarinoriental.com/kualalumpur) offers skyline views and rooms that feature king-size beds, marble baths and nightstands furnished with fresh orchids. Rates start at 539 ringgit, not including tax.

The 270-room Hotel Equatorial (Jalan Sultan Ismail; 60-3-2161-7777; www.equatorial.com) is centrally located, with comfortable beds, outdoor pool and sharp service. Rooms from 260 ringgit, not including tax.

‘Useless' youths fuel calls for more funds

2009-11-23T23:41:00.000-08:00

'Useless' youths fuel calls for more funds
PhilaSiu
The Standard, November 23, 2009

Most underprivileged city youths feel useless, a survey has found, prompting calls for the government to do more.

The survey, covering 849 Primary Three to Form Five students from poor families, was conducted by the Boys' & Girls' Clubs Association of Hong Kong.

About 52 percent of the respondents said they feel “totally useless” while almost 43 percent considered themselves “sometimes useless.”

And about 30 percent believe they are losers.

The monthly family incomes of all those surveyed is less than the median of HK$10,500 and some 40 percent live under the poverty line - with their families earning less than half the monthly median figure.

Association executive director Lilian Law Suk-kwan said the children lack self-esteem and confidence because they lack opportunities to take part in activities and express themselves. The Census and Statistics Department estimates that more than 1.23 million people in the city are living in poverty.

Of these, 210,000 are children under 14 years old.

Wong Kwai-yau, association supervisor for the Sha Tin district, said the Child Development Fund set up in April 2008 with a budget of HK$300 million has failed to help the targeted number of 13,600 children.

So far, only around 700 children have benefited from the fund.

A spokesman for the Labour and Welfare Bureau said the children who are being helped through the fund are the pioneers of the three-year project, launched last December.

The government will conduct an evaluation of the pioneer project first before deciding on the next step, the spokesman added.

Wong said: “The government always encourages teenagers to study hard.

“But how can they [the underprivileged] afford an associate degree that costs more than HK$40,000 a year?”

Law urged the Education Bureau to channel more funds to schools and underprivileged children.

The money may be used to purchase resources to facilitate learning like computers and desks.

It may also be used to give students allowances to pay for extra-curricular activities such as piano lessons, she said.

She pointed to the survey results that showed more than 30 percent do not have a desk at home or reliable computers to complete assignments.

About half the respondents do not participate in extra-curricular activities and 20 percent admit they are unable to control their emotions.

About 15 percent said they eat fewer than three meals a day.

Almost 20 percent said they do not have enough food for each meal.

Taiwan teens are lost and suicidal

2009-11-20T01:01:00.001-08:00

Taiwan teens are lost and suicidal
Friday, November 20, 2009

About 60 percent of young people in Taiwan have considered suicide and more than third lack direction in life.

The results, a magazine survey claims, are because of a lack of public role models and weakened family support.

Taiwan-based CommonWealth magazine's first ever Life and Education Survey of 4,475 students between 15 and 22 found that most had thought about suicide, with 23 percent still considering it, survey center director Huang Ching- hsuan said.

About 34 percent of respondents said they had no idea what to do in life, the survey found.

“We were extremely surprised by the results,” Huang said, noting the high response rate.

In recent years teens in Taiwan have lost public role models including the 2008 death of Taiwan super-tycoon Wang Yung-ching and the conviction of ex-president Chen Shui-bian for graft this year, Huang said.

“This is an age of no role models. Teens today just know to get into good universities, but then what?”

Family ties have weakened over the same period as numbers of children per household decrease while both parents work.

Children are often sheltered to the point where they can't handle setbacks, even the death of a pet, said Huang.

CommonWealth, an authoritative privately funded magazine, has published surveys for about 10 years on trends in Taiwan.

After years of inflation and income stagnation that put pressure on common families, Taiwan unemployment surged to record levels earlier in the year as the economy went into recession.

As many as 4,400 people commit suicide every year.

REUTERS

For many Asian Americans, cultural factors help limit recession's impact

2009-11-17T17:36:00.000-08:00

For many Asian Americans, cultural factors help limit recession's impact
By Haya El Nasser
USA TODAY

RALEIGH, N.C. - Until this summer, Loc Tran, 59, was a technician at Nortel, a global communications company that has facilities at Research Triangle Park here. Then she left and opened Pho' Cali, a Vietnamese restaurant.

When her brother lost his job at another local electronics company, he didn't become unemployed. He joined the family business. “My brother works here now,” Tran says.

The recession has been brutal for just about every segment of the population, but though the unemployment rate for Asian Americans has been inching upward, it has been far lower than the rates for whites, blacks, Hispanics or the nation as a whole. Among those groups, Asian Americans have had the lowest jobless rate every month since 2000, when the Bureau of Labor Statistics began tracking monthly unemployment among Asians.

The unemployment gap - 7.5% for Asians in October, compared with 10.2% nationwide -stems from a combination of education benchmarks and cultural traditions that foster family support when someone is out of work, researchers say.

“Asians in the United States, both native born Asians and Asian immigrants, have higher educational levels than other groups,” says Alan Berube, senior fellow and research director of the Brookings Institution's Metropolitan Policy Program.

A recent Labor Department report on the work force shows a greater proportion of Asians than other racial or ethnic groups in management, professional and related occupations - jobs that require more schooling and are high-paying. About 47% work in management or professional jobs compared with 35% for the U.S. workforce as a whole.

Asians account for 5% of U.S. workers but make up a disproportionate share of computer software engineers (29%), computer programmers (20%), computer scientists and system analysts (16%).

“The character of this recession and how it's affected groups by educational attainment shows that information technology has done better, health care has done better,” Berube says.

Asians also are “tied in by a social network, a family network,” says Paul Ong, a professor of Asian American Studies at UCLA. “Rather than lay people off, you will find them spread the work out, and there is lots of use of family labor.”

Work ethics and close family ties certainly are not unique to Asians. But when coupled with high educational levels, those characteristics contribute to a lower unemployment rate. Hispanics, for example, demonstrate similar work and family values, but their population as a whole is not as educated as Asians.

Cultural and family ties are strong in immigrant-dominated communities and are powerful when combined with income and education, says Robert Lang, sociology professor at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

“Despite their upward mobility, Asians are still a minority group and thus more closely connected to one another than a native-born Caucasian American,” he says. “You're much more on your own if you're a middle-income, native-born white American, especially in a big city.”

Seema Agnani, executive director of Chhaya, a community organization in Jackson Heights, a South Asian neighborhood in Queens, N.Y., cautions that unemployment rates can be deceptively low because some immigrants work for cash and are not officially on a payroll.

“A lot of the folks who have lost income are not going to necessarily claim unemployment typically because they weren't working on the books in the first place,” she says.

The demographics of Asian Americans - from high educational levels to extended family networks - and complex cultural nuances help create the disparity in jobless rates:

•More educated. About 30% of Asians 25 and older have a bachelor's degree, and almost 20% have a graduate degree, compared with 17% and 10% for the nation overall. All other groups have a smaller share of college graduates: 18% of whites have a bachelor's degree, and 11% a more advanced degree; 12% and 6% of blacks; 9% and 4% of Hispanics.

•Larger households. The median income for Asian households is higher - $68,400 vs. $52,175 for all groups - but Asians have larger households, with more workers, Ong says. “If we look at per capita income rather than household income, it's another story.”

In the Los Angeles-Long Beach-Riverside area, for example, median household income is more than $65,000 a year for Asians, exceeding that of non-Hispanic whites by more than $10,000, the Census Bureau reports. Per capita income for Asians in this community, however, is lower than for whites.

•Family ties and small businesses. Hans Huang, 36, was a partner in a Raleigh law firm until it merged with another company. They parted ways. He started his own consulting firm and opened two restaurants - the hip 101 Lounge + Caf - and the Moonlight Pizza Company in downtown Raleigh.

A graduate of the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, Huang says investments his parents made also are in his and his sister's name - typical of the cohesion and financial support within many Asian families.

“There is a propensity for active networking with the community and family,” says Hai Ly Burk, who came to the USA as a refugee from Vietnam at age 3. She is a social worker at Duke Raleigh Hospital and president of the local chapter of the National Association of Asian American Professionals.

That sometimes can be more easily done in small, family-owned businesses than large corporations. Whites and Asians - and especially Asian immigrants - are more likely to be self-employed than other groups, the Labor Department says.

•Less risky jobs. Many Asians gravitate toward jobs that carry greater job security. A large number of Filipinos, for example, work as nurses, teachers and postal employees. “They are risk-averse … and tend to stay longer (in the same jobs) so they have seniority,” Ong says.

Health care is one of only two economic sectors to grow in the recession. The other is education.

Many Asians are doctors, nurses or technicians. Since the start of the recession, health care has added 597,000 jobs.

“Asian Americans are far more into the area of science technology and business in the corporate financial banking sector,” says Larry Shinagawa, director of Asian American Studies at the University of Maryland. “They are ensconced in government and education, though a significant portion are in small business.”

•Unemployment is frowned upon. There is a cultural resistance among Asians to being idle and collecting money for not working, Shinagawa says.

“Better to be underemployed than unemployed,” he says. “They're working in jobs where they're overly qualified and that has a lot to do with small business and a family network where they can support one another.”

Working-class Asians, especially immigrants, are likely to accept any job to earn money, says C.N. Le, director of Asian & Asian American Studies at the University of Massachusetts.

“That's all it is for them, as opposed to a lot of Americans who see their jobs as a reflection of their own identity and self-esteem,” says Le, creator of a website that focuses on Asian Americans, asian-nation.org.

National numbers mask the struggles of low-income Asian immigrants, many of them refugees such as the large Hmong community in Minnesota. Many in those communities aren't well-educated and don't speak English well.

Unemployment claims filed by Southeast Asians in Minnesota jumped 150% from 2007 to 2009, says Lisa Hasegawa, executive director of the National Coalition for Asian Pacific American Community Development.

Meanwhile, Chinatowns and Little Saigons in several cities are hurting because people are cutting back on restaurant spending, Shinagawa says, and small family businesses are being pushed out by big chains.

“Look at dry cleaners,” he says. “The Zip Cleaners (a chain) are taking over. In the past, bigger chain stores would never go into inner-city neighborhoods.” Now, “there is a recognition that people of color are a significant portion of the economy.”

Here in the Research Triangle, a region anchored by Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill, top-tier universities, high-tech companies and research centers have attracted Asian professionals.

Asians' unemployment rate here is even lower than their national rate, averaging just above 3% in the past year in Wake County, home of Raleigh. It was above 4% for non-Hispanic whites, almost 8% for blacks and above 5% for Hispanics, according to the Employment Security Commission of North Carolina.

Many highly educated Asians here have been recruited by companies and universities and granted special visas because of their expertise. If they're here, they have work. When the jobs disappear, they return home and never appear on U.S. unemployment rolls.

“With their American experience, they can leverage that and start their own company” back home, says Hector Javier, a native of Manila in the Philippines and a consultant in technology operations at Cisco Systems in the Research Triangle. “The first generation is going back.”

Not everyone is prospering. Cyndy Yu-Robinson, 43, was a public affairs officer for the Environmental Protection Agency in Durham. She wanted to go into the private sector and took a job as manager of corporate responsibility for computer maker Lenovo in March 2008. This year, Lenovo started cutting jobs, including hers.

“At first, it was disbelief. It couldn't be happening to me,” says Yu-Robinson, a mother of two. “I chose to go on unemployment because I want to take advantage of resources available to me to find the right job.”

She's active in Asian-American organizations and admits that hearing Asians' attitudes toward unemployment stings a bit. “If I didn't care about the kind of career, I would've taken any job,” Yu-Robinson says. “I don't want to just go back to government.”

While she lines up job interviews, she teaches up to eight karate classes a week at Triangle's Best Karate, the studio she owns with her husband.

Asad Abbasi, 54, came to the USA from Pakistan in 1973 and had never been without a job. He has a master's degree in engineering and was working for mobile phone manufacturer Sony Ericsson. When the tech bubble burst in 2002, he was laid off.

“In my life, just once,” Abbasi says. “I never went back. The heck with corporate America.”

He opened Baba Ghannouj restaurant in Cary, a Raleigh suburb, turning his cooking hobby into a job. He creates recipes, shops at the farmer's market and gets to know his customers. “It's less money, a lot of work but less torture,” Abbasi says.

Living in a cage in Hong Kong

2009-11-09T22:31:00.000-08:00

Living in a cage in Hong Kong
By Eunice Yoon, CNN
October 28, 2009 -- Updated 1649 GMT (0049 HKT)
http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/10/28/cage.homes/index.html

Hong Kong, China (CNN) -- If you have ever complained that your apartment is the size of a shoebox, consider the living space of Hong Kong resident Chung For Lau.

Chung lives in a 625 square foot (58.06 square meter) flat here with 18 strangers.

The place is sectioned into tiny cubicles made of wooden planks and wire mesh. Everything he has acquired over the years -- clothes, dishes, figurines, a tired TV set -- is squeezed into this tiny cube, a modernized version of what is known here as a cage home.

With all the buzz over Hong Kong's exorbitant luxury property (like the recent record-breaking sale of a $57 million duplex), it may be hard to believe that people have been living in cage homes in this city for years.

But with Hong Kong home to some of the most densely-populated urban districts in the world, real estate has always come at a premium, no matter how small.

Chung's cage is a newer yet less-desirable model, we are told. The wire mesh one, which resembles an over-sized rabbit hutch, is apparently more comfortable.

Occupants have less privacy, but the temperatures don't get as high as in the wooden-mesh variety. A thermometer in Chung's home reached 34 degrees Celsius (93 degrees Fahrenheit). Sometimes it gets so hot, Chung said, that he wants to die.

Chung used to be a security guard. In the good old days he earned about $500 (HK$3,875) per month. But as the economic crisis set in, his full time job went to part time work until he was laid off this past summer.

As he stared into his bank passbook, Chung lamented that he wouldn't be able to make the $150 rent (HK$1,160) this month -- these cubes aren't cheap.

They are stacked on two levels -- $100 (HK$775) for a cube on the upper deck and $150 for the lower bunk.

The lower cubes are more expensive because you can just barely stand upright in them. Do the math and the apartment owner is collecting roughly $2,500 a month (HK$19,375) from these people.

The 19 occupants share two toilets. A small rubber hose attached to a leaky faucet is what they use to wash themselves. Social workers who monitor the apartments said the electricity is donated, so a few of them have TVs. One person on the upper deck has an aquarium.

One social workers said that because of the recession these homes are being occupied more frequently by those made jobless -- people in their 30s and 40s. The social worker said none of the younger people wanted to speak on camera for fear their chances of finding work would be hurt.

Chung, 67, is now waiting for welfare to kick in and is on a long list for public housing. The government says it is doing its best to meet its citizens' needs, but Chung says he has lost all hope. Economic recovery or not, he feels forgotten.

Hong Kong's 'celebrity tutors' turn millionaires

2009-11-09T22:28:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong's 'celebrity tutors' turn millionaires
By Anna Coren, CNN
November 10, 2009 -- Updated 0452 GMT (1252 HKT)
http://edition.cnn.com/2009/BUSINESS/11/08/hong.kong.celebrity.tutors/index.html

Hong Kong, China (CNN) -- Dressed in Louis Vuitton from head to toe with the exception of a Gucci belt, Richard Eng stands out in his neighborhood in Hong Kong's New Territories. When we arrive at his home, the 45 year old father of one warmly welcomes us. His manners are as impeccable as the hairstyle and clothes that he proudly wears. But it's not the chic and manicured man standing in front of us that's caught our attention -- but the bright yellow Lamborghini parked in his driveway.

Now, as we all know, teachers around the world are renowned for being over worked and underpaid; but that rule does NOT apply to Hong Kong's “celebrity tutors” and Richard Eng is living proof. Twenty years ago he began working as a teacher. During the day he'd teach his school students, and then at night he'd work as a tutor. Through word of mouth, these evening classes grew to the point where he set up his own tutorial school. Eng then decided to take the business to the next level -- advertising in newspapers and on television and that's when the transformation began.

He understood the interest, fascination and obsession with celebrities and began marketing his services with that in mind. With billboards, glossy brochures, eye catching TV commercials and model photo shoots, he and his tutors in their designer gear, fashionable haircuts and Hollywood smiles, appear more like pop or movie stars promoting their latest album or film than anything resembling a teacher. And it's paid off.

He now operates 12 schools in Hong Kong and has just opened one in Tokyo. He has a total of 50,000 students, employs 300 staff and last year he personally took home more than US$1 million. Eng says: “This is a chance in Hong Kong for some people to teach and help students. At the same time, students come to class and see something beautiful and they learn exam skills ... that's why we're worth it and why we are here.”

With this success, Eng has reaped the financial rewards. He not only owns a US$500,000 Lamborghini that he drives to work most days, but also owns property all over Hong Kong and has a designer wardrobe and watch collection that would rival any fashionista. But he's not content with the status quo and has plans to expand into China next year.

He admits some of his students are attracted to his celebrity status but dismisses this as the core reason for his success. “I have to say they may come to me at the beginning out of curiosity, but as time goes by they realize I can teach them exam skills very important in Hong Kong.”

Tutorial schools are big business in Hong Kong. Four major schools dominate, but there are hundreds of others -- attended by approximately one third of all students. They pay approximately US$130 a month to improve their grades in a society where information is power.

One of Eng's students is 18-year-old Daisy Chung who has been attending his English class for the past two years. “My grade improved from C to B ... now I hope there's room for improvement.”

While the big names like Richard Eng are multi-millionaires, the average celebrity tutors earn more than US$120,000 a year. Government teachers take home less than half that. The Education Department says while the tutorial schools are popular, it doesn't endorse them. Deputy Secretary for Hong Kong Education Dr Stephanie Chan says: “I'm concerned how parents and students use the services ... whether the money is spent wisely, but if it proves to help then I don't have the right to say I disapprove of it.”

But as long as children's education is considered an investment, Eng and his colleagues will continue to make the sums of money that most people can only dream of.

Hong Kong vs. Singapore

2009-11-01T23:10:00.000-08:00

Art Wars
Hong Kong vs. Singapore
By ALEXANDRA A. SENO
Wall Street Journal, OCTOBER 30, 2009

HONG KONG -- These are the trophies of a war between Singapore and Hong Kong: whimsical oils by Indonesian boy-wonder artist I Nyoman Masriadi; an abstract painting by Zao Wou-ki; and an ancient Chinese imperial throne worth US$11 million. All of these artworks turned up for sale in Hong Kong in recent months -- and set auction records.

Longtime rivals in trade and finance, Hong Kong and Singapore are vying to become Asia's regional arts hub, part of a strategy to be crowned Asia's top city. Already the third-largest art-auction market in the world, Hong Kong has picked up the pace by setting aside nearly US$3 billion for a massive development known as West Kowloon Cultural District, a move some people think will ultimately catapult Hong Kong to victory.

Both cities understand that “to build a super-competitive, super-productive society” that “can attract the world's best and brightest” professionals from an array of industries they need a world-class arts and culture scene, says Richard Florida, who studies global competitiveness and urban development at the University of Toronto. “What makes New York and London so robust, even at times of economic crisis, is that anyone in the world wants to go there (to work) and that's what Hong Kong and Singapore are trying to be.” Right now, Mr. Florida adds, “Hong Kong has the edge.”

On one side of the battle is the island-state of Singapore, with a total population of about five million. In the mid-1980s, during a recession, the country looked with envy at Hong Kong's cultural offerings and decided it could do better. Specifically it eyed Hong Kong's annual month-long arts festival that showcases local and international talent from jazz greats like Ornette Coleman to the English National Ballet to performers of Cantonese opera.

A 1989 Singapore government report cited the “importance of culture and the arts” not only as tools for nation-building and to generate revenue for the tourism and entertainment industries, but to “enhance our quality of life.”

A decade later, Singapore launched the first phase of its ambitious “Renaissance City” plan aimed at creating a “Distinctive Global City of Culture and the Arts.” It invested more than US$1 billion in infrastructure, including several museums and a 4,000-seat complex of theaters, studios and concert halls called the Esplanade, which opened in 2002, and spiced up its arts programming with diversity and a regional flavor.

New entities were founded, such as the Singapore Tyler Print Institute, one of the region's most dynamic arts organizations, which is housed in more than 40,000 square feet of converted warehouse space on the city's riverfront. The printmaking specialist quickly established a profile in the international culture world, collaborating early on projects with the likes of the established American artist Donald Sultan, and lately with Asia's cultural who's who, including Indonesian contemporary painter Agus Suwage and edgy Japanese installation artist Tabaimo.

And Singapore has been cleverly retrofitting colonial-era structures as arts venues. Following a renovation, the circa 1880s National Museum of Singapore reopened in 2006. A school and its chapel built in the 1850s was turned in 1996 into the Singapore Art Museum, a charming cultural space with exhibition galleries of modern and contemporary Southeast Asian art that are on par with the best museums in the world. Down the street in another former school building, an extension called SAM at 8Q, specifically housing contemporary art, opened in August 2008. The National Art Gallery is set to throw open its doors in 2013 at the former Supreme Court and City Hall complexes.

The government launched a biennale in 2006 and over the past decade has enhanced its own annual arts festival. According to Singapore's National Arts Council, between 1997 and 2007, the “vibrancy” of the local arts scene, measured by the number of performances and exhibition days, quadruped to more than 26,000. The government has taken steps to attract world-class theater productions to Singapore, and it has loosened contraints on local productions. Today, mainstream theaters increasingly are allowed to take on political as well as social themes, such as homosexuality, the practice of which is illegal in Singapore.

To groom local talent, the National Arts Council sponsors a program for the performing, visual and literary arts that helps fund Singapore residents to do in-residency stints abroad.

But there's a key ingredient that Singapore so far hasn't been able to create: a big art-auction market. Some smaller art-auction houses hold sales in Singapore, but the big ones -- Christie's and Sotheby's -- have pulled out and moved their Southeast Asian art auctions to Hong Kong, the former British colony that is home to seven million people and became a Chinese territory in 1997.

For a city, having the ingredients for a thriving art market creates a virtuous circle. The powerful marketing machines of the big auction houses, including public previews of coming sales, raises awareness and appreciation of art in the community. All this encourages local artists to create more art. And that momentum, in turn, contributes to the development of a city's broader cultural scene, including music, theater and design.

“We are a financial city, so people understand money but don't always understand art,” says Claire Hsu, executive director of Asia Art Archive, a Hong Kong-based regional culture think tank. “People pay attention to prices, thinking in terms of investment,” she adds, so “people have become interested in art.”

In 2007, Hong Kong became the world's third-largest auction market after New York and London, partly because of its proximity to mainland China and the emergence of China's deep-pocketed collectors. That put Hong Kong firmly on the global art-commerce map.

The point is “about attracting the people who make it matter -- artists, critics, curators and collectors,” says Eugene Tan, formerly head of Singapore's Institute of Contemporary Arts and a high-profile personality on the Singapore arts scene who recently relocated to Hong Kong. “Hong Kong has that advantage” of a collector base that “Singapore has always lacked.”

He and others contend that Hong Kong also has another advantage: a livelier local artists scene.

“Singapore is very planned,” Mr. Tan says, and in the long run, that can mean missing something that “can happen if things are allowed to grow organically.”

Christie's and Sotheby's, the world's two main auction houses, have carefully nurtured their businesses in Hong Kong for decades. Last year, Sotheby's consolidated its sales in Asia by moving its auctions of Southeast Asian contemporary art to Hong Kong from Singapore. That followed a similar move by Christie's in 2002.

Today, the bulk of both their revenues in Asia comes from Hong Kong sales of Chinese antiques and art, categories that have seen prices soar along with China's economic growth. At Sotheby's autumn sales this month in Hong Kong, for instance, an imperial carved throne from the Qianlong period (1736-95) sold for more than US$11 million, including the buyer's premium, a world record for any piece of Chinese furniture sold at auction. The buyer was a Chinese collector in Shanghai.

And at Christie's spring Hong Kong sales in late May, an Asian buyer paid the equivalent of US$4.6 million, including buyer's premium, for the 1957 painting “Nous Deux,” by Zao Wou-ki, the second-highest price ever paid at auction for his work. Harvard University's art-museum fund consigned the piece to Christie's Hong Kong salesroom expecting it to bring a higher price than in the U.S, partly because many collectors in this region consider Mr. Zao to be China's most important living artist. (By comparison, at the same Christie's sales, the entire 72-lot array of Southeast Asian art, which was 90% sold by value, raised just US$2.6 million.)

Relocating the Southeast Asian auctions to Hong Kong buoyed other categories as, for instance, collectors of Chinese contemporary works started to also buy Southeast Asian paintings. More South Korean and Indonesian collectors are turning up at the Hong Kong sales, too. “Since moving to Hong Kong, we saw a three-fold, four-fold increase in clients who participated in our sales of Southeast Asian art,” says Andrew Foster, Christie's Asia president. “Average values go higher as you have more bidders, that's just how auctions work.” He credits the move to Hong Kong with boosting the prices of some lots by as much as 1,000% from what the auction house estimates they would have brought in Singapore.

Several world records for Indonesian art have been established at Hong Kong sales. Right after the collapse of Lehman Brothers in October 2008, just as prices of contemporary Chinese paintings were cooling, Jogjakarta painter I Nyoman Masriadi's satirical triptych “The Man From Bantul (The Final Round),” dating from 2000, netted more than US$1 million at Sotheby's, a first for a contemporary piece from Southeast Asia.

What's more, the move to Hong Kong by the major two houses prompted some smaller ones to follow. “We will go where we feel there is a demand for Asian contemporary art, which right now is Hong Kong,” says Daniel Komala, chief executive of Indonesia's high profile Larasati Auctioneers, which still also holds auctions in Indonesia, Singapore and the Netherlands. Mr. Komala is spokesman for a group of four Asian auction houses, his own plus ones from South Korea, Japan and Taiwan, that staged an inaugural Hong Kong Asian Auction Week in May, selling a respectable 77% of the 146 lots on offer. The group plans another sale in November.

Galleries, too, are following the money. Among them is London's Ben Brown Fine Arts, which plans to formally open in Hong Kong in late November. Ben Brown represents such contemporary art marquee names as conceptual artist Jeff Koons and the late painter Jean-Michel Basquiat, photographer Andreas Gursky and sculptors Claude Lalanne and the late François-Xavier Lalanne. Tamsin Roberts, who will head the Hong Kong branch, says that the gallery has a number of clients in Hong Kong and now will have access to a new market, China. “Everyone is looking at the mainland,” she adds.

Besides geography, Hong Kong's tax system works in its favor. The import and export of artworks is duty-free and there is no sales tax. By comparison, Singapore has a consumption tax of 7%, while China levies a 34% import tax on artworks.

Still, Hong Kong has relatively high overhead costs. John Andreas, CEO of Southeast Asian art specialist Borobudur Auction in Singapore is impressed with Hong Kong's position in the art business but declares: “The cost in Hong Kong -- for hotels, venues, labor -- is at minimum four times of Singapore, but it doesn't mean that selling prices will be four times more.” Mr. Andreas, a collector himself who made his fortune in shipping, has no immediate plans to hold sales in Hong Kong. His five-year-old company conducts auctions in Jakarta and Singapore.

As for art infrastructure, Hong Kong does have some performing-arts venues as well as museums such as for heritage and science. But many of the spaces aren't inviting; there hasn't been a significant art museum built in about 20 years. And while Hong Kong's overall arts scene has improved in recent times and draws such international attractions as the Chanel Mobile Art show, much of the focus, unlike Singapore's more diverse regional offerings, is on Chinese-oriented art and antiques displays.

The Hong Kong government first hit upon the idea in 1998 of building an integrated arts and culture neighborhood on 40 hectares of reclaimed land in the West Kowloon district. After many fits and starts, planning for the project recently picked up some momentum. Earlier this year, at a time when funding to museums and the arts in some countries was being trimmed, the Hong Kong government approved a HK$21.6 billion ($2.8 billion) cash endowment for the project. Then it named Henry Tang, heir to a textile fortune and a collector of Chinese paintings who is also the No. 2 official in the Hong Kong government, to oversee the project, which is currently undergoing yet another round of public consultations. But the only senior executive hired so far abruptly quit after three months citing personal reasons. The post remains vacant.

Mr. Tang says he expects a chief executive to be appointed in early 2010, and to be close to choosing the main architect. Nevertheless, even if it all goes as planned, the first phase won't be open until 2016.

The West Kowloon project has been “frustrating and painful,” says Asia Art Archive's Ms. Hsu, who is also on the advisory panel for the museum at the new West Kowloon development. “For the public it has looked like the government is stalling, but it gives me a lot of hope. The government is very concerned about getting it right.”

Among the missteps so far was an announcement in 2001 that a design by Norman Foster had won an international contest for the iconic structure. Mr. Foster proposed a giant glass canopy to cover the whole 40-hectare site. The idea was to award the project to a single entity that would not only commit to running museums but also to building the canopy. Bidders lined up all-star casts of possible museum partners and consultants: the Louvre, the Guggenheim, the Centre Pompidou. In exchange, the entity could make and sell commercial and residential buildings in the area. By 2004, that approach got the kibosh “because of public opposition to the project related to political developments of the time and memories of Cyberport,” says Ms. Hsu. (The US$2 billion Cyberport project was to be a focal point for a master plan to turn Hong Kong into a technology hub. The right to develop a large tract of government land was awarded in 1999 to Hong Kong businessman Richard Li without a public bid and is now mainly a residential project.)

The current concept for West Kowloon was hatched in June 2007. It calls for about 750,000 square feet of museum space and a 100,000-square-foot exhibition center -- and 15 performance venues with seating for 15,000, more than triple the capacity of Singapore's Esplanade complex. About US$1 billion, or a third of the overall West Kowloon budget, is earmarked for acquisitions for an as-yet-undefined but quirky “Museum Plus.” The museum, though, isn't expected to be completed before 2031.

Yet, just having West Kowloon back in the headlines has spurred the staging of more ambitious projects like this year's Hong Kong-Shenzhen Bi-city Biennale of Urbanism and Architecture in December, which will feature a pavilion by noted Japanese architect Shigeru Ban.

Meantime, critics say more needs to be done to further Hong Kong's art-hub ambitions lest it lose out to Singapore. Plus, Hong Kong needs to stave off a longer-term threat from the likes of Shanghai and Beijing, both of which have burgeoning international arts scenes.

“West Kowloon is a catalyst to cultural development though we also need more policies in place,” says Ada Wong, a founder and chair of the Hong Kong Institute of Contemporary Culture and a former adviser on culture to the Hong Kong government. “We need better art education for the public and to engage” the art-starved housing developments, mostly in Hong Kong's New Territories area.

Undaunted, Singapore is diligently pushing ahead and has opened several museums and other arts venues while Hong Kong has dithered on the construction of West Kowloon. Christie's also recently picked Singapore to be the site of a global fine-arts storage facility to open in a duty-free zone in January.

Calling the process of developing an arts scene “never-ending,” Edmund Cheng, who chairs Singapore's arts council, said in a recent report outlining the city's plans through 2012 that “while there is cause for us to celebrate our achievements, we must set our sights farther afield at the same time.”

—Alexandra A. Seno is a Hong Kong-based writer.

In Chinatown, Sound of the Future Is Mandarin

2009-10-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

In Chinatown, Sound of the Future Is Mandarin
Ozier Muhammad/The New York Times
Published: October 21, 2009

He grew up playing in the narrow, crowded streets of Manhattan’s Chinatown. He has lived and worked there for all his 61 years. But as Wee Wong walks the neighborhood these days, he cannot understand half the Chinese conversations he hears.

Cantonese, a dialect from southern China that has dominated the Chinatowns of North America for decades, is being rapidly swept aside by Mandarin, the national language of China and the lingua franca of most of the latest Chinese immigrants.

The change can be heard in the neighborhood’s lively restaurants and solemn church services, in parks, street markets and language schools. It has been accelerated by Chinese-American parents, including many who speak Cantonese at home, as they press their children to learn Mandarin for the advantages it could bring as China’s influence grows in the world.

But the eclipse of Cantonese — in New York, China and around the world — has become a challenge for older people who speak only that dialect and face increasing isolation unless they learn Mandarin or English. Though Cantonese and Mandarin share nearly all the same written characters, the pronunciations are vastly different; when spoken, Mandarin may be incomprehensible to a Cantonese speaker, and vice versa.

Mr. Wong, a retired sign maker who speaks English, can still get by with his Cantonese, which remains the preferred language in his circle of friends and in Chinatown’s historic core. A bit defiantly, he said that if he enters a shop and finds the staff does not speak his dialect, “I go to another store.”

Like many others, however, he is resigned to the likelihood that Cantonese — and the people who speak it — will soon become just another facet of a polyglot neighborhood. “In 10 years,” Mr. Wong said, “it will be totally different.”

With Mandarin’s ascent has come a realignment of power in Chinese-American communities, where the recent immigrants are gaining economic and political clout, said Peter Kwong, a professor of Asian-American studies at Hunter College.

“The fact of the matter is that you have a whole generation switch, with very few people speaking only Cantonese,” he said. The Cantonese-speaking populace, he added, “is not the player anymore.”

The switch mirrors a sea change under way in China, where Mandarin, as the official language, is becoming the default tongue everywhere.

In North America, its rise also reflects a major shift in immigration. For much of the last century, most Chinese living in the United States and Canada traced their ancestry to a region in the Pearl River Delta that included the district of Taishan. They spoke the Taishanese dialect, which is derived from and somewhat similar to Cantonese.

Immigration reform in 1965 opened the door to a huge influx of Cantonese speakers from Hong Kong, and Cantonese became the dominant tongue. But since the 1990s, the vast majority of new Chinese immigrants have come from mainland China, especially Fujian Province, and tend to speak Mandarin along with their regional dialects.

In New York, many Mandarin speakers have flocked to Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and Flushing, Queens, which now rivals Chinatown as a center of Chinese-American business and political might, as well as culture and cuisine. In Chinatown, most of the newer immigrants have settled outside the historic core west of the Bowery, clustering instead around East Broadway.

“I can’t even order food on East Broadway,” said Jan Lee, 44, a furniture designer who has lived all his life in Chinatown and speaks Cantonese. “They don’t speak English; I don’t speak Mandarin. I’m just as lost as everyone else.”

Now Mandarin is pushing into Chinatown’s heart.

For most of the 100 years that the New York Chinese School, on Mott Street, has offered language classes, nearly all have taught Cantonese. Last year, the numbers of Cantonese and Mandarin classes were roughly equal. And this year, Mandarin classes outnumber Cantonese three to one, even though most students are from homes where Cantonese is spoken, said the principal, Kin S. Wong.

Some Cantonese-speaking parents are deciding it is more important to point their children toward the future than the past — their family’s native dialect — even if that leaves them unable to communicate well with relatives in China.

“I figure if they have to acquire a language, I wanted them to have Mandarin because it makes it easier when they go into the workplace,” said Jennifer Ng, whose 5-year-old daughter studies Mandarin at the language school of the Church of the Transfiguration, a Roman Catholic parish on Mott Street where nearly half the classes are devoted to Mandarin. Her 8-year-old son takes Cantonese, but only because there is no English-speaking Mandarin teacher for his age group.

“Can I tell you the truth?” she said. “They hate it! But it’s important for the future.” Until recently, Sunday Masses at Transfiguration were said in Cantonese. The church now offers two in Mandarin and only one in Cantonese. And as the arrivals from mainland China become old-timers, “we are beginning to have Mandarin funerals,” said the Rev. Raymond Nobiletti, the Cantonese-speaking pastor.

At the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association, which has been the unofficial government of Chinatown for generations and conducts its business in Cantonese, the president, Justin Yu, said he is the first whose mother tongue is Mandarin to lead the 126-year-old organization. Though he has been taking Cantonese lessons in order to keep up at association meetings, his pronunciation is sometimes a source of hilarity for his colleagues, he said.

“No matter what,” he added, laughing, “you have to admire my courage.”

But even his association is being surpassed in influence by Fujianese organizations, said Professor Kwong of Hunter College.

Longtime residents seem less threatened than wistful. Though he is known around Chinatown for what he calls his “legendarily bad” Cantonese, Paul Lee, 59, said it pained him that the dialect was disappearing from the place where his family has lived for more than a century.

“It may be a dying language,” he acknowledged. “I just hate to say that.”

But he pointed out that the changes were a natural part of an evolving immigrant neighborhood: Just as Cantonese sidelined Taishanese, so, too, is Mandarin replacing Cantonese.

Mr. Wong, the principal of the New York Chinese School, said he had tried to adjust to the subtle shifts during his 40 years in Chinatown. When he arrived in 1969, he walked into a coffee shop and placed his order in Cantonese. Other patrons looked at him oddly.

“They said, ‘Where you from?’ “ he recalled. “ ‘Why you speak Cantonese?’ ” They were from Taishan, he said, so he switched to Taishanese and everyone was happy.

“And now I speak Mandarin better than Cantonese,” he added with a chuckle. “So, Chinatown — it’s always changing.”

Schools a battleground over dueling Chinese scripts

2009-10-19T23:25:00.000-07:00

Schools a battleground over dueling Chinese scripts
Los Angeles Times
October 18, 2009

For nine years, Sutoyo Lim's son studied Chinese with private tutors and at language schools. He learned to write in “simplified script,” characters with thinly spread strokes commonly used in mainland China.

But that all changed when Lim's 15-year-old son began taking Chinese classes at Arcadia High School this year. He was given two months to make the transition from “simplified” to the more intricate “traditional” script used in Taiwan.

Once the grace period is over, homework and exam answers written in simplified script will be disqualified -- regardless of accuracy. “To me, it does not seem right,” Lim said. “I'm not happy with being forced to choose the language that's going to be obsolete.”

When Chinese classes were introduced at Arcadia in the mid-1990s, Taiwanese parents pushed administrators to adopt the use of traditional script used in Taiwan and pre-communist China. The traditional form is distinguished by a series of complex and intersecting strokes.

But with the large influx of Chinese immigrants into the San Gabriel Valley over the last decade, there is increasing demand to adopt the simplified form, which Taiwanese parents and others see as a threat to an ancient tradition. The change is occurring at private and public schools in California and across the country.

The language dispute is part of a larger and politically charged debate that stems in part from changing immigration patterns in the United States and China's increasing influence as a world economic power. Schools such as Arcadia High have become a battleground over this issue.

In a 2007 national survey by the Chinese Language Assn. of Secondary-Elementary Schools, nearly half of 263 schools included in the sample taught only the simplified form and 11% only traditional. The remaining taught a mix of the two. In 1994, by comparison, 17% of 139 schools taught simplified and 40% traditional.

“China is opening up a huge market worldwide,” said Yu-Lan Lin, executive director of the association. “It's better to know the customer's language.”

For the last four years, Arcadia High Principal David Vannasdall has been lobbied by both sides of the debate.

Last April, the school held a meeting with parents to discuss the issue. Parents were urged to “focus on interests, not positions.”

Because of what he deemed a “hostile” attitude toward his support of simplified script, Lim didn't want his son's name used for this story.

“The reaction to eliminating traditional has been overwhelming,” Vannasdall said. “It's a really controversial issue.”

Two years ago, when Christine Lee was president of the Arcadia Chinese parents club, some parents pushing for the simplified form tried to draw the group into the debate. But Lee said the club resisted taking sides.

Still, Lee, who came to the U.S. from Taiwan in the 1980s, said she resented Lim's characterization of traditional script as obsolete. “Chinese characters are so beautiful, why would you give that up?” she said. “How could 5,000 years of history go away that easily?”

Simplified characters were introduced in the 1950s by the Chinese communist regime to improve literacy rates among the country's mostly rural population.

At the time, anti-communist politicians and refugees fled and settled in Taiwan, where they continued the use of traditional script.

Before diplomatic relations were established between the United States and China in the 1970s, the traditional form was commonly taught here. To switch to the simplified form says something about Taiwan's place in the world and who speaks on behalf of Chinese culture, said David Lee, past president of the Arcadia Chinese Assn.

“In the heart of Taiwan, it's a crisis because the Taiwanese feel they are so small, there's nothing they can compete with China, not militarily, not with population,” Lee said. “But if there's something they can . . . insist upon, it's culture and the language. And script is part of the culture.”

Others worry that changing school curriculum is only the beginning and that the rest of the community would soon follow with store signs, restaurant menus and newspapers. In August, the Sing Tao Daily newspaper in the Bay Area changed its free weekly publication to simplified script.

“There are more and more Chinese from mainland,” said Tim Lau, chief executive of the paper's San Francisco operation. “We want to tap a different market, the new immigrant market.”

In June, Taiwanese President Ma Ying-jeou caused a stir during a meeting with visiting Taiwanese community leaders from the U.S. when he said students should learn to read in traditional script and write in the simplified form. After he was publicly criticized, he clarified that his statement was directed at mainland China.

“It became a very ideological thing,” David Lee said. “As the Chinese say, 'Save face.' Sometimes save face is more important than anything else.”

When creating its Chinese language curriculum three years ago, Palo Alto High School in the Bay Area considered the practical use of the language before deciding on the simplified form, said Norman Masuda, instructional supervisor for languages. Parents who continue to promote the traditional form are not acting in the best interest of their children, he said.

“For the future, they need to learn something that they can use right away, and most students want to go to China, not Taiwan,” Masuda said. “You have to keep up with the wave.”

Soon after she was hired as principal of Meyerholz Elementary School in San Jose last spring, Anita Alfonso said, parents were complaining about the teaching of the simplified form. The school has an 8-year-old Chinese immersion program taught mostly in the traditional form, but it introduces simplified script in the fourth grade.

Of the 350 students in the program, Alfonso said, about half have parents from Taiwan. “I've already had a lot of parents come talk to me that they don't like the simplified,” she said.

At Westside Chinese School in Mar Vista, the administration was forced into a compromise about five years ago after some Chinese parents took their children out of the school to protest the traditional-only curriculum.

Since its founding in 1967 by Taiwanese immigrants, the parent-run Saturday school had taught only the traditional form until enrollment dipped, and the school began teaching in both Chinese scripts, said Joan Kung, the school's past dean of academic studies.

“We ask the teachers if they can teach both to meet the demands of both parents,” Kung said. “We want to attract these parents from China.”

In classrooms and textbooks at the school, traditional script is presented side by side with simplified, and students are allowed to choose which they prefer. In his classroom at Westside, 10-year-old Jacob Graves writes in simplified form using big, broad pencil strokes. He said he could read traditional script, but he still became flustered when he looked at the school's newsletter.

“I can't read this word and this word and this word,” he said. “Actually, I can't read a lot of these words.”

Jacob's mother, Joanna Graves, who grew up in Shanghai, said the traditional form takes up too much study time. “I like simplified because it's a little easier for the children to write,” she said.

Most state and national Chinese groups have avoided promoting one script over the other, said Gay Yuen, a Cal State L.A. language professor.

For academic organizations, debating traditional versus simplified is a no-win situation. It not only distracts from other issues but can also alienate some members.

In June, Yuen met with other academic leaders from across California in a two-day conference held in Burbank to establish state Chinese language standards. They avoided any talk of scripts.

“If that question had come up at the meeting, we wouldn't have been able to get through our agenda,” Yuen said. “It's like politics. Don't talk about it.”

Girls sell sex in Hong Kong to earn shopping money

2009-10-12T23:17:00.000-07:00

Girls sell sex in Hong Kong to earn shopping money
October 13, 2009 By Pauline Chiou
CNN

HONG KONG, China (CNN) -- She doesn't want to be identified, except by her nickname "Sze," and she has a secret past. Her father doesn't know what she did as a 16-year-old, and she hopes he never finds out. But Sze, now 19, wants young girls to hear her story so they never make the same mistake.

"My first customer was an ordinary man in his 40s. We skipped the dinner part and went straight to the guest house for sex," Sze recalled. "Actually, I was a bit scared, but I knew this was the only way I could get money. This customer wasn't bad, though. We just had sex, he paid, and then he left. I thought this was easy money, and that's why I continued doing this kind of thing."

For a year and a half, Sze was part of a growing social phenomenon among teens in Hong Kong called "compensated dating," a practice in which a young woman agrees to go on a date with a man for a fee. More often than not, the date involves sex.

Sze said she started compensated dating because many of her classmates at an all-girls school were doing it. She says she became jealous when she saw the designer clothes, bags and cosmetics they bought with the money they earned through compensated dating. Sze wanted the same for herself, so her classmates introduced her to Internet chat forums where she met male customers.

The practice can have deadly consequences. Last year, a 16-year-old Hong Kong girl was killed in a gruesome murder after she went to a 24-year-old man's apartment for a compensated date. The man, Ting Kai-Tai, killed the teenager, dismembered her body and flushed the remains down the toilet. A jury convicted him of murder and sentenced him to life in prison.

Sze told CNN she knew a compensated date could go horribly wrong. She would set ground rules with clients on the phone first. She charged them $350 for a date and clarified how many times she would have sex with them.

She said sometimes the customers would stray from the rules, asking for more sex or refusing to wear a condom.

"Sometimes, I did feel shame. I kept asking myself why I had to do this kind of thing to make money. But the feeling didn't stay long. I would relax when I wanted to buy something. I just thought I could always quit after a short time or whenever I wanted," Sze said.

Most girls who engage in compensated dating don't view themselves as prostitutes, said social worker Chiu Tak-Choi.

"For the girls, they don't think so because they think they can quit anytime. The girls -- even though they post their details on the Internet -- they think they can quit. Even if they encounter the guys, if he is not good-looking, she can quit and say 'I don't do it.' They think they have a lot of power to control whether they do it or not, so they think of it very differently from prostitution."

Chiu, the social worker, is currently working with about 20 girls who are trying to leave the world of compensated dating. It is hard to quantify how big the problem is in Hong Kong because the business is conducted under the radar, he said.

Chiu believes the problem is getting worse because his caseload has doubled in the past two years.

Prostitution is illegal in Hong Kong, and legal experts say that compensated dating is a form of prostitution. "The law prohibits soliciting for immoral purpose," said Stephen Hung, a criminal litigator with Pang, Wan & Choi. "When a court looks at sentencing, the greater the age difference, the more serious it (the sentence) is."

Why do young girls get involved in compensated dating? The reasons vary from an unstable home life to a desire for material goods, Chiu said.

One 14-year-old girl told him she started compensated dating when she lost her cell phone. She said her parents wouldn't buy her a new one, so she thought she could earn some fast money with paid sex. She had her eye on an expensive cell phone. When the money from the first compensated date didn't cover the cost for the new phone, she went on a second paid date.

Girls involved in compensated dating don't necessarily come from poor families, Chiu said. They are from all levels of socioeconomic classes, he said. Improved family communication is one solution to preventing girls from becoming involved in compensated dating, Chiu said.

"The family has to do its part. I think caring for children is very important. Whenever they have problems, they can ask someone for help."

Sze said she was saved by a social worker who stepped in on her behalf. After a pregnancy scare and a number of unpredictable customers, Sze said her self-esteem plummeted. The social worker helped her get back on track.

"She helped me understand that making money respectably is actually not that hard in Hong Kong. I finally realized that it was wrong to make money by selling my body. It just wasn't worth it."

Sze now works at a hair salon to earn a living. She has tried to talk her old friends out of compensated dating, but they are not listening, she said.

"They felt annoyed when I talked to them about this. I'm now reluctant to get in touch with them. They just tell me they're different. Maybe they have more serious family problems or some other burdens. I know I can't control their thinking, so I just stopped trying to help them."

Hong Kong youth caught in wave of ketamine addiction

2009-08-03T19:08:00.000-07:00

Hong Kong youth caught in wave of ketamine addiction
http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/07/31/hongkong.ketamine/index.html

August 1, 2009
By Pauline Chiou
CNN

HONG KONG, China (CNN) -- A 16-year-old Hong Kong boy makes two phone calls for delivery: one for pizza, the other for the drug ketamine. Two teenage girls are found semi-conscious in a car park in the southern Chinese enclave after overdosing on ketamine. A 13-year-old boy joins a gang and is given free ketamine.

These are anecdotes told to CNN by police, a family doctor and the former gang member. Ketamine has become the top drug of choice among young people as the number of people under 21 taking drugs has surged 57 percent in the last four years in Hong Kong, said Commissioner for Narcotics, Sally Wong.

“We started off with a very small number of young people taking drugs. We are now more worried about the trend,” Wong said. “We don't want a runaway trend, that's why we are stepping up action.”

Ketamine, an animal tranquilizer, puts youth in a dazed stupor for about two hours.

An oversupply of the drug in Hong Kong and the fact that it is cheaper than other narcotics makes ketamine popular with young people, said Superintendent Wilson Fok of the Hong Kong Police Narcotics Bureau.

One gram of ketamine sells on the street here for $13 and is enough to be shared with two other people, while cocaine, for example, sells for $103 a gram, Fok said.

The drug is trafficked into Hong Kong from other parts of Asia, such as India and mainland China, Fok said.

Police have recently stepped up their efforts to crack down on drug use at clubs and bars in Hong Kong and Shenzhen, a city in mainland China just across the border. Nearly 120 alleged drug users from Hong Kong, mostly under the age of 30, were arrested at entertainment venues in Shenzhen in July and held for 15 days in sweeps that made headlines for days here, according to the South China Morning Post.

However, narcotics police have detected a trend away from entertainment venues.

“Forty percent of young people abuse drugs in public toilets and playgrounds. That's what our recent data from last year shows,” Fok said. “They want to find some other places to take drugs.”

The problem has gotten so bad that authorities have decided to do something never done here before: random school drug tests.

Beginning in September, some two dozen schools will conduct tests. Officials say the drug screening will most likely be in the form of urine tests, though they are still working out the details. Ketamine can be detected in urine for at least three days.

Alman Chan, principal of Hong Kong's only drug rehab center for youth, the privately-run Christian Zheng Sheng School, said it was clear more young people were taking drugs.

“Just look at our school development. I was here 14 years ago. At that time, I was the only teacher. I had 18 kids. I only had one student who was 15,” he said. “But now, I have one third -- about 40 of them -- who are 15 years old or younger. That shows you the number of students getting into drugs is bigger and also getting younger and younger.”

There were a few reasons why children were getting involved with drugs, such as troubled homes and difficulties at school, he said.

“People are more concerned about material things and they are getting lost,” he added.

Hong Kong Police have arrested kids as young as age 10 for serious drug offenses.

Police said last week they had busted a network that allegedly recruited teenagers to sell illegal drugs, and one of those arrested -- a 14-year-old school dropout -- was found with 28 grams of ketamine, according to the South China Morning Post.

Dr. Cheng Chi Man, a family practice doctor, runs a seminar that trains doctors to detect the signs of drug abuse in young patients: drowsiness, skin problems, frequent urination (ketamine can affect bladder function) and frequent sick leave.

“When we were 10 years old, we were still in primary school watching TV and eating candy. But they are now taking drugs.”

Tai Ming Hung said she learned her son Keith was using ketamine after he had been treated at a hospital for taking it at a karaoke bar.

“I was in denial. I just didn't believe it was true. When I first heard about it, we all didn't know how to react, because we hadn't heard of those drugs before,” she said. “I didn't really understand why we have these harmful drugs in the world. And I was so afraid that it would kill my son.”

Keith, who said he began using ketamine at the age of 13 when he joined a gang, has recovered and is now living at Alman's school.

“I have a feeling that he's really growing up, he keeps improving,” Tai Ming Hung said.

Ketamine abuse is not limited to young people -- it is the second most popular drug among all age groups in Hong Kong, Fok said.

A 24-year-old man in Hong Kong was just convicted of killing a girl, whose dismembered remains were found by authorities. His lawyer said he was high on ketamine and Ecstasy, and did not know how the girl had died.

For the worst young offenders in Hong Kong, the court ships them off to Chan's school in a remote part of Lantau Island. The closest road is a three-hour hike through the woods.

Chan calls the school “the last stop before jail” for drug abusers.

CNN visited the campus on an old pig farm, where 99 boys and 24 girls live. Their curriculum involves regular school subjects and chores. The goal is for each student to finish their court probation and either sit the university exam or continue on to a vocational school.

Many of the students have become interested in video editing and photography. There is a video lab on campus and the students showed CNN some video projects they have done for clients.

Other students run a pizza parlor and tea shop on a neighboring island.

The average stay is three years and students are encouraged to plan for life after rehab.

“We have vocational training. We help them get some marketable skills; therefore, they may get a job or continue training afterward,” Chan said. “I believe everyone deserves a second chance.”

Malaysia Dilutes Its System of Ethnic Preferences

2009-06-30T22:23:00.000-07:00

Malaysia Dilutes Its System of Ethnic Preferences
By THOMAS FULLER
Published: New York Times, June 30, 2009
BANGKOK — Najib Razak, Malaysia’s prime minister, announced Tuesday a major rollback in the system of ethnic preferences that has defined the country’s political system for almost four decades.

The new policy would severely weaken a requirement that companies reserve 30 percent of their shares for ethnic Malays, the country’s dominant ethnic group.

The 30-percent rule was once considered politically untouchable, and Mr. Najib described the change in policy as a “tricky balancing act.”

Malaysia has long given ethnic Malays and members of other indigenous ethnic groups — known as bumiputra, or sons of the soil — political and economic privileges. But that system has come under strain amid growing resentment by minority groups and poorer Malays.

The government offers bumiputra discounts on houses, scholarships and other perks. But some benefits, like government contracts and stock-market allocations, have been beyond the reach of working-class Malays.

Anger among Chinese and Indians, the country’s main minority groups, over the ethnic preferences was perhaps the main reason that the opposition made large gains in elections last year that nearly dismantled the governing coalition led by Mr. Najib’s party, the United Malays National Organization.

“We want to be fair to all communities,” Mr. Najib said in a speech in Kuala Lumpur, the Malaysian capital. “No one must feel marginalized.”

Mr. Najib’s success in rolling back the ethnic preferences will depend in large part on his ability to hold together his coalition and fend off a resurgent opposition led by Anwar Ibrahim, a former finance minister.

Mr. Anwar, who leads a diverse group of opposition parties, has promised to undo the system of ethnic preferences.

By positioning himself as a reformer, Mr. Najib, who came to power in April, appears to be calculating that he can stave off opposition advances and be seen as an agent of change.

“The world is changing quickly, and we must be ready to change with it or risk being left behind,” he said Tuesday.

The change would leave some ethnic preferences intact and come with caveats. But it would dilute one of the most important components of what is known as the New Economic Policy, introduced in 1971: the requirement that companies listing on the stock exchange sell 30 percent of their shares to ethnic Malays.

That requirement was scrapped for companies already listed on the stock exchange and reduced to 12.5 percent for initial public offerings. The requirement will remain in place for “strategic industries” like telecommunications, water, ports and energy.

Mr. Najib also said he would lower barriers for foreign investors. The government would eliminate a special vetting process for foreign companies wanting to invest in, merge or take over a Malaysian company, he said.

“The global economic crisis is amplifying the need to be a preferred investment destination,” he added.

Malaysia’s trade-dependent economy is expected to contract by 5 percent this year.

Hong Kong holds on to money-giving tradition

2009-01-27T06:57:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong holds on to money-giving tradition
By Kari Lipschutz
Published: International Herald Tribune, January 26, 2009
http://www.iht.com/articles/2009/01/26/asia/packet.1-413354.php

HONG KONG: Edith and Kenneth Chung look around their upscale restaurant in Hong Kong and see empty chairs.

These are lean times, but the Chungs will not cut back on the Lunar New Year tradition of giving red and gold envelopes containing small amounts of money, called “lai see” in Cantonese or “hong bao” in Mandarin, to family and friends who are less fortunate.

“People will not compromise lai see,” Edith Chung said. “It is good luck.”

With some trepidation, as bankers lose their jobs and manufacturers close factories, Hong Kongers are continuing the practice as they always have, considering the luck they hope to gain from giving to outweigh the financial cost.

This is a practice rooted in the ages. Before envelopes there were other tokens believed to be auspicious gifts. The exact origins of the red packets are not clear, but over time they have come to be an iconic symbol of luck and prosperity.

The Lunar New Year is a time to celebrate with family and the tradition of giving is an integral part of that, but the steadfast practice may only briefly mask problems that are expected to surface after the envelopes have been thrown away.

Simon Lam, professor of management at the University of Hong Kong, says businesses traditionally wait to announce bad news like layoffs and cutbacks until after the New Year celebrations have ended.

“The sentiment is that the worst is still to come in the first and second quarters of 2009,” he said. The Hong Kong economy entered a recession in early 2008.

It may be the Lunar New Year bonus, a holiday perk that is not associated with the envelopes and something not tied to tradition, that turns out to be a harbinger of what is to come for China's economy in the Year of the Ox.

Samuel Kam, chief executive of PowerNetix, a small IT company in Hong Kong, says the financial problems of the outside world have already started to affect his business.

“Customers were already cutting back the services they ordered at the end of last year,” he said. “Some of them have just disappeared altogether.”

For Kam, the financial burden is creating a situation where giving bonuses will not be guaranteed, but anyone receiving lai see from Kam might not know that his company is having problems.

“I will probably give the same amount in lai see, because the people I usually give to know me,” he said. He added that he would rather spend less on himself so he can maintain the same amount of lai see to people like his doorman.

A survey in Ming Pao, a Chinese newspaper in Hong Kong, found that more people will be giving out 10 Hong Kong-dollar notes, or $1.28, this year, the lowest socially acceptable amount to give.

The survey suggests that people are not necessarily giving out fewer envelopes, but may be putting less money in each one.

Whatever the survey's findings, many people like the Chungs say they are spending as they always have.

“We will give the same amount this year,” Chung said. “Giving money is lucky.”

In once-booming tea region, a bitter reality

2009-01-10T04:42:00.000-08:00

EMBARGO: In once-booming tea region, a bitter reality
By Andrew Jacobs Published: International Herald Tribune, January 9, 2009
http://www.iht.com/articles/2009/01/09/asia/tea.php

MENGHAI, China: Before American real estate prices deflated, before the stock market nose-dived and before the Ponzi-madness of Bernard Madoff, there was the Pu'er Tea Debacle of Menghai County.

Pu'er tea, a pleasantly aromatic beverage that boosters claim reduces cholesterol and cures hangovers, became the darling of the sipping classes in recent years as this nation's nouveaux riches embraced a distinctly Chinese way to display their wealth, and invest their savings. Between 1999 and 2007, the value of Pu'er, a fermented brew invented by Tang Dynasty traders, increased tenfold.

In mid-2007 the finest aged Pu'er changed hands for $150 a pound, or $330 a kilogram. Now it can be had for a tenth that price.

For tens of thousands of wholesalers, farmers and ordinary Chinese who poured their money into discs of compressed tea leaves, the crash of the Pu'er market has been nothing short of disastrous. Many investors had been led to believe that Pu'er prices could only go up.

“The saying around here was 'It's better to save Pu'er than to save money,”' said Wang Ruoyu, a longtime dealer in Xishuangbanna, the lush, tea-growing region of Yunnan Province that abuts the Burmese border. “Everyone thought they were going to get rich.”

Today in Asia & Pacific
Thailand already bouncing back with tourismBiden in Afghanistan for talksAt least 14 killed in Afghanistan violenceFermented tea was hardly the only caffeinated investment frenzy that swept China during its boom years. The urban middle class speculated mainly in stock and real estate, pushing prices to stratospheric levels before exports slumped, growth slowed and hundreds of billions of dollars in paper profits disappeared over the past year.

In the Pu'er belt of mountainous Yunnan Province, a cabal of manipulative buyers cornered the Pu'er market and drove the price to record levels, giving some ordinary farmers and traders a taste of the country's bubble - and its still bitter aftermath.

At least a third of the 3,000 tea manufacturers and merchants have called it quits in recent months. Farmers have begun replacing newly planted tea trees with more nourishing - and now, more lucrative - staples like corn and rice. Here in Menghai, the newly opened six-story emporium built to house hundreds of buyers and bundlers is a very lonely place.

“Most of us are ruined,” said Fu Wei, 43, one of the only tea traders brave enough to open a business in the empty complex. He sat in the cement hull of his shop - he cannot afford to finish the space - and cobwebs covered his shelf of treasured Pu'er cakes.

All around him, sitting on unsold sacks of tea, were idled farmers and merchants who bided their time playing cards, chain smoking and, of course, drinking endless cups of tea. “A lot of people behaved like idiots,” Fu said as he poured another round.

The pop of the Pu'er bubble is a cautionary tale of modern China, where a dearth of investment opportunities, an abundance of cash and a lack of government oversight allowed buyers to drive the price of Pu'er to obscene levels.

Wu Xiduan, secretary general of the Chinese Tea Circulation Association, said many naïve investors were taken in by the frenzied atmosphere, largely whipped up by out-of-town wholesalers who promoted Pu'er as drinkable gold and then bought up as much as they could, sometimes paying up to 30 percent more than the previous year. He said that as farmers planted more tea, production doubled from 2006 to 2007, to 100,000 tons. In the final, free-for-all months, some producers would ship their tea to Yunnan from other provinces, label it as Pu'er and then enjoy huge markups.

When values hit absurd levels last spring, the buyers unloaded their stocks and disappeared.

“The market was sensationalized on purpose,” Wu said, speaking in an interview from Beijing.

With its near-mythic aura, Pu'er is well-suited for hucksterism. The darling of emperors and imbued with vague medicinal powers, Pu'er was supposedly invented by eighth-century horseback traders who compressed the tea leaves into cakes for easier transport. Unlike other types of tea, which are consumed not long after harvest, Pu'er grows better with age. Prized vintages from the 19th century have sold for thousands of dollars a wedge.

Over the past decade, the industry has been shaped in ways that mirror the Western fetishization of wine. Sellers charge a premium for batches picked from older plants or, even better, “wild tea” trees that have survived the deforestation that scars much of the region. Connoisseurs talk about oxidation levels, loose-leaf versus compacted and whether the tea was harvested in the spring or the summer (spring tea, many believe, is more flavorful).

But with no empirical way to establish a tea's provenance, many buyers are easily duped.

“If you study Pu'er your whole life, you still can't recognize the differences in the teas,” said Wang, the tea buyer. “I tell people to just buy what tastes good and don't worry about anything else.”

Among those most bruised by the crash are the farmers of Menghai County, many of whom had never experienced the kind of prosperity common in China's cities. Villagers built two-story brick homes, filled them with televisions and refrigerators and sent their children to schools in the district capital. Flush with cash, scores of elderly residents made their first trips to Beijing.

“Everyone was wearing designer labels,” said Zhelu, a 22-year-old farmer, who is a member of the region's Hani minority and uses only one name. “A lot of people bought cars, but now we can't afford gas so we just park them.”

Last week, dozens of vibrantly dressed women from Xinlu sat on the side of the highway hawking their excess tea. There were few takers. The going rate, about $3 a pound, was less than a tenth of the peak price. The woman said that during the boom years, tea traders from Guangdong Province would come to their village and buy up everyone's harvest. This year, they simply didn't show.

Back at Menghai's forlorn “tea city,” Chen Li sat surrounded by what he said was $580,000 worth of product he bought before the crash. As he served an amber-hued seven-year-old variety, he described the manic days before Pu'er went bust. Hotels and restaurants were packed with out-of-town buyers and local banks, besieged by customers, were forced to halve the maximum withdrawal limit.

“People had to stand in line for four or five hours to get the money from the bank and you could often see people quarreling,” he said. “Even pedicab drivers were carrying tea samples and looking for clients on the street.”

A trader who jumped into the business three years ago, Chen survives by offsetting his losses with profits from a restaurant his family owns in Alabama. He also happens to be one of the few optimists in town. Now that so many farmers have stopped picking tea, he is confident that prices will rebound next year. As for the mounds of unsold tea that nearly enveloped him?

“The best thing about Pu'er,” he said with a showman's smile, “is that the longer you keep it, the more valuable it gets.”

Why do Asian students generally get higher marks than Latinos?

2008-07-16T10:42:00.000-07:00

Why do Asian students generally get higher marks than Latinos?
By Hector Becerra, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer July 16, 2008

The eight students walked into a room at Lincoln High School prepared to discuss an issue many people, including some of their teachers, considered taboo.

They were blunt. Carlos Garcia, 17, an A student with a knack for math, said, "My friends, most of them say, 'You're more Asian than Hispanic.' "

"I think Carlos is Asian at heart," said Julie Loc, 17, causing Carlos to laugh good-naturedly. Asian students who get middling grades often get another response, she said.

"They say, 'Are you really Asian?' " Julie said.

"It's sad but true," said Eliseo Garcia, a 17-year-old with long rocker hair, an easy manner and good grades. "I had an Asian friend, but he didn't necessarily get that great a grades. We used to say, 'He's Mexican at heart.' "

What accounts for such self-deprecating humor? Or the uneven academic performance that prompts it?

The state's top education official, Supt. Jack O'Connell, called for that kind of discussion last fall when he decried the "racial achievement gap" separating Asian and non-Latino white students from Latinos and blacks.

At The Times' request, the Eastside students gathered to talk about this touchy subject.

Lincoln Heights is mostly a working-class Mexican American area, but it's also a first stop for Asian immigrants, many of them ethnic Chinese who fled Vietnam.

With about 2,500 students, Lincoln High draws from parts of Boyle Heights, El Sereno and Chinatown.

Both the neighborhood and student body are about 15% Asian. And yet Asians make up 50% of students taking Advanced Placement classes. Staffers can't remember the last time a Latino was valedictorian.

"A lot of my friends say the achievement gap is directly attributable to the socioeconomic status of students, and that is not completely accurate," O'Connell said. "It is more than that."

But what is it? O'Connell called a summit in Sacramento that drew 4,000 educators, policymakers and experts to tackle the issue. Some teachers stomped out in frustration and anger.

No Lincoln students stomped out of their discussion. Neither did any teachers in a similar Lincoln meeting. But the observations were frank, and they clearly made some uncomfortable.

To begin with, the eight students agreed on a few generalities: Latino and Asian students came mostly from poor and working-class families.

According to a study of census data, 84% of the Asian and Latino families in the neighborhoods around Lincoln High have median annual household incomes below $50,000. And yet the Science Bowl team is 90% Asian, as is the Academic Decathlon team.

"Look at the statistics. It's true," said George De La Paz, 17, whose single mother works as a house cleaner.

Asian parents are more likely to pressure their children to excel academically, the students agreed.

"They only start paying attention if I don't do well," said Karen Chu, 15, whose parents emigrated from Vietnam. "They don't reward me for getting straight A's. I don't get anything for that. But if I get a B, they're like, 'What's this?' "

If her grades slipped, she said, her parents laid on the guilt extra thick. "My parents are always like, 'If you don't do well in school, then it's all going to be worth nothing,' " Karen said, laughing nervously.

Julie Loc, the daughter of a seamstress and a produce-truck driver, said that if she gets a B, her parents ask whether she needs tutoring. She said her father used to compare her to other people's children, noting their hard course loads or saying, "They have a 4.3 [grade-point average]. Why do you only have a 4.0?' "

Julie said her mother, Kin Ho, finally told her father to stop making comparisons. Ho, in an interview, said with a slightly embarrassed smile, "My daughter has embraced American culture, where she expects my reassurance and approval. Our children, if they did something well, they would ask us if we were proud of them, if they did good. They ask if we love them."

George said his mother, a Mexican immigrant, has high expectations for him too, but she is not so white-knuckled when it comes to school. She wants him to do well -- he's now thinking of college -- but the field of endeavor is up to him.

"She said, 'I came here to do better for you,' " he said. "But that's about it. Being happy and getting by, that's what she wants."

For Carlos Garcia, the one with the knack for math, the message from his parents was to focus on school. Neither got to finish grade school in their native countries.

His mother, Maribel, from El Salvador, is a homemaker; his father, Santos, a Mexican immigrant, is a drywall finisher who once took Carlos and his older brother to work with him -- to scare them away from manual labor. Two of their children have college degrees, one is still in college and Carlos, the only Latino on Lincoln's Academic Decathlon team, wants to attend Caltech.

Ericka Saracho, 16, an A student, said her Latino family did not push her to do well in school. When she got a rare B, "they're like, 'Oh, wow, Ericka finally got a B! How do you feel about that?' " she said. She is one of the few Latina students on Lincoln's Science Bowl team.

The students talked not just about parental expectations, but also about those of peers. Karen drew laughter when she said of other students, "They expect me to be smart. Even if, like, I do everything wrong on purpose, they still copy off of me -- as if I'm right just because I'm Asian."

She said expectations came into play in an even odder way in Lincoln High's hallways.

"In our school we have tardy sweeps, and normally the staff members let the Asians go," Karen said. "They don't really care if we're late."

The group, nodding, erupted into laughter. "They don't even ask them for a pass sometimes," George added.

"Generally speaking -- like it's stereotypical that Asians all do better -- I also think there's a stereotypical view that Asians are usually late," Julie said. "They'll come to school late, but they'll get to class and do their work."

This drew more laughter.

Many factors influence academic performance: class size, poverty, and school and neighborhood resources. But as the discussions at Lincoln show, expectations loom large.

Fidel Nava, a coordinator for English learners at Lincoln, said some Latino students say that Asians get higher grades simply because, well, they're Asian.

"In a sense, they have come to believe that it's OK for Asians to be smart and not for Hispanics," said Nava, who immigrated from Mexico at 14.

Nava, the only one of six siblings to go to college, said he was once like many of his students. His parents wanted the children to finish high school, but there also was an expectation that they get jobs and help the family.

"A lot of my relatives don't see my job as a stressful job at all," Nava said. "If I tell them I'm tired, they say, 'Why? You're not doing any labor. You're not doing anything.' "

Rocio Chavez, 18, said that even though her older sister graduated from high school, their mother didn't really expect her to go to college.

"I guess she didn't expect that from me, either," Rocio said. "And now that I'm going to move on to college, she's kind of scared. She gets kind of sad I'm leaving. She's like, 'You're supposed to graduate from high school, go to work and help me out.' "

Frank D. Bean, a professor of sociology at UC Irvine's Center for Research on Immigration, Population and Public Policy, has studied the Mexican work ethic and found that work and education occupy the same pedestal, and in some cases, work is even more valued.

Bean said his research shows that children of Latino immigrants, if they drop out of school, are more likely to be working than most other students who leave school.

"In Latino families, being able to work to provide defines your manhood, your worthiness," said Min Zhou, a UCLA sociology professor who has studied working-class Korean and Chinese communities.

Latino and Asian families in Lincoln Heights were essentially in the same socioeconomic boat, she said, but Asian immigrants were more likely to have been more affluent and had better education opportunities in their native countries.

Of course, there are exceptions to stereotypes at Lincoln. "My mom just wants me to pass," said Thin Lam, 17.

But Thin said counselors assumed he wanted to take a slew of AP classes, and a counselor urged him to take AP calculus.

"I said, 'Yeah, sure, I want to take it,' " he said. "In the end, I dropped it."

A few hours after the eight students concluded their discussion, some teachers gathered in Principal James Molina's office.

"I feel a little bit uncomfortable talking about racial and ethnic generalizations," said Cynthia High, a 20-year teaching veteran now in charge of teachers' aides and other programs.

"In some situations, it sparks a good conversation. In others, it's more taboo-ish to talk about it," said William Olmedo, who teaches AP physics.

Barbara Paulson, who coordinates Lincoln's magnet program and teaches AP biology, said it had been understood for a long time that teachers needed to try harder to recruit Latino students for AP classes because "the Asian kids come on in droves."

Gilbert Martinez, who teaches AP government, said he didn't think the school did as good a job as it could to raise expectations among Latino students and to get them into AP classes.

"But I do," Paulson said.

"I'm not saying you, Barbara. I'm saying all over."

Olmedo said many capable Latino students refused to take AP classes or join other academically rigorous activities.

Teachers said they were saddened by self-defeating attitudes.

"I think the thing I always hear from the Latino kids is, 'Oh, well, Miss, he's Asian, she's Asian. Of course they do well,' " said Alli Lauer, who teaches English. "It's frustrating to hear them do it to each other."

But as one student said in a separate interview, many Latino students are responding to cues. Johana Najera, 17, said the Academic Decathlon offers a not-so-subtle cue about who belongs.

"We already know that it's Asian, and they kind of market it more for Asians," Najera said. She noted that the shirts for the Academic Decathlon team have a logo done in the style of anime, Japanese animation. "It appeals more to Asian students," she said.

Martinez turned the conversation toward parents' attitudes, summarizing a discussion from one of his Chicano studies classes.

"Let's say a Latino student is studying and an Asian student is studying," Martinez said. "The Latino parent will often say, 'Hey, come help me out real quick, then you can go back to your studying.' Where the Asian parent will say, 'Oh, you're doing your homework. OK, you finish, and then after you're done, you come help me.' "

High recalled a good Latino student she had a few years ago. He also was a gang member.

"He would wear baggy pants, and he would load up his pants with books," she said. "He looked around to make sure no one was seeing him so he could look like the baddest kid in the block."

The teachers were then asked about tardy sweeps, the topic the students had found so amusing. Was it true that Asians could wander outside class without a hall pass?

"My Asian kids laugh at that," Olmedo said. "I say, 'Take the pass.' They say, 'I'm Asian. Who's going to ask an Asian student for a pass?' "

"Oh, you're kidding!" High said with a gasp.

"I'll send one of my [Latino] boys out just to get water, and here comes the security, 'Please make sure you send him out with a pass,' and I'll say I will," Olmedo continued. "And the Asian kid will walk around the whole campus, the whole day, the whole week, for a whole month!"

Don Brewer, an English teacher, said some Latino students were allowed to slide by without hall passes, including athletes and others involved in school activities.

"But you know," Brewer said, "when you're looking down the hall and you see that one kid pop out, you go, 'OK, he's Asian. I can go back in.' You know, I think that happens. It's obvious it happens."

High shook her head. "But I must say I don't feel comfortable with that. And if we're doing that, that's not OK. That's just not OK."

"Oh, it's happening," Olmedo said. "It's happening."

hector.becerra@latimes.com

http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/front/la-me-lincoln16-2008jul16,0,1416673.story

In a twist, USA's Asians head to the Mountain West

2008-07-07T21:48:00.001-07:00

In a twist, USA's Asians head to the Mountain West
Migration is fueling diversity in areas that have been mostly white
By Haya El Nasser
USA TODAY 7/7/08

LAS VEGAS — Dozens of workers line up for a buffet catered by Satay Malaysian Grille, a popular Chinatown eatery here. They carry plates piled high with Asian delicacies to nine rows of long tables facing a dais.

By the time the employees savor mango-sticky-rice treats, their luncheon speakers are introduced: a local TV reporter, a former school administrator, a bank founder, a magazine publisher, a chamber of commerce executive, a local politician.

Only one is Anglo. The rest: Chinese, Japanese, Thai — all Asian Americans.

This event isn't in Las Vegas' Chinatown district but in a meeting room at one of the pillars of the local business establishment: Nevada Power.

The lunch, held so the utility's workers could hear voices from the Asian-American community, is a reflection of the explosive growth and rising clout of Asian Americans in Nevada and other inland Western states. They've become a powerful voting bloc that's being wooed by presidential candidates — and an economic force that businesses are catering to.

This decade, the Asian population has grown at a faster rate than that of the Hispanic population in 14 states — including Nevada, Arizona and Texas — as well as Washington, D.C.

In a surprising twist to historical settlement patterns, growing numbers of Asian Americans are beginning to bail from the places that have long been their main gateways to the West: California and Washington. Wearied by the same crushing home prices, poor schools, jammed freeways and persistent crime that have sent millions of other Californians packing, Asian Americans are moving to spots in the West they hope will produce better lifestyles — namely Las Vegas and Phoenix.

The Asian migration is fueling ethnic diversity in places that have been overwhelmingly white. Since 1990, Nevada has had the most rapid growth of any state in the number of Asians and Pacific Islanders.

The number jumped 174% in the 1990s and 67% so far this decade to about 211,000, according to 2007 Census Bureau estimates. Asians now make up about 8.2% of Nevada's 2.6 million people — a higher percentage than the national share of 5.4%. Most live here in Clark County, where Asians are the fastest-growing minority.

Arizona also is registering significant growth among Asians, a trend fueled largely by an exodus from California and Washington. They're leaving for lower cost of living, warm climates and better job markets, a reflection of the migration patterns that have made Nevada and Arizona the nation's fastest-growing states throughout much of the past two decades.

Asians are doing what middle-class whites have been doing for decades: moving to more affordable parts of the West, says William Frey, demographer at the Brookings Institution.

"California is losing Asians, and the main destinations are other states in the Mountain West," he says.

His analysis of Census data shows that since 2001, 86,000 more Asians left California for the inland mountain states than vice versa. "It started with whites, followed by Hispanics, and Asians are now continuing that trend," Frey says. "It means a place like Las Vegas is becoming a microcosm of growing America."

Pauline Ng Lee, a Chinese-American bankruptcy lawyer, moved 10 years ago from Los Angeles' Hollywood Hills section to Summerlin, an upscale community on Las Vegas' west side. "We moved into a neighborhood where more than 60% of the residents were from California, either southern or northern," she says. "We came out for two reasons: My husband had a great opportunity … as a physician, and the cost of living was so much lower."

In the first quarter of this year, for example, the median sales price of existing single-family homes in the Las Vegas area was $247,600, compared with $459,400 in the Los Angeles area, according to the National Association of Realtors.

Ten years ago, Las Vegas' Chinatown was less than three blocks long. Today, it stretches almost 4 miles along Spring Mountain Boulevard. It's beginning to spread out on either side. Business after business, restaurant after restaurant crowd strip malls and office buildings. Signs in Korean and Chinese adorn the facades. Newspaper racks offer publications in more than a half-dozen Asian languages.

"The traditional Chinatown area is really becoming an integral part of our broader community," says Maureen Peckman, executive director of The Council for a Better Nevada, a group of business and civic leaders concerned with quality-of-life issues. "That's the hallmark of a maturing community."

This neighborhood is one of the most visible signs of growth in the Asian American community here. There are others:

•Construction is scheduled to begin this year on the 180,000-square-foot Asia Town Center. The developers bill it as the Southwest's largest Asian shopping center.

"The fastest-growing demographic is Asian but this town doesn't have a major Asian center," says Chris Hardin, vice president of operations at DFG Development Corp., one of the developers.

The center will feature up to 10 of the West's most prominent Asian retailers. The anchor grocer, Hmart, will occupy 50,000 square feet and sell produce, meats, household wares and prepared foods at low prices.

It will be "like an Asian version of Whole Foods, except with Costco prices," DFG says.

•Las Vegas' first Asian bank opened last summer. Founded by local investors, First Asian Bank targets the financial, cultural and linguistic needs of the entire Asian community. Dee Mallas, owner of a real estate firm and co-owner of a mortgage funding company, is one of the bank's founders. She saw the void in banking services for the Asian community when dealing with Asian buyers.

"I saw the growth and I saw the need, but if you target only Chinese or only Korean, it's not big enough," says Mallas, who is Thai American.

That's why First Asian Bank's two branches cater to all Asian groups. The number "8," a symbol of prosperity, is the first number of the bank's branch numbers and all its customers' account numbers (the Beijing Olympics start 8/8/08 for the same reason). Two Texas companies have since opened banks in Las Vegas to target the Asian market.

•The Asian Real Estate Association of America opened a Las Vegas chapter last year. John Fukuda, its founding president, is a third-generation Japanese American and another California transplant. A successful Internet entrepreneur, he now owns a mortgage company.

He knew there was a need for such an organization when giant homebuilder D.R. Horton Inc. asked for help targeting the Asian market. Relocation directors in pursuit of teachers and doctors also needed their help. "Membership went from eight to 800," he says. "Half of the membership is not Asian."

Real estate agents have organized "fly-and-buys" for Californians, offering them three days and two nights in Vegas to play and check out properties.

•The first national glossy magazine to target all Asian ethnicities is scheduled to be launched from Vegas in September. The monthly AsianAm will sell for $4.50, aim for an initial circulation of 700,000 and try to capture the attention of Asians ages 18 to 34, says Bessy Lee-Oh, CEO and publisher.

"Other magazines are small and niche-targeted or ethnic specific," says Lee-Oh, a Chinese American. "We are neither. We go from business to politics — the entire game. … It was my dream."

•Chinese New Year, on the first day of the first lunar month in the Chinese calendar (Feb. 7 this year), is now the second-largest draw for casinos here — second only to the conventional New Year's holiday. At least four casinos, including the Gold Coast and Palace Station, have beefed up efforts to target the Asian market year-round.

Most hotels and casinos are careful not to offend Asians. Fifteen years ago, when the MGM Grand HotelsCasino opened, guests had to enter through what appeared to be the mouth of a lion, the company's corporate logo. Many Asian patrons were not amused. They considered walking into the mouth of a beast bad luck and avoided the casino. MGM spent millions redesigning the entrance.

•The Asian Bar Association, formed in 2002 by three lawyers, including Lee, now has about 50 active members. "Ten years ago, I was one of the few if not the only Asian practicing regularly in bankruptcy court," says Lee, a Chinese American married to a Korean American.

The influx of Asians has been widely accepted because Las Vegas is accustomed to new arrivals from everywhere, Peckman says. "We have over 7,000 people moving to southern Nevada every month, we add 100 cars to our roads on a daily basis. So, to say the Asian growth is visible, yes, it's visible but so is the growth in so many of our other demographic populations."

Laurie Kruse, 47, moved here from California 20 years ago. She began to see dramatic changes about three years ago in the pews of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, the Catholic Church she attends. More Filipinos were joining the congregation. Then there was the boom in Chinatown. "It's brought in a great aspect as far as I'm concerned," says Kruse, an administrator. "The way they worship is tremendous. … It's brought a different culture into Las Vegas."

Filipinos are the largest Asian group here, at about 45%. Chinese are the next at 15%, Japanese and Koreans make up 9% each, Asian Indians and Vietnamese represent about 5% each, and other Asians make up 12%.

Because the Asian community is still relatively small in numbers, ethnic divisions are not as distinct as in places such as Los Angeles, San Francisco or New York.

Although it's officially called Chinatown, "it's really Asiatown," Fukuda says.

"A lot of it has to do with maximizing their political clout," Frey says. "They want to identify themselves as a pan-Asian group rather than segment themselves. … It makes sense for Asians to band together."

California generates more Asian migrants than other states, but they're coming from elsewhere, too.

The owners of Satay Malaysian Grille moved from Seattle. Stan Saito, president of the Las Vegas Asian Chamber of Commerce, is a Japanese American who moved from Texas. Magazine publisher Lee-Oh moved from New York.

Los Angeles banker William Chu was still skeptical, however, when he was approached about heading First Asian Bank a couple of years ago. "Yes, there are a lot of Asians coming in but they're visitors to the Strip, I thought," he says. "Then they drove me around and I said, 'Wow.' "

Chinese-American Chu made the move and now is the bank's president and CEO.

Las Vegas is luring Asians young and old, professional and service workers, native-born Americans and immigrants.

"It's somewhat of a bipolar community," says Jeremy Aguero, principal analyst at Applied Analysis, a Nevada business research and consulting firm. "There are professionals and those with limited skills."

There could be plenty of jobs for both groups. The first phase of MGM Mirage's CityCenter, a $9.2-billion, 68-acre project, is under construction on the Strip between the Bellagio and Monte Carlo hotels and casinos. It will need 12,500 employees, Aguero says. The Echelon, a $4.8 billion hotel project on 87 acres, is scheduled to open in 2010. It will need 12,000 workers.

"We're just yearning for talented human capital," Peckman says.

http://www.usatoday.com/printedition/news/20080707/1a_asiacover07.art.htm

With generations carrying on tradition, L.A.'s Chinatown celebrates 70th anniversary

2008-06-28T19:21:00.001-07:00

With generations carrying on tradition, L.A.'s Chinatown celebrates 70th anniversary
By David Pierson, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer June 28, 2008

Ron Louie has successfully designed high-end homes from Santa Monica to San Marino for four decades.

But at least once a week, the architect leaves his Pasadena home and heads to Chinatown in Los Angeles to run his family's aging trinket store, K.G. Louie.

Making a profit isn't the point. They're lucky to ring up $100 a day.

Carrying on the store is an act of respect to the siblings' father, Gar Fong Louie, and mother, Lee Shee Louie, who were among the original tenants of Central Plaza, the colorful center of Chinatown.

As "New Chinatown" marks its 70th anniversary today, those celebrating will include the so-called grandchildren -- the second- and third-generation Chinese American professionals like Ron Louie who no longer live in Chinatown but keep a finger there nonetheless.

"We all have our professions, but we want to keep the tradition alive," said Louie, 69. "If it wasn't for our parents' sacrifice, we wouldn't be where we are today."

The Louies opened their store in Central Plaza because the original Chinatown was razed for Union Station. Its founding families lived at a time when the Chinese were prevented from buying property, obtaining bank loans and securing desirable jobs.

It wasn't until the next generation that Chinese began to find mainstream professional success.

Many fled Chinatown and moved to the modern Chinese community to the east, in the San Gabriel Valley.

Yet a handful of families, like the Louies, who were part of the neighborhood's 1938 opening, still cling to the narrow pedestrian streets and pagoda-style buildings.

Many will be present tonight at a retro anniversary celebration meant to evoke the glamour days when Hollywood stars would descend on Chinatown.

Organizers will show historic photographs, a swing band will perform and one of Central Plaza's more recent tenants will unveil newly installed neon lights along the roof lines of his three buildings -- an ornament that long distinguished Central Plaza until the lights fell into disrepair in the 1980s.

"We want to pay tribute to these original merchants," said George Yu of the Chinatown Business Improvement District, which helped organize the event that's open to the public. "I think they'd be proud to see what their children have become."

New Chinatown was a popular tourist destination for decades after it opened, perhaps reaching its zenith in the 1970s during then-President Nixon's trips to mainland China. But by the 1980s, the district was in decline, as the epicenter of L.A.'s Chinese community moved east to Monterey Park and vicinity. Merchants struggled as business dropped and crime increased.

But in recent years, Chinatown has rebounded with trendy new boutiques, restaurants, bars and galleries. A new generation of merchants -- many from Vietnam -- have also brought vigor to the district.

Some of the older establishments have seen an uptick in business while others continue to struggle.

Phoenix Bakery is more successful than ever -- settling into Los Angeles icon status to a loyal group of customers, much like its neighbor a few blocks east, Philippe's.

In 1977 the Chans moved the bakery, originally tucked into a corner of Central Plaza, around the corner onto Broadway, where they sell their famed strawberry cream cakes and Sticky Sugar Butterflies from an aqua blue storefront with a logo of a robed boy carrying a cake box behind his back.

"The bakery is still an anchor for our family," said Kellogg Chan, a retired banker and lawyer whose father opened the store. "We all come in and help out."

Two cousins, one a biochemist, the other an engineer, work the bakery on weekends. The store is now managed by Chan's younger brother, Kelly, and his son, Craig.

"I feel like downtown is on the way back," said Craig Chan, 30. "We want to be part of the redevelopment of Chinatown. This is our legacy."

Kellogg Chan, 68, said he was put to work in the bakery by his parents as a young boy. He learned to slice berries, clean pans and bake and ice the cakes.

It was a lesson in discipline and hard work that helped him later in life, he said.

"They stressed education," he said of his parents. "The bakery taught me that success takes a lot of hard work. Why do I come back? Because this was the source. This paid for our educations and our homes."

Sitting at one of the bakery's round tables Thursday, Kelly Chan, 61, was more precise: "We've spent the last 20 years making more money than we know what to do with."

While "the grandchildren" help out in some businesses, other Chinatown shops are still overseen by older generations.

Eileen Soo Hoo stood behind her glass counter selling jade necklaces and beaded bracelets at Phoenix Imports on a recent afternoon, much as she's done every day since 1953, when she married into one of Central Plaza's first families.

"I always say 'one more year,' but we never leave," said Soo Hoo, who is originally from England and speaks with a noticeable accent.

"It's a habit now," she said. "So many others left. They grew tired of Chinatown. They had no childhood because they had to work. They don't want to be tied to a business like this. My kids always ask me why I stay here."

But Soo Hoo can't imagine leaving.

She is so tied to the store that she asked a passing organizer how much of a distraction today's celebrations would be for her business. She said she'd rather look after the store than go outside to join the festivities.

Ron Louie said he invited more than 80 family members to the celebration. He doesn't expect the youngest to show. Some of them haven't ever seen the store.

He sometimes worries that history will be lost. In the last four years, three of Chinatown's mainstays have died: Roger Hong, the son of a pioneering Chinese American lawyer; Gim Fong of Fong's Oriental Works of Art; and John Chin of Sincere Imports.

But Louie doesn't think the family will ever lose the shop.

"Someone will take over," he said. "It's too unique to give up. I'll force my daughter. There's enough of us to find someone."

david.pierson@latimes.com

http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/california/la-me-newchinatown28-2008jun28,0,4430138.story

At California's Asian fish markets, freshness is everything

2008-06-24T22:55:00.000-07:00

At California's Asian fish markets, freshness is everything
By John M. Glionna, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
6:45 PM PDT, June 22, 2008

OAKLAND -- Rafael Anguiano takes his corners gingerly. He has to -- he's driving an aquarium on wheels, a lumbering delivery truck carrying 3,000 pounds of live fish in large, sloshing tanks.

One sunny afternoon, he sweats freely as he hustles hundreds of flopping fish into the Lucky Seafood Market inside a rolling rubber trash can. Breathless, he dumps five buckets into the store's tanks, the sturgeon, catfish and carp slashing and struggling like salmon surging upstream.

"C'mon, make me full," a Lucky market worker pleads. "One more bucket, one more."

Anguiano's cellphone rings. It's Johnson Cheng, owner of Yet Sun Market six blocks away. Customers are demanding their fish, he says. Wincing into the receiver, Anguiano asks wearily: "People are already waiting for me?"

Cheng, Anguiano says, is a ruthless negotiator: "He wants all my fish and won't take no for an answer. I'm going to have to cut somebody bad today."

Anguiano, 33, is a critical link in California's ethnic food chain. He works for The Fishery, a Central Valley aqua farm that's one of a handful statewide catering to a unique niche: California's Asian markets.

In Asian cuisine, live fish are a delicacy. Asian diners insist they can distinguish on the plate between a fish freshly plucked from a tank or stream and one previously gutted and languishing on ice.

Ken Beer, Anguiano's boss and founder of The Fishery, once believed the Asian live-fish venture would be short-lived. His older ethnic customers would die off, he figured, and new generations would adopt American habits and take to buying fillets in Styrofoam packages.

Instead, new immigrants kept demand high for the dozen California fish farmers who raise product for the state's Asian customers. Small neighborhood markets catering to Asian tastes have expanded outside traditional Chinatowns to suburbs such as the Sunset District in San Francisco and Monterey Park in Los Angeles.

About 25 years after Beer and several others began supplying Asian markets, business is swimming across California.

According to several aqua farmers, the Asian appetite for finned fish -- sturgeon, large-mouthed bass, tilapia, catfish, carp -- comprises 70% of the estimated $50-million California aquaculture industry, not counting algae and shellfish. That's a whopping 20 million pounds annually.

Beers delivers 1 million of those pounds -- and he's in the process of expanding his farms. The Fishery's small fleet of delivery trucks serves markets in San Francisco, Oakland, San Jose and Sacramento.

Still, he worries he won't be able to keep up with demand.

Already, Anguiano plays a cat-and-mouse game with markets. On his twice-weekly Oakland rounds, he serves his veteran customers first, then hits those who play the field with other suppliers.

But word gets out the moment Anguiano's truck is spotted. "I can't drive past a market without my phone ringing," he says. "Everyone has their spies out."

In market after market, Anguiano weighs his loaded trash can on scales. Then he pushes his load -- fish writhing, water spraying off whipping tails -- down narrow aisles with slippery tile floors, shoppers jostling to eyeball his catch. Anguiano knows the appearance of his fish is critical. Anything off-color or under stress will be rejected.

He passes splayed fish heads and turtles with their shells broken open to expose red meat -- soup ingredients. There are live bullfrogs and geoduck (pronounced gooey-duck), which are large saltwater clams with long, meaty necks. Workers scoop a fresh fish from a display tank, stun it with a mallet, then quickly skin and fillet it.

Anguiano negotiates both language and cultural barriers.

"Hey, amigo!" he calls out to one Asian worker. "Boss?"

People smile and point. "I don't know much Cantonese -- just the names of the fish, that's it," he says in one of Oakland's Chinatown markets. "But luckily this owner speaks fluent Spanish."

Ken Beer wanted to study bighorn sheep.

The year was 1975 and Beer had a summer to kill at home in California before starting graduate school. That's when three Arkansas entrepreneurs approached him with a harebrained scheme.

Soon Beer was hooked. He skipped graduate school and started raising fish. Mistakes were made. One customer wanted 100,000 finger-length catfish, half his year's earnings. An excited Beer scrubbed the holding pool with bleach to kill any bacteria. A tad too much bleach, it turned out.

"Within 15 minutes, the fish were dead," he said. "That took a lot of the starch out of me."

By 1982, Beer was selling live catfish one or two at a time right from the farm in Galt, just outside Sacramento. He noticed that Chinese and Vietnamese from the Bay Area would snap up a hundred fish at a time to sell in their city markets.

That's when he thought: Why not deliver wholesale?

Beer now serves more than 50 markets in the Bay Area -- a far cry from the days of the bullfrog incident a decade ago.

When he began his run that day, the frogs were sedate inside a burlap sack on the back of the truck. By the time he reached San Francisco, the ice had melted and the heated frogs were jumpy.

He was in for a surprise, he said, when he went to fetch some frogs for delivery. He opened a sack and 50 leaped out.

"People were chasing them around, helping me round them up."

Esther Lin is wide-eyed as she watches Anguiano empty 150 pounds of large-mouth bass into the display tanks of her corner market in Oakland's Chinatown. She scans the tanks for dinner.

As a child in Hong Kong, she used to run to meet the fishing boats. "For Chinese, a live fish means good luck," she says. "It's part of the joyful process of eating."

Outside, Anguiano stands atop his truck bed with a large net. He scoops the catch 10 at a time into his rubber can. Water splashes onto the windshield of a car waiting for the light to change. The motorist glares. Anguiano keeps working.

People stop and stare at the wet fish, skin glinting in the sun. Once, Anguiano said, a woman asked what would happen to the fish. When he told her they'd soon be killed, she asked to pray for them.

His cellphone rings. It's Johnson Cheng. Again.

"OK, OK," Anguiano says. He hangs up, shaking his head. "Ay, ay, ay. He's gonna kill me."

Soon, he's parked outside Cheng's market. Co-owner Sherlyn Cheng meets him at the curb. The market delivers to 20 restaurants, and customers are hankering for their fish.

"They're complaining like crazy," Cheng says.

Johnson Cheng leaps onto the truck to select the best fish. "Frozen fish is like chewing wood," he says. "My customers want everything live."

Cheng wants 700 pounds of bass and keeps cajoling until Anguiano relents and offers 100 pounds more.

"Usually, he's my enemy," Cheng says. "Today, he's my amigo. You saved my life, man."

When Anguiano warns him the next delivery will be smaller, Cheng quips: "Next time you will be my enemy again."

Then the old woman appears. Stooped over her cane, she shows up every time, like a sea gull trailing a fishing trawler, in search of free fish. She smiles, raising her tiny sack.

"She plays hardball," Anguiano says. "She buys me fruit as barter." He motions that he is out of fish. The woman vanishes. Then she's back -- with kiwis. "Plan B," Anguiano says.

He slides a wriggling catfish into her bag and she scurries away. Later, as he readies to leave, he sees the kiwis she has left on his truck bumper.

"A deal's a deal," he says. "She's some businesswoman."

john.glionna@latimes.com

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/columnone/la-me-fishnew23-2008jun23,0,6769960.story

New Chinatown grows in far east San Gabriel Valley

2008-06-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

New Chinatown grows in far east San Gabriel Valley
Wealthy ethnic Chinese immigrants are fashioning their own enclave in the cities of Rowland Heights, Diamond Bar, Walnut and Hacienda Heights.
By David Pierson, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
June 19, 2008
The celery and squid sizzle in Suipao Tsai's blackened wok as she prepares lunch for up to six dozen employees of the family's multimillion-dollar lingerie business in the city of Industry.

It's a scene repeated every weekday morning at her palatial family compound in the hills of Rowland Heights.

A Mercedes-Benz SUV parked next to an 18-foot koi pond is lined in the back with old Chinese newspapers and loaded with a steaming pot of beef brisket and turnip stew.

After the Mercedes arrives, the employees -- most of them Asian -- pile heaps of food on plates, then sit quietly eating and watching a Mandarin-language talk show on a flat-screen TV.

"It's a cultural thing," said Mike Tsai, 38, Suipao Tsai's second son and chief operating officer of the family's company, Leg Avenue. "My father used to be responsible for providing lunch for 200 employees" in Taiwan. "We brought that tradition here to America."

In fact, much of the eastern San Gabriel Valley has more in common with Taipei, Beijing or Shanghai than it does with neighboring Los Angeles. Here, Asian-immigrant entrepreneurs have transformed once-sleepy suburbia into a Chinatown like no other.

They are far from struggling newcomers trying to achieve the American Dream in other Chinese enclaves such as Monterey Park and San Gabriel farther to the west.

Here, the power of Chinese culture and its economy is on display, said Joel Kotkin, an expert in urban affairs and ethnic economies.

"It's so overwhelming," he said. "It's a suburb anchored to the tribal economy of the Chinese and China. They have an ideal life with a spacious backyard and institutions and amenities close by. You have a 15-minute commute to work rooted in city of Industry. You don't have to step out."

And many don't.

Since the family moved its offices to the city of Industry two decades ago, Mike Tsai says he's visited China and Taiwan more frequently than he's been to downtown L.A.

Tsai and other Asian entrepreneurs have created office parks where most of the signs are in Chinese. At the trendy shopping arcades one is more likely to hear Mandarin than English.

At Life Plaza off Fullerton Road, Tony Liu works at a high-end sneaker store. The 24-year-old from northern China has been in the U.S. for two years and said it often feels as if he never left home.

"I never get to practice my English," said Liu, who's been west of downtown L.A. only twice. "Sometimes it feels like I'm still in China."

The combined populations of Rowland Heights, Hacienda Heights, Walnut and Diamond Bar have not only doubled in the last two decades but also are now two-thirds Asian.

Close to 40% of the businesses in Industry are ethnic Chinese-owned.

Up the hill from Life Plaza, at Blandford Elementary School, close to 60% of the students are Asian.

Many are the children of wealthy immigrants, dropped off in luxury cars by their mothers. Many fathers are absent, having to work in China.

The school recently had to revamp its lunch policy. The main office was overwhelmed at noon with mothers trying to deliver hot lunches either from home or Chinese restaurants. Now they must leave the meals on a cart outside the school gates at 11 a.m.

Parent volunteer Rosy Chong said she overheard a newly arrived Korean parent's daughter ask her mother, "When are we going to America?"

"She thought Rowland Heights was a stopover" in Asia, Chong said.

For the teachers and administrators at Blandford, the demographic changes have been both a blessing and a challenge.

The cultural premium parents place on education has helped make Blandford the top-performing elementary school in the district. A waiting list was established to handle the high demand for enrollment.

Blandford Principal Jo Ann Lawrence said some parents told her they were reluctant to send their children to another school in the district because there were too many Latino students there.

"I'm not one to feel you have to be a melting pot; I value what each group brings," she said. "But the isolation concerns me."

Teacher Cindy Kim sees it firsthand in her classroom. In an environment so dominated by Chinese and Koreans, it's difficult to teach lessons about other cultures.

"We had Cesar Chavez assemblies, and it was difficult for them to comprehend," Kim said. "I'd ask for background information, and I wouldn't get a lot of input. They'd ask, 'Who is that?' Our big holiday is Chinese New Year."

The school usually holds its book sale after the New Year's celebration, knowing the students have "lucky money" to spend.

That was the case on a recent afternoon when Janelle Book, a Taiwanese native, was helping run the cash register surrounded by dozens of schoolchildren.

When Book immigrated to the U.S. 11 years ago, she and her husband chose to live in Rowland Heights over the western San Gabriel Valley because they considered Monterey Park and its neighboring cities the domain of working-class mainland Chinese immigrants.

Adjusting to the new country was easy at first because of where she lived. She could use Mandarin almost anywhere and could find most of the food she ate in Taiwan.

She got a job working at the cosmetics counter at a nearby Macy's. Half her customers also spoke to her in Mandarin.

The difficulty arose when she wanted to learn English. She had no one to practice with.

So Book signed up for an English-as-a-second-language class and began regularly watching "Friends" and "Everybody Loves Raymond."

She grew confident enough in her English to volunteer at Blandford when her 7-year-old-daughter enrolled in first grade. It made her feel part of a larger community for the first time.

Now she hopes that her daughter will grow up able to traverse both American and Chinese cultures. It's why she's being taught to speak both English and Mandarin.

"I'll take her to see our family in Seattle," Book said. "Show her another side of America."

The Tsai family immigrated to Southern California in 1984, fearing the political instability in Taiwan. They started modestly by selling cheap toys at a flea market in Redondo Beach. They then moved to downtown L.A., where they sold hosiery.

Early success allowed them to buy a 3,000-square-foot home in Rowland Heights in 1989.

Like many middle-class Chinese and Taiwanese immigrants, the Tsais opted for the area over more established enclaves like Monterey Park and Alhambra, partly because the homes were newer and larger.

The Tsais' fortunes increased dramatically in 2000 when Leg Avenue began making and designing sexy Halloween costumes for women.

They used old connections to secure factories outside Taipei and in Guangzhou and Shanghai to manufacture the designs affordably.

The racy nurse and pirate outfits became so popular the company went from $1 million in sales in 2000 to recording $87 million last year.

Their original Rowland Heights property has grown to become a 1.5-acre plot featuring three houses shared by more than 20 family members and a fleet of luxury cars.

The family imported ancient wood chairs and stone from Taiwan to form a table under the gazebo in the courtyard. Their annual Chinese New Year's parties have become affairs for 400. This year's party featured Peking duck, rowdy Taiwanese dice games and the doling of $30,000 in red "lucky money" envelopes to visitors.

"Even though we've gone corporate, the Taiwanese family structure is always there," Mike Tsai said.

It's a lifestyle that requires few jaunts outside their "new Chinatown" enclave, save for shopping runs to South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa or a chance to race Mike Tsai's Lamborghini, Porsche or Ferrari at Crystal Cove.

"We never have to leave," Mike Tsai said. "Everything we need is here."
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-chinatowneast19-2008jun19,0,5800685.story

Report Takes Aim at ‘Model Minority’ Stereotype of Asian-American Students

2008-06-10T17:53:00.000-07:00

Report Takes Aim at ‘Model Minority’ Stereotype of Asian-American Students
By TAMAR LEWIN
Published: New York Times, June 10, 2008

The image of Asian-Americans as a homogeneous group of high achievers taking over the campuses of the nation’s most selective colleges came under assault in a report issued Monday.

The report, by New York University, the College Board and a commission of mostly Asian-American educators and community leaders, largely avoids the debates over both affirmative action and the heavy representation of Asian-Americans at the most selective colleges.

But it pokes holes in stereotypes about Asian-Americans and Pacific Islanders, including the perception that they cluster in science, technology, engineering and math. And it points out that the term “Asian-American” is extraordinarily broad, embracing members of many ethnic groups.

“Certainly there’s a lot of Asians doing well, at the top of the curve, and that’s a point of pride, but there are just as many struggling at the bottom of the curve, and we wanted to draw attention to that,” said Robert T. Teranishi, the N.Y.U. education professor who wrote the report, “Facts, Not Fiction: Setting the Record Straight.”

“Our goal,” Professor Teranishi added, “is to have people understand that the population is very diverse.”

The report, based on federal education, immigration and census data, as well as statistics from the College Board, noted that the federally defined categories of Asian-American and Pacific Islander included dozens of groups, each with its own language and culture, as varied as the Hmong, Samoans, Bengalis and Sri Lankans.

Their educational backgrounds, the report said, vary widely: while most of the nation’s Hmong and Cambodian adults have never finished high school, most Pakistanis and Indians have at least a bachelor’s degree.

The SAT scores of Asian-Americans, it said, like those of other Americans, tend to correlate with the income and educational level of their parents.

“The notion of lumping all people into a single category and assuming they have no needs is wrong,” said Alma R. Clayton-Pederson, vice president of the Association of American Colleges and Universities, who was a member of the commission the College Board financed to produce the report.

“Our backgrounds are very different,” added Dr. Clayton-Pederson, who is black, “but it’s almost like the reverse of what happened to African-Americans.”

The report found that contrary to stereotype, most of the bachelor’s degrees that Asian-Americans and Pacific Islanders received in 2003 were in business, management, social sciences or humanities, not in the STEM fields: science, technology, engineering or math. And while Asians earned 32 percent of the nation’s STEM doctorates that year, within that 32 percent more than four of five degree recipients were international students from Asia, not Asian-Americans.

The report also said that more Asian-Americans and Pacific Islanders were enrolled in community colleges than in either public or private four-year colleges. But the idea that Asian-American “model minority” students are edging out all others is so ubiquitous that quips like “U.C.L.A. really stands for United Caucasians Lost Among Asians” or “M.I.T. means Made in Taiwan” have become common, the report said.

Asian-Americans make up about 5 percent of the nation’s population but 10 percent or more — considerably more in California — of the undergraduates at many of the most selective colleges, according to data reported by colleges. But the new report suggested that some such statistics combined campus populations of Asian-Americans with those of international students from Asian countries.

The report quotes the opening to W. E. B. Du Bois’s 1903 classic “The Souls of Black Folk” — “How does it feel to be a problem?” — and says that for Asian-Americans, seen as the “good minority that seeks advancement through quiet diligence in study and work and by not making waves,” the question is, “How does it feel to be a solution?”

That question, too, is problematic, the report said, because it diverts attention from systemic failings of K-to-12 schools, shifting responsibility for educational success to individual students. In addition, it said, lumping together all Asian groups masks the poverty and academic difficulties of some subgroups.

The report said the model-minority perception pitted Asian-Americans against African-Americans. With the drop in black and Latino enrollment at selective public universities that are not allowed to consider race in admissions, Asian-Americans have been turned into buffers, the report said, “middlemen in the cost-benefit analysis of wins and losses.”

Some have suggested that Asian-Americans are held to higher admissions standards at the most selective colleges. In 2006, Jian Li, the New Jersey-born son of Chinese immigrants, filed a complaint with the Office for Civil Rights at the Education Department, saying he had been rejected by Princeton because he is Asian. Princeton’s admission policies are under review, the department says.

The report also notes the underrepresentation of Asian-Americans in administrative jobs at colleges. Only 33 of the nation’s college presidents, fewer than 1 percent, are Asian-Americans or Pacific Islanders.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/10/education/10asians.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper&oref=slogin

Chinese Are Left to Ask Why Schools Crumbled

2008-05-25T15:44:00.000-07:00

Chinese Are Left to Ask Why Schools Crumbled
By JIM YARDLEY
Published: The New York Times, May 25, 2008
This story was reported by Jim Yardley, Jake Hooker and Andrew C. Revkin, and was written by Mr. Yardley.

DUJIANGYAN, China — The earthquake’s destruction of Xinjian Primary School was swift and complete. Hundreds of children were crushed as the floors collapsed in a deluge of falling bricks and concrete. Days later, as curiosity seekers came with video cameras and as parents came to grieve, the four-story school was no more than rubble.

In contrast, none of the nearby buildings were badly damaged. A separate kindergarten less than 20 feet away survived with barely a crack. An adjacent 10-story hotel stood largely undisturbed. And another local primary school, Beijie, catering to children of the elite, was in such good condition that local officials were using it as a refugee center.

“This is not a natural disaster,” said Ren Yongchang, whose 9-year-old son died inside the destroyed school. His hands were covered in plaster dust as he stood beside the rubble, shouting and weeping as he grabbed the exposed steel rebar of a broken concrete column. “This is not good steel. It doesn’t meet standards. They stole our children.”

There is no official figure on how many children died at Xinjian Primary School, nor on how many died at scores of other schools that collapsed in the powerful May 12 earthquake in Sichuan Province. But the number of student deaths seems likely to exceed 10,000, and possibly go much higher, a staggering figure that has become a simmering controversy in China as grieving parents say their children might have lived had the schools been better built.

The Chinese government has enjoyed broad public support for its handling of the earthquake, and in Sichuan on Saturday, Secretary General Ban Ki-moon of the United Nations praised the government’s response.

But as parents at different schools begin to speak out, the question of whether official negligence, and possibly corruption, contributed to the student deaths could turn public opinion. The government has launched an investigation, but censors, wary of the public mood, are trying to suppress the issue in state-run media and online.

An examination of the collapse of Xinjian Primary School offers a disturbing picture of a calamity that might have been avoided. Many parents say they were told the school was unsafe. Xinjian was poorly built when it opened its doors in 1992, they say, and never got its share of government funds for reconstruction because of its low ranking in the local education bureaucracy and the low social status of its students.

A decade ago, a detached wing of the school was torn down and rebuilt because of safety concerns. But the main building remained unimproved. Engineers and earthquake experts who examined photographs of its wreckage concluded that the structure had many failings and one critical flaw: inadequate iron reinforcing rods running up the school’s vertical columns. One expert described the unstable concrete floor panels as “time bombs.”

Xinjian also was ill-equipped for a crisis. An ambulance and other rescue vehicles that responded after the earthquake could not fit through the entrance into the school’s courtyard. A bulldozer finally dug up beneath the front gate to create enough overhead clearance. Parents say they believe several hundred of the school’s 660 pupils died.

“It is impossible to describe,” said a nurse standing on the rubble of the Xinjian site. “There is death everywhere.”

Schools are vulnerable to earthquakes, especially in developing nations where less attention is paid to building codes. The quake in Sichuan Province has already claimed 60,560 lives, and some of the flattened schools, especially those buried under landslides, could not have stood under any circumstances. The government has not provided a public list of those schools, but one early estimate concluded that more than 7,000 “schoolrooms” were destroyed.

China has national building codes intended to ensure that major structures withstand earthquakes. The government also has made upgrading or replacing substandard schools a priority as part of a broader effort to improve and expand education. Yet codes are spottily enforced. In March 2006, Sichuan Province issued a notice that local governments must inspect schools because too many remained unsafe, according to one official Web site.

Nothing is more central to the social contract in China than schools. Parents sacrifice and “eat bitter” so their children can get educations that lead to better lives. In turn, children care for their parents in old age. As in Manhattan, affluent Chinese fight to gain entrance to top schools from kindergarten onward.

But the families who sent their children to Xinjian are neither wealthy nor well connected. They are among the hundreds of millions still struggling to benefit from China’s economic rise. Many lost their jobs when a local cement plant shut down. Some sought work in more prosperous areas, leaving their children behind to attend school.

Angry parents at several destroyed schools are beginning to stage small demonstrations. On Wednesday, more than 200 Xinjian parents demonstrated at the temporary tents used by Dujiangyan’s education bureau, demanding an investigation and accusing officials of corruption and negligence.

One of the parents, Li Wei, said his son was one of 54 students who died in a class of 60 fifth graders. He said education officials told the demonstrating parents that the bureau had reported safety concerns to municipal leaders in the past. But their complaints were ignored.

“We want to bring justice for our children,” one father said the day before the protest. “We want the local officials to pay the price.”

Poor School, Long Neglected
The earthquake struck on May 12 at 2:28 in the afternoon as 20 fifth graders were rehearsing a dance on the basketball court in front of the school. Fourth graders were outside for gym class. When nearby shopkeepers rushed over, the children were standing on the court amid a cloud of dust. “They weren’t crying,” said Chen Chunmei, 35, the manager of a shopping strip beside the school. “They were in shock.”

The main building was decimated. Parents, neighbors and nearby college students arrived to find awful carnage. Ma Qiang, a decommissioned soldier living across the street, described a sickening scene.

“We were standing on the bodies of dead children, pulling out other children,” he recalled days later. He stood in the rubble and held his hand level with his head. “The concrete was this high. On the top was a boy, and two girls below him, and another boy under them, who was dead. It took four hours to dig them out.”

For hours, this ad hoc rescue team formed a line and passed along bricks or chunks of concrete in an attempt to clear debris. Bodies of children were piled on the sidewalk across the street. By late evening, paramilitary officers arrived and ordered the parents and others to withdraw outside the school gate. Many parents considered this a tardy response that was a stinging reminder of Xinjian’s low standing.

“A lot of our students came from the mountains,” said Deng Huiying, the former long-time principal. “Their parents were migrant workers.”

Xinjian is in the heart of the city of Dujiangyan. The lack of damage to the yellow-tiled kindergarten next door or to the Beijie Primary School a five-minute walk away has served as a reminder that proximity is not the same as equality.

Beijie is the city’s elite primary school, designated as a provincial-level “key” school, boasting the best facilities and the finest teachers. The kindergarten, meanwhile, was built and controlled directly by the city government of Dujiangyan. For years, Xinjian was controlled by a smaller, local township government, which had far less money and did little to improve the school.

In recent years, China’s central government has gradually abolished primary school tuition and other fees to ease burdens on farmers and migrants. Beijing has also increased its payments to local governments for education, but the main burden remains on local authorities, and many find themselves strapped for cash or siphon it off.

When Xinjian was built in 1992, many parents worked for the Dongfeng Cement Factory. Company bosses donated 40 tons of cement. But that was not enough. “Everybody knew they didn’t have enough cement,” said Dai Chuanbin, an older man familiar with the project. “So they used a lot of sand.”

Parents say the township government cut costs further by hiring farmers to do the work instead of trained construction crews. One former school official recalled that workers poured the foundation during such heavy rains that it collapsed. Another foundation had to be poured.

The school opened in 1993 and would quickly be overrun with students. The detached annex was rebuilt in 1998 after inspectors deemed it substandard. Ms. Deng, the former principal, recalled that nearby construction work in May 2006 caused the flooring in the main school building to shake violently. But she said she never had reason to believe the building was structurally unsound and never filed any written complaints with higher officials.

“If I’d thought the building was unsafe, there’s no way I would have let the kids stay there,” she said. When she saw the collapsed building, she fell on the ground, sobbing.

Several parents tell a different story. They say Ms. Deng and other school officials told them that the building was aging and unsafe, though they could provide no written proof. One father was told that Xinjian would soon be closed. Another, Zhu Junsheng, 44, claimed that Ms. Deng filed a report with Dujiangyan’s education bureau complaining about the building.

“The education bureau said there was no money,” said Mr. Zhu, sitting in front of a blue tent in a refugee camp a block from the school. “They didn’t care.

“I just want to say: The government didn’t do its job.”

Nearly two weeks after the earthquake, Mr. Ma, the decommissioned soldier, keeps returning to the rubble of Xinjian. He smokes cigarette after cigarette and has not changed out of the Che Guevara T-shirt and blue jeans he wore on that frantic afternoon.

“That’s where government officials send their children to nursery school,” he said, pointing to the undamaged, yellow-tiled kindergarten.

Mr. Ma saved several children the day of the disaster but cannot shake the memory of one girl. Her leg had been pinned beneath a heavy concrete slab. Two small cranes had failed to free her. Her body temperature was quickly dropping. So Mr. Ma told her father, “She can keep her leg or her life.”

The father was led away. Mr. Ma used a serrated knife he kept in his jeans. He said the job took three cuts across the girl’s shin. “She will hate me when she is older if she has trouble with love,” he said with a grim smile.

He does not know the girl’s name. “I have dreams every night,” he said. “She was very pretty. Very strong.”

Deadly Engineering Shortcuts
Techniques for fortifying buildings to withstand earthquakes have been clearly understood for decades. Use high-quality concrete. Embed extra iron rods. Tie them tightly into bundles with strong wire. Ensure that components of floors, walls and columns are firmly attached. Pay special attention to columns, which are the key to having a building sway rather than topple.

Engineers are already trying to assess how much of the destruction on May 12 should be attributed to faulty construction during China’s long and often helter-skelter building boom. The earthquake was so powerful, measuring at least 7.9 in magnitude, that a certain amount of damage could not be prevented. But engineering experts say Xinjian and some other schools in Sichuan were especially vulnerable.

Six structural engineers and earthquake experts asked by The New York Times to analyze an online photographic slide show of the wreckage at Xinjian concluded, independently, that inadequate steel reinforcement, or rebar, was used in the concrete columns supporting the school. They also found that the school’s precast, hollow concrete slab floors and walls did not appear to be securely joined together.

The widespread use of cheap, hollow slab floors is significant because numerous buildings with the same flooring collapsed during another Chinese earthquake in 1976, which devastated the city of Tangshan and killed at least 240,000. (A few buildings with the same flooring also fared poorly during the 1994 earthquake in California.)

“If the hollow core slabs are not adequately tied to the lateral frames, which seems to be the case in the photos, the structures are likely very flexible and would undergo large deformations under severe ground motions,” said Mary Beth Hueste, an associate professor of engineering at Texas A&M University, in an e-mail message.

When such components are not securely joined, they are “extremely dangerous, like time bombs,” said Xiao Yan, an expert in earthquake-resistant designs at the University of Southern California.

The most pronounced failing at Xinjian seemed to be inadequate steel reinforcement of the concrete columns supporting the school, experts said. There were too few rebar reinforcing rods and too little of the thin binding wire that holds the rebar together. And, critically, the steel bindings attaching the concrete flooring slabs were inadequate.

Xiaonian Duan, an engineer specializing in earthquake resilience for Arup, a multinational design consulting company whose head office is in London, said that concrete flooring panels fall apart during an earthquake if not strongly attached, “like we see Legos collapse.”

The Chinese government has known that many schools, especially in rural areas, are unsafe. Since 2001, the State Council, China’s cabinet, has budgeted roughly $1.5 billion for a nationwide program to repair dangerous schools in rural areas. In 2006, Sichuan Province’s government issued an urgent notice calling for localities to stop using substandard primary and middle schools.

“Unsafe buildings are the major hidden danger of school safety at present, and in recent years, accidents with death tolls and injuries were caused by collapsed schools,” the provincial notice warned.

Dr. Xiao toured the disaster zone after this month’s earthquake and found that many of the problems at Xinjian were common elsewhere. He said one reason for the widespread damage was that buildings in the region were not required to meet China’s most stringent standards for seismic protection. He also noted that China rates overall building design codes from 1 to 4. Buildings rated 1 are considered “important” and must meet stricter design requirements. But the system rates schools only as a 3, which means no additional design protections are needed.

In the aftermath of the quake, a handful of bricklayers and builders have visited Xinjian Primary School out of professional curiosity. A builder from nearby Meishan City recognized the faulty columns and flooring problems. Then he picked up a chunk of concrete from the rubble and rubbed it in his hands.

“The ratio of sand and concrete isn’t right,” he said. “It fell down because of cheap materials.”

In Search of Justice
The parents of Xinjian Primary School posted an online petition last Wednesday. They demanded justice for their children. Local police officials have promised an investigation, but the parents are not satisfied. They intend to protest again.

School represents hope in China. The parents do not express it exactly like that, but they saw education as their children’s only chance. The cement factory that employed many parents — and provided cement for the school — went bankrupt in 2002. They now collect small welfare payments and hold down odd jobs to support their families.

Liao Minhui had aspirations for his daughter. He knew that Xinjian was considered inferior and that a better school might help her find a better life. So he tried to wheedle her into Beijie, the elite school. He said he offered thousands of yuan to gain her admission, to no avail. She died in the Xinjian rubble.

“I tried very hard,” Mr. Liao said. “I tried to get help from every well-connected friend I have. Everything there is the best. The teachers are the best. The facilities are the best.”

Jiang Xuezheng, 41, is a small, wiry man whose simple manner betrays his country upbringing in a village about 200 miles away. He has sold fruit in Dujiangyan for nearly a decade to support his family back in the village. But to do this, he lived apart from his son for eight years.

So last year, Mr. Jiang also paid to try to win his child admission to a city school. He chose Xinjian. To him, a peasant, a city school like Xinjian represented a step up. He paid a $1,400 fee to make the switch. His 9-year-old boy was admitted in September.

“My parents are still in the countryside, but I wanted my son to live with me,” said Mr. Jiang, bowing his head and weeping. “I waited for eight years. Finally, I was together with my son.

“And then tragedy happens.”

Jim Yardley and Jake Hooker reported from Dujiangyan, and Andrew C। Revkin from New York. Zhang Jing and Huang Yuanxi contributed research.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/25/world/asia/25schools.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper&oref=slogin

Unearthing Nevada's links to its ignored Chinese heritage

2008-02-25T19:45:00.000-08:00

Unearthing Nevada's links to its ignored Chinese heritage
Marilyn Newton / Associated Press
A man's makeshift museum is an example of the state's slowly growing recognition of forgotten settlers.
By Ashley Powers, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
February 25, 2008

LOVELOCK, NEV. -- This wisp of a town owes its existence to Chinese laborers who panned gold in the mid-1800s and laid railroad tracks linking Utah and Sacramento. Yet the immigrants were mostly ostracized, made to live in a wood-shack Chinatown that later was bulldozed to make way for Interstate 80.

Now, their legacy is relegated to Larry De Leeuw's garage.

On a recent afternoon, De Leeuw squeezed into a cubbyhole walled off from his power tools and bottle cap collection. Strewed about him were brass opium containers, gambling tokens, a gong, rice bowl shards, turquoise ginger jars and a mirror with hand-carved dragons.

De Leeuw, 66, has cobbled together this collection of artifacts in the Frank Chang Museum, named after one of the last descendants of Lovelock's Chinese workers. Now, the only way to see this part of the town's past is through a large window in De Leeuw's garage, where a dedication -- typed on white paper -- describes Chang as an “avid hunter, fisherman, volunteer fireman.” He was also a staff sergeant in the Army.

“It was the least I could do,” De Leeuw said, to honor Chang and Lovelock's history.

His obsession took root about a decade ago, when he and his wife bought a brick fixer-upper in the Chinatown of Marysville, Calif., about 40 miles north of Sacramento. While renovating the two-story building, the now-retired construction worker -- who had also worked as a police officer and armored-car driver -- unearthed about 100 rice bowls and other relics beneath the ground floor.

De Leeuw became so enamored with Chinese laborer tales, amassing at least 40 books and pestering local mah-jongg players with questions, that one woman in Marysville nicknamed him Chinatown's mayor.

Then nearly four years ago, the De Leeuws discovered Lovelock -- a town about 90 miles northeast of Reno with mountain views, star-filled nights and few jobs beyond the nearby prison.

On a whim, they bought the 13-room Cadillac Inn. It's a short drive from downtown's Cowpoke Cafe, the Covered Wagon Motel and the Pershing County Courthouse, revered locally as “the nation's only working round courthouse.”

De Leeuw quickly figured out that the town's immigrant past mirrored Marysville's -- all it took was asking a few old-timers in this 2,000-person outpost. But as in many northern Nevada towns, Lovelock's Chinese heritage was largely overlooked.

Virginia City, Reno, Carson City and Elko had Chinatowns, settled in the post-Gold Rush westward expansion. Their immigrants helped piece together the Central Pacific Railroad, and some opened restaurants and stores in depot towns, although their fellow frontiersmen were far from welcoming.

In Lovelock, the Chinese hung signs declaring their businesses “white-run” lest they be boycotted, said Sue Fawn Chung, an associate history professor at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. In the ensuing decades, hostility and economic hard times drove many to Northern California, and most Nevada Chinatowns crumbled.

Only in recent years has Nevada moved to acknowledge this slice of its history; a private group hopes to raise at least $50 million for a Chinese Workers Museum near Carson City.

“The Donner Party has more prominence than what the Chinese did here,” said the group's co-founder, Khan Tung, a Carson City architect.

Lovelock demolished its Chinatown in the 1970s. But it recently has made an attempt to tout its heritage by encouraging “love-locking” -- a Chinese custom, common near the Yellow Mountains and the Great Wall, in which couples latch locks together in a show of their devotion.

About 900 locks now dangle behind the courthouse in Lovelock. The promotion, officials say, has lured a handful of drivers off the interstate.

De Leeuw considers his garage collection more a historical repository than a tourist attraction.

He unearthed many of his treasures in antique stores and near old workers' camps along the railroad tracks.

He also scoured the spot where the Chinatown stood -- now a junkyard near a McDonald's -- where decades ago archaeologists unearthed medicines, firecracker labels, an English snuff jar and 119 gold coins.

De Leeuw's passion extends beyond his driveway.About five miles west of town -- past fields of alfalfa and wheat -- is a cemetery where some of Lovelock's Chinese residents are buried.

Before De Leeuw got to work in 2005, it had been an unmarked patch of weeds and scrub brush next to the Lone Mountain Cemetery with its white crosses and marble headstones.

De Leeuw pulled death records, trying to figure out who was buried in the 35 or so unmarked graves.

He and other residents cleaned up the cemetery, and the county paid for a fence to keep out bikers and off-road vehicles. Each grave now is adorned with a dollar-store vase and a single fake flower.

In April, De Leeuw plans to preside over Ching Ming, a holiday when Chinese clean their ancestors' graves and offer roast duck and pig. De Leeuw has built a concrete-and-tile food platform for the festival.

“Last year, we had five Chinese people show up,” he said, his voice welling with pride.

ashley.powers@latimes.com

Asians, not whites, hurt most by race-conscious admissions

2008-02-20T13:39:00.000-08:00

Asians, not whites, hurt most by race-conscious admissions
By Peter Schmidt, USA Today 2/20/08

The long-running debate over affirmative action in college admissions just got more complicated, thanks to a new study that challenges the common assumption that whites are hurt most when colleges take applicants' race and ethnicity into account।

The study, published by the University of California-Los Angeles last week in the scholarly journal InterActions, suggests that it is mainly Asian-Americans — not whites — who are held to a higher standard when top colleges use affirmative action।

Where such institutions have been banned from considering applicants' race, the study finds, enrollment of Asian-Americans has increased while admissions of whites remained flat or, in some cases, declined. The study, an analysis of long-term enrollment trends at several exclusive public universities, found that the Asian-American share of enrollment increased:
•More than 15% at the University of Texas at Austin after a 1996 federal court ruling barred consideration of race in admissions.
•More than 15% at the University of Florida after Gov. Jeb Bush persuaded the state university system's governing board to vote in 2000 to end race- and ethnicity-conscious admissions.
•More than 20% at the University of California-Berkeley, more than 10% at UCLA and more than 30% at the University of California-San Diego after that state's voters passed a 1996 ballot measure barring the use of affirmative-action preferences by public colleges and other state agencies।

Although David Colburn and his two co-authors consider themselves advocates of affirmative action, he acknowledged their numbers show "Asian-Americans were discriminated against under an affirmative-action system।"

Colburn's assessment is in keeping with other research that has suggested that Asian-Americans are regarded as overrepresented on college campuses and therefore held to higher standards to keep their numbers down। The white applicants covered by this study fared no better in the absence of affirmative action than before. In fact, the number of white admissions in some cases dropped because of increased competition from Hispanics and from Asian-Americans.

This report comes as efforts are under way in Arizona, Colorado, Missouri, Nebraska and Oklahoma to ban the use of affirmative action by public colleges and state agencies। Similar measures easily won approval in California, Michigan and Washington.

The authors of the new study seem to be hoping that their conclusions will erode white voters' support for such measures। Their report says their findings "can hardly be satisfying" to "those who campaigned for the elimination of affirmative action in the belief that it would advantage the admission of white students." The study even predicts a white backlash against race-neutral admissions policies if Asian-Americans continue to make gains.

Most leading Asian-American advocacy groups have supported affirmative action। When the U.S. Supreme Court last weighed in on the legality of colleges' use of affirmative action in admissions in two University of Michigan rulings in 2003, 28 Asian-American organizations signed a legal brief urging the court to uphold such policies given the educational benefits of diversity. (A 5-4 majority of justices agreed with such logic.)

In the long term, it's unclear what impact this new study will have on the views of Asian-Americans — or the views of the courts. If colleges are using race-conscious admissions policies to limit enrollments of Chinese-, Vietnamese-, Indian- and Japanese-Americans, will they be able to continue convincing the courts that their intent is the promotion of diversity?
Peter Schmidt is a senior writer for The Chronicle of Higher Education and the author of Color and Money: How Rich White Kids Are Winning the War over College Affirmative Action.

1977 Exam Opened Escape Route Into China’s Elite

2008-01-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

1977 Exam Opened Escape Route Into China’s Elite
By DAVID LAGUE
Published: New York Times, January 6, 2008

BEIJING — In the autumn of 1977, as relative calm returned to China after the decade-long chaos of the Cultural Revolution, An Ping was laboring in the countryside where she had been sent, like millions of other young people from the cities, to learn from the peasants.

For two years Ms. An, an army general’s daughter, fed pigs and chickens and tended crops on a commune outside Beijing, while living in unheated dormitories and going hungry.

Though Mao had died the year before, and the radical Gang of Four, who had directed the Cultural Revolution in his name, were in custody, there was little sign that Ms. An and other “sent down” urban youths would be allowed to return home.

“For the first time I felt life was not worth it,” said Ms. An, who was 19 then. “If you had asked me to go on living this kind of life, I would rather die.”

Then, in late October 1977, village authorities relayed the news that China would hold its first nationwide university entrance examination since 1965, shortly before academic pursuits were subordinated to political struggle. In acknowledgment of more than a decade of missed opportunity, candidates ranging in age from 13 to 37 were allowed to take the exam.

For Ms. An and a whole generation consigned to the countryside, it was the first chance to escape what seemed like a life sentence of tedium and hardship. A pent-up reservoir of talent and ambition was released as 5.7 million people took the two-day exam in November and December 1977, in what may have been the most competitive scholastic test in modern Chinese history.

The 4.7 percent of test-takers who won admission to universities — 273,000 people — became known as the class of ’77, widely regarded in China as the best and brightest of their time. By comparison, 58 percent of the nine million exam-takers in 2007 won admission to universities, as educational opportunities have greatly expanded.

Now, three decades later, the powerful combination of intellect and determination has taken many in this elite group to the top in politics, education, art and business. Last October, one successful applicant who had gone on to study law and economics at Peking University, Li Keqiang, was brought into the Chinese Communist Party’s decision-making Politburo Standing Committee, where he is being watched as a possible successor to President Hu Jintao or Prime Minister Wen Jiabao.

“They were a very bright bunch, and they knew it,” said Robin Munro, research director for the Hong Kong-based China Labor Bulletin, who was a British exchange student at Peking University in 1978, when those freshmen arrived.

“They were the first students in 10 years let into university on merit, and they were going places.”

But back in 1977, most had only a few desperate weeks to prepare for the examination that would change their lives. The timing was especially daunting for those who had been cut off from schooling for years. All over China, students found themselves scrambling to find textbooks, seeking out former tutors and straining to recall half-forgotten formulas.

Ms. An, who now works in New York as the director of public relations for Committee of 100, a Chinese-American advocacy group, exaggerated the seriousness of a back injury and took a month’s medical leave, which she devoted to studying.

“I had to succeed,” she said.

The examination tested not only academic subjects, but also political correctness.

Han Ximing, now 50 and a Chinese literature professor at Nanjing Audit University, said she felt she was already well prepared to handle political questions from careful study of the party line in official newspapers in rural Jiangsu Province.

For years, the papers had been filled with criticism of Deng Xiaoping. “That was a big topic,” she said. “Actually, I had no idea why Deng was supposed to be so bad.”

In reality, it was the return of Deng, the veteran Communist leader, to a position of power in Beijing after the fall of the Gang of Four that led to the reinstatement of the annual exam, and a return to the pragmatism that would soon ignite decades of explosive economic growth.

Among those who have assumed positions of power, aside from Mr. Li of the Politburo, are Zhou Qiang, the governor of Hunan Province; Wang Yi, party secretary of the Foreign Affairs Ministry and a former ambassador to Japan; and Jin Liqun, vice president of the Asian Development Bank.

Artistic talent to emerge from the class of ’77 includes the filmmakers Zhang Yimou (“Raise the Red Lantern”) and Chen Kaige (“Farewell My Concubine”), and the writer Chen Cun.

“To be immodest, it was a phenomenal generation,” said Fan Haoyi, now 50, who earned a chance to study French at the Beijing Institute of Foreign Languages (now the Beijing Foreign Studies University), a stepping stone to a business career in Africa and Europe. “We had a rage to learn.”

Many successful candidates said they felt they had been given a priceless opportunity, and they were determined to make the most of it. “We were not just gifted, we also worked really hard,” said Ms. Han, the literature professor.

Still, not everyone jumped at the chance to take the exam.

After years when privilege and opportunity were reserved for the offspring of senior officials or people with approved class backgrounds, many prospective candidates doubted that the test would be fair. Others were reluctant to give up the security of even menial jobs.

For Ms. An, the desire to escape her rural life was tempered by the conviction that taking the exam was risky. Relations between the farmers and students were complex; if she failed and was forced to return to the village, she worried that she would be given all the dirty jobs.

“They didn’t like us being there because they had to share their land,” she said. “But if we tried to leave, they would think we looked down on them.”

Li Xiyue was also part of a rural production team. The work was hard but he found it difficult to imagine any other future for himself. “By the time I was sent to the rural areas, this policy had been in place for 10 years,” said Mr. Li, 50, who won a seat at Guangxi University and went on to become a writer and university lecturer. Hard farm labor “was normal,” he said. “Going to college was not normal.”

Still, he found time to study in his spare time. “The problem was, it was difficult to find interesting material,” he said. “I would even read the literature that came with farming equipment.”

When the time came to take the university entrance exam, some found it difficult to break with the commune.

Ms. Han was allowed to return home to study for the exam, but she became alarmed when she heard that she had been criticized at a commune meeting for pursuing personal ambition at the expense of the revolution.

“I ran back to the team, but my father was very angry and brought me home,” she said. “He banned all further contact with them.”

Ms. An said she had taken some French in middle school, but classes were overlaid with politics and broken up by military training and factory work. Less than confident, she went to see a former teacher who assured her that the examiners would not ask overly complicated questions.

But the teacher predicted that she would be asked why she wanted to study French, advising her to say she was doing it to serve the revolution.

“They did ask me that,” said Ms. An, who qualified to study French at the Beijing Language Institute (now the Beijing Language and Culture University) and later at the Sorbonne in Paris.

When the academic year began in 1978, after the lost decade of the Cultural Revolution, it was an unusually mature freshman class that entered universities across the country. Ms. Han said that some of her fellow students at Nanjing Normal University were twice her age. “I had a classmate who was the father of four kids,” she said.

As they began their studies, many were fired by idealism and eagerness to achieve a fresh start for themselves and their country.

“It was a time full of dreams and hopes for the future,” Ms. Han said.

Thirty years later, many express mixed feelings about the direction events took. While acknowledging the benefits of China’s economic development, some voiced disappointment with the pace of political change. Others complained that rapid material progress had fostered greed and cynicism.

“A lot of things we could not even imagine have become reality,” Mr. Li, the writer and lecturer, said. “But it’s painful to see so much corruption, especially among high-ranking officials.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/06/world/asia/06china.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper&oref=slogin

Entrepreneurs From China Flourish in Africa

2007-08-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

Entrepreneurs From China Flourish in Africa
Benedicte Kurzen for The New York Times
By HOWARD W. FRENCH and LYDIA POLGREEN
Published: New York Times, August 18, 2007

LILONGWE, Malawi — When Yang Jie left home at 18, he was doing what people from China’s hardscrabble Fujian Province have done for generations: emigrating in search of a better living overseas.

What set him apart was his destination. Instead of the traditional adopted homelands like the United States and Europe, where Fujian people have settled by the hundreds of thousands, he chose this small, landlocked country in southern Africa.

“Before I left China,” said Mr. Yang, now 25, “I thought Africa was all one big desert.” So he figured that ice cream would be in high demand, and with money pooled from relatives and friends, he created his own factory at the edge of Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital. The climate is in fact subtropical, but that has not stopped his ice cream company from becoming the country’s biggest.

Stories like this have become legion across Africa in the past five years or so, as hundreds of thousands of Chinese have discovered the continent, setting off to do business in a part of the world that had been terra incognita. The Xinhua News Agency recently estimated that at least 750,000 Chinese were working or living for extended periods on the continent, a reflection of deepening economic ties between China and Africa that reached $55 billion in trade in 2006, compared with less than $10 million a generation earlier.

Even when Mr. Yang arrived here in 2001, he said, he could go weeks without encountering another traveler from his homeland. But as surely as his investments in the country have prospered, he said, an increasingly large community of Chinese migrants has taken root, and now runs everything from small factories to health care clinics and trading companies.

During the previous wave of Chinese interest in Africa in the 1960s and ’70s, an era of radical socialism and proclaimed third-world solidarity, European and American companies held sway over economies in most of the continent. Here and there, though, the Chinese made their presence felt, often in drably dressed, state-run work brigades that built stadiums, railroads and highways, crushing rocks and doing other labor by hand.

Today, in many of the countries where the new Chinese emigrants have settled, like Chad, Chinese-owned pharmacies, massage parlors and restaurants serving a variety of regional Chinese cuisines can be found; the Western presence, once dominant, has steadily dwindled, and essentially consists nowadays of relief experts working international agencies or oil workers, living behind high walls in heavily guarded enclaves.

At first, this new Chinese exodus was driven largely by word of mouth, as pioneers like Mr. Yang relayed news back home of abundant opportunities in a part of the world where many economies lie undeveloped or in ruins, and where even in the richer countries many things taken for granted in the developed world await builders and investors.

Conditions like these often deter Western investors, but for many budding Chinese entrepreneurs, Africa’s emerging economies are inviting precisely because they seem small and accessible. Competition is often weak or nonexistent, and for African customers, the low price of many Chinese goods and services make them more affordable than their Western counterparts.

Chinese Expansion

You Xianwen sold his pipe-laying business in Chengdu, in southwest China, this year to move to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia’s capital, to join a startup company with a Chinese partner he had met only online. “Back where I come from we are pretty independent people,” Mr. You, 55, said. “My brothers and sisters all supported my decision to come here. In fact, they say that if things really work out for me, they would like to move to Africa, too.”

Mr. You said he had considered other African countries before settling on Ethiopia, including Zambia. “Luckily I didn’t decide to go there,” he said, explaining that he had been frightened by the recent anti-Chinese protests in that country.

His new business, ABC Bioenergy, builds devices that generate combustible gas from ordinary refuse, providing what Mr. You said would be an affordable alternative source of energy in a country where electricity supplies are erratic and prices high.

Mr. You’s partner here, Mei Haijun, first came to Ethiopia a decade ago to work at a Chinese-built textile factory and has since married an Ethiopian woman, with whom he has a child. “When I first came here you could go two months without seeing another Chinese person,” he said. “But it is a different era now. There’s a flight to China every day.”

The pickup in air traffic between China and countries like Ethiopia now has Chinese companies scrambling to add new routes, as the Chinese government and big Chinese companies increase their stake in Africa.

Much of that activity reflects an intense appetite for African oil and mineral resources needed to fuel China’s manufacturing sector, but big Chinese companies have quickly become formidable competitors in other sectors as well, particularly for big-ticket public works contracts. China is building major new railroad lines in Nigeria and Angola, large dams in Sudan, airports in several countries and new roads, it seems, almost everywhere.

One of the largest road builders, China Road and Bridge Construction, has picked up where the solidarity brigades of an earlier generation left off. The company, which is owned by the Chinese government, has 29 projects in Africa, many financed by the World Bank or other lenders, and it maintains offices in 22 African countries.

On a recent Ethiopian Airlines flight from Addis Ababa to Beijing brimming with Chinese contractors, workers from Road and Bridge and other companies swapped notes on the grab bag of countries they work in, and debated about the difficulties of learning Portuguese and French in places like Mozambique and Ivory Coast.

Africans view the influx of Chinese with a mix of anticipation and dread. Business leaders in Chad, a central African nation with deepening oil ties to China, are bracing for what they suspect will be an army of Chinese workers and investors.

“We expect a large influx of at least 40,000 Chinese in the coming years,” said Renaud Dinguemnaial, director of Chad’s Chamber of Commerce. “This massive arrival could be a plus for the economy, but we are also worried. When they arrive, will they bring their own workers, stay in their own houses, send all their money home?”

In Zambia, where anti-Chinese sentiment has been building for several years, merchants at the central market in Lusaka, the capital, said that if Chinese people wanted to come to Africa, they should come as investors, building factories, not as petty traders who compete for already scarce customers for bottom-dollar items like flip-flops and T-shirts.

“The Chinese claim to come here as investors, but they are trading just like us,” said Dorothy Mainga, who sells knockoff Puma sneakers and Harley Davidson T-shirts in the Kamwala Market in Lusaka. “They are selling the same things we are selling at cheap prices. We pay duty and tax, but they use their connections to avoid paying tax.”

Although Chinese oil workers have been kidnapped in Nigeria and in Ethiopia, where nine were killed by an armed separatist movement in May, the growing Chinese presence around the continent has produced few serious incidents.

Misunderstandings are common, however, and resentments inevitably arise. Africans in many countries complain that Chinese workers occupy jobs that locals are either qualified for or could be easily trained to do. “We are happy to have the Chinese here,” said Dennis Phiri, 21, a Malawian university student who is studying to become an engineer. “The problem with the Chinese companies is that they reserve all the good jobs for their own people. Africans are only hired in menial roles.”

Another frequent criticism is that the Chinese are clannish, sticking among themselves day and night.

In Addis Ababa, in what is a typical arrangement for most large companies, the 200 Chinese workers for the Road and Bridge Corporation live in a communal compound, eating food prepared by cooks brought from China and receiving basic health care from a Chinese doctor.

“After a day off you wonder what you’re doing here, so we like to keep working,” said Cheng Qian, the country manager for the road-building company in Ethiopia. He added that his family had never visited him during several years of work here.

African Ambivalence

Sometimes, the Chinese approach has created serious frictions with African workers. At a leading hotel here in Lilongwe, breakfast guests stared as an agitated Chinese traveling salesman, sweating profusely, screamed at his staff minutes before his pitch on nutritional supplements was set to begin.

“You say it is not your fault, but the way you are doing things is just stupid, stupid,” the man sputtered before a clutch of African assistants, who looked humiliated. “You people are unbelievable.”

When the salesman finally left the room, members of the restaurant staff gathered near the door and vented their disgust. “We don’t need people like that to come here and colonize us again,” one said.

After nearly seven years in Malawi, Yang Jie, the ice cream maker, seems to have learned better. Greeting his workers at the ice cream factory, he begins the day by asking, “How did you sleep last night?”

One quickly replied, “Very well,” sounding a bit formal.

“Don’t tell me a lie,” Mr. Yang answered with a sly, friendly smile. “It’s O.K. to tell me your worries.”

Howard W. French reported from Lilongwe and from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, and Lydia Polgreen from Lusaka, Zambia, and Dakar, Senegal.

Report Details Student Contrast

2007-08-06T22:38:00.001-07:00

Report details student contrast
Southeast Asians are less ready for college
San Gabriel Valley Tribune, 8/6/2007
By Lisa M. Krieger Staff Writer

Asian-American students are often viewed as brainy, affluent and over-achieving. But a new government report concludes that several Asian groups are not well-prepared - either academically or financially - to succeed in college.

Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Indian students typically do well in school, fulfilling the "model minority" stereotype, according to the report by the Government Accountability Office, the research and investigative arm of Congress. Many of their families have saved money for college and do not depend on their children's help at home.

But others - Pacific Islanders and Southeast Asians of Vietnamese, Laotian, Cambodian, Thai and Burmese descent - do not enroll in the rigorous math and reading classes needed to climb the ladder of collegiate success, the report found.

Moreover, Southeast Asians and Pacific Islanders who make it to college are more likely to need outside financial support, often living at home and working to help their families, according to the report.

For instance, 68 percent of Chinese college students reported they could afford college without working, compared with only 36 percent of Vietnamese. Almost half of all Vietnamese college students said they helped their families with tutoring, translating, transportation and household chores.

While 42 percent of Korean families saved $20,000 or more for college, only 8 percent of Southeast-Asian families had.

"The report confirms the need to avoid making national generalizations about Asian-American achievements in education and conflating all Asian-American subgroups as if all Asian Americans are homogeneous," said L. Ling-chi Wang, chairman of the ethnic studies department at UC Berkeley. "We need to look at each subgroup separately."

Deborah Reed of the San Francisco-based Public Policy Institute of California concurred.

"Asians and Pacific Islanders tend to have relatively high levels of education and income and relatively low poverty rates," she said.

"(But) when we look at Southeast Asians from Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos - the refugee-sending countries - we find lower family income, lower education and higher poverty than for other Asian groups in California."

To be sure, Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders are, on average, better educated than the average American. Almost half have a four-year college degree, compared with one-third of whites, 17percent of African Americans and 12 percent of Latinos.

And the academic strength of even the most disadvantaged groups grows over time, Reed said.

"When we look at the second generation, we see increasing progress."

The study, conducted from July 2006 through July 2007, used data from the U.S. Census Bureau and two large national education databases. Researchers also visited eight colleges with high numbers of Asian students, and conducted discussion groups on these campuses.

Many of the differences were attributed to the number of years that an ethnic group had been in the United States - or whether immigrants had arrived to escape war and persecution or seek high-tech jobs.

The report, released July 27 before the education committee of the U.S. House of Representatives, found wide differences in:

An estimated 68 percent of Asian-Indian and 64 percent of Chinese adults had at least a college degree, compared with 25 percent of Vietnamese, 17 percent of Pacific Islanders and 13 percent of other Indochinese - Cambodians, Laotians and Hmong.

More than 90 percent of Filipino, Indians and Japanese identified themselves as fluent in English. That compares with 70percent of Koreans, 62 percent of Vietnamese and 60 percent of the other Indochinese groups.

About 80 percent of Vietnamese undergraduates reported their parents paid none of their tuition. High numbers of Southeast Asians and Pacific Islanders groups lived at home or attended schools within driving distance of home. In contrast, many Chinese, Indian and Korean undergraduates worked to gain job experience or earn spending money.

Simply put, poverty creates barriers to education, whether one is Asian American, Latino or African American, said Paul Fong, a political science professor at Evergreen Valley College in San Jose.

"There's an achievement gap among Filipino Americans, Cambodian Americans and Vietnamese Americans - the haves and have-nots," Fong said.

Staff Writer Kim Vo contributed to this story.

http://www.sgvtribune.com/news/ci_6552950

Las Vegas Caters to Asia’s High Rollers

2007-06-13T14:03:00.001-07:00

Las Vegas Caters to Asia’s High Rollers
By GARY RIVLIN
Published: New York Times, June 13, 2007

LAS VEGAS — Without the dreamy postcard views of the neon-pulsing Strip, visitors to the V.I.P. lounge at the top of the Venetian hotel and casino here might think they had taken an elevator to someplace in Hong Kong or Shanghai.

The televisions in this sanctuary reserved for the wealthiest high rollers are tuned to Chinese stations. The newspapers use Chinese characters. The plinking tones wafting through the sprawling lounge are distinctly Chinese and many of the lounge’s supremely solicitous, perpetually bowing staff members come from one Asian country or another. Its head chef is a dim sum master recently imported from Hong Kong.

Then there are the special accommodations offered to gamblers willing to wager several hundred thousand dollars or more: four 8,000-square-feet suites heavy on black lacquer furniture, bronze dragons, jade and appliances imported from China.

Casino operators have long recognized that a large number of Asians, especially Chinese and Chinese-Americans, are avid gamblers. For years, casinos have dispatched special buses to any Chinatown within a day’s drive.

Recently, though, casinos have become much more aggressive in wooing Asians both domestically and abroad. They are aiming not just at the newly wealthy from China, who in recent years have emerged as Las Vegas’s best customers, but also Asian-Americans and recent immigrants from the Pacific Rim.

The vigor of their efforts is stirring the ire of some Asian activists and others. “If the casinos singled out African-Americans and marketed to them as heavily as they do Asians, I’d imagine there’d be this huge political outcry,” said Timothy W. Fong, co-director of the Gambling Studies Program at the University of California, Los Angeles. “The marketing has been so aggressive, and the penetration so deep, we’re starting to see alarming increases in the rates of problem gambling among Asians.”

These efforts include redesigning large portions of a casino floor to cater to the tastes of Asian guests; advertisements written in Asian dialects and placed in community newspapers in nearby cities; and mailers written in a recipient’s native language. The impact has been especially heavy among recent immigrants, Dr. Fong said.

One trend-setter has been Harrah’s Entertainment, which operates two dozen casinos across the United States, including the Caesars Palaces in Las Vegas and Atlantic City. At the start of 2006, Harrah’s opened a gambling and dining area inspired by the Ming- and Song-dynasty architectural elements at the Showboat in Atlantic City, in what Gary Loveman, its chief executive, described as “the country’s first authentic Asian gaming pit.”

The company imported carved woods from China to house a dozen baccarat tables — the preferred game among many Asian players — and several more for pai gow poker, which is based on an ancient Chinese dominoes game.

Over all, table game revenue at Showboat increased 35 percent last year, to $63 million, up from $46 million, and the casino more than doubled its business among Asian players. Table games include baccarat and pai gow but also craps, blackjack and roulette.

When the installation of an Asian gambling pit caused a similar increase in the table game winnings at Caesars Atlantic City, Mr. Loveman ordered similar changes at casinos across the country.

“There’s this interest in gambling among the Chinese that transcends anything you see in any other socioeconomic or ethnic group,” he said.

Experts are inclined to agree. “Ours is a culture that believes a lot in numbers and superstition and places a large focus on money,” said Dr. Fong, whose parents were born in mainland China. “So much revolves around fortune and fate and testing whether the ancestors have blessed you with a good life.”

Other casinos have followed Harrah’s lead, including the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City, which created its own Asian gambling pit last July, and the Mohegan Sun in eastern Connecticut, which is building an all-Asian gambling hall complete with a Hong Kong-style food court.

Las Vegas has been undergoing a similar makeover. Asian-themed baccarat salons and noodle bars are now as standard as scantily clad cocktail waitresses, and baccarat generates far more revenue than roulette or craps.

The spread of baccarat, said William P. Weidner, the president of Las Vegas Sands, the parent company of the Venetian, is “entirely a function of its popularity among the Chinese.”

It is also a function, Mr. Weidner said, of a small group of high rollers sometimes called whales — or those Mr. Weidner dubbed the “V-V.I.P.s” — who are willing to wager $50,000 or more on a single hand or roll of the dice and risk several million dollars over a weekend.

About 80 percent of Las Vegas’s biggest whales are from Asia, he said, echoing the estimates of other casino executives. Most of them are baccarat players from China and Hong Kong.

“One difference between our domestic and Asian guests are that our Asian guests spend much more time gambling,” said Mike Zanolli, manager of the 50 butlers the Venetian places at the service of its high rollers. “We see our Asian guest mainly in the baccarat salon,” Mr. Zanolli said, adding that they even take all or most of their meals there.

“The Asian customer on average uses a significantly larger share of their disposable income to game with,” said Mr. Weidner, who so prizes these high rollers that several times he has traveled with an interpreter to Hong Kong to run his casino designs by a feng shui master.

Mark Juliano, the former president of Caesars Las Vegas, says Asians account for even more than 80 percent of the city’s gambling whales.

“The big change I started noticing in 2004, 2005, were the Asians coming from mainland China,” said Mr. Juliano, now the chief operating officer of Trump Entertainment Resorts. Customers from Shanghai, Beijing and Guangdong are “becoming more and more dominant.”

Casino companies are not just pulling out the stops to attract Asian high rollers to America, they are also going to where the customers are. Several years ago, the Sands and Wynn Resorts opened large Las Vegas-style casinos in Macao, the former Portuguese colony that is the only place in China where gambling is legal. The Sands is aggressively seeking to expand elsewhere in Asia.

Last year, Macao surpassed the Las Vegas Strip to become the world’s largest gambling center.

“We view Asia as a critical growth area for our company,” Mr. Weidner said.

The wooing of newly rich high rollers from China is of little concern to critics but the broader focus on less-affluent Asian-Americans is a growing worry.

“Gambling has been a part of Asian culture going back thousands of years,” said Kent Woo, the executive director of the NICOS Chinese Health Coalition in San Francisco. “People grew up with gambling in their households. It was part of celebrations, it was part of everyday life. But there’s also a feeling that the casinos are exploiting our culture.”

The reactions among Asian activists to the aggressive marketing by casino companies, Mr. Woo said, “range from concern, to upset, to extreme anger.”

Studies suggest higher rates of problem gambling among Asians than other groups. Several recent studies in New Zealand and Australia have found that Asians living there had higher rates of addiction than non-Asians. Studies of Southeast Asian refugees living in Connecticut and Chinese waiters working in Montreal reached similar findings.

One long-term study under way in California, Dr. Fong of U.C.L.A. said, suggests that Asians are three times as likely as other groups to develop a serious gambling problem. He cautions, though, that the study is based on only a small sample of gamblers in the Los Angeles area.

Still, the evidence in California has been alarming enough to get the state government in 2004 to create an Asian Pacific Islander Problem Gambling Task Force, which is focused on starting treatment and prevention programs catering to those who speak only Chinese and other Asian languages.

“If there’s this hidden problem of addiction that’s not being addressed, and that’s what we think is happening,” Dr. Fong said, “it will slowly eat away at the fabric of the community.”

Taishan's U.S. well runs dry

2007-05-21T23:48:00.001-07:00

Taishan's U.S. well runs dry
By David Pierson, Times Staff Writer
May 21, 2007

Taishan, China — DOWN a narrow red dirt road past rice paddies, water buffaloes and abandoned farmhouses is the dab-sized town of Wo Hing. Locals know it as Lop Cham Kee village, or Los Angeles village.

Seventy years ago, young men in this desperately poor region a few hours west of Hong Kong's high-rises emptied out of Wo Hing to cross the Pacific and try their luck in America. Many would end up on Hill Street or Broadway as cooks and waiters or open their own restaurants in the San Gabriel Valley. Their children would become engineers and even city councilmen. Their decision to leave still dominates the lives of those who stayed behind, for better and for worse.

Wo Hing, like many villages in the encompassing city of Taishan, has survived through a combination of backbreaking farming and handouts from America. That dependency on wah kiu — overseas Chinese — has left the villagers vulnerable, however: In the same way the old remnants of L.A.'s Chinatown are fading away, so is the generation from Wo Hing that can be counted on to deliver cash, including donations to build roads and schools.

It clouds an already uncertain future for the 40 residents of this village where water is still fetched from wells and meals cooked over wood fires. They've spent recent years watching the urban centers creep closer to their fields and their children leave for factory jobs.

Farmers all over China are struggling to adapt to the nation's rapid industrialization, but it is especially hard for the inhabitants of many villages in Taishan, who have to learn to move on without the financial advantage they've long enjoyed from America.

"Every one here has some family overseas," said a 60-year-old retiree lounging on a bamboo recliner in the nearby village of Moy Family Garden, giving only his surname, Moy. "I have relatives in Chicago and New York. I'm still waiting for my turn. But I don't have to work here. If I go to America now, who knows? I may have to work hard."

Mei Weiqing, a native of Taishan and wah kiu scholar at Wuyi University in the neighboring city of Jiangmen, said the generosity of those who left has both benefited and hindered Taishan.

"The overseas Taishanese are much more hard-working," he said. "The locals have become lazy. It's a serious problem. In U.S. society, the Taishanese had to live in the lowest end of society. They took the worst jobs. In Taishan, the men won't even consider doing the washing or cooking. American Taishanese learned to do these things to survive."

TO villagers, the wah kiu are heroes. They are feted with whole roast pigs when they visit. On display in the village hall is a marble plaque that lists the amount of money each wah kiu has donated. Villagers help maintain the homes of those who left, bowing with incense twice a month before shrines to pay homage to their ancestors.

"I treat it like my own house," villager Jie Moi Cin said about caring for the home her recently deceased uncle in Los Angeles left behind in the 1940s. "Even if they never send money back again, we couldn't abandon it. But after the old ones pass away, the young ones may not know what to do. Maybe they'll forget about us."

She has reason to be concerned. The visits come at a trickle compared with the 1980s and '90s, when the wah kiu were comfortably retired and ready to share their wealth. Back then, minibuses would drop off dozens of the Americans to a throng of applauding villagers. Today, villagers get phone calls or letters every few months informing them that another aging relative has died. They know that the children and grandchildren of the wah kiu have little to no connection to Wo Hing.

This is how it has worked in Taishan since men started leaving more than 200 years ago. The city and its many villages have staked a part of their livelihood on the goodwill of their overseas countrymen, whose history is rooted deeply in the development of America. They were gold-rushers, they built America's Pacific railways, and they established the first Chinatowns from New York to San Francisco.

Until the 1980s — when Taiwanese and Hong Kong Chinese began to arrive en masse — Taishanese was the chief dialect heard in most Chinatowns. It was the culture that gave America egg foo young and chop suey.

Even today, Taishan proudly bills itself as the "No. 1 Home of Overseas Chinese."

There are 1 million residents in Taishan, but 1.3 million Taishanese in Hong Kong and abroad. An estimated half a million Chinese Americans are of Taishanese descent.

Along with those who fled Taishan for Hong Kong when it was administered by Britain, American Taishanese have led the charge here in helping pay for hospitals, colleges, senior centers, highways, bridges, towers and even the Overseas Taishanese Museum. "American building" is part of the everyday vernacular, and looking in any direction from the city center, it's impossible not to find one.

"In Taishan, almost everyone has a connection to North America," said Mei, the professor. "Every year, more than 8,000 Taishanese continue to leave, mostly to America and Canada. They will try any way to go abroad."

A history of civil strife and poor terrain for farming has always hobbled Taishan and tempted the poorest to leave. The nearby South China Sea beckoned daring men to take their chances elsewhere to feed their families.

This proved bountiful for Taishan for much of the 20th century. Before World War II, many sojourners would return with gold and build towering gothic-styled buildings in their home villages. They erected watch towers to fend off bandits that menaced the area. By Chinese standards of the day, Taishanese related to wah kiu were rich.

Signs of those days now litter the countryside. Not far from Wo Hing, Moy Family Garden rises out of the rice paddies and duck ponds like an ancient ruin. The 108 three-story European buildings with pillars and Venetian facades are squeezed together to form a rectangle with a courtyard in the center.

But in the village itself, three-quarters of the dirt-blackened buildings are now boarded up. Chinese characters above many storefronts have been worn away by time. In the remaining buildings, locals in flip-flops play mah-jongg while chickens as big as turkeys cluck at their feet.

Since national economic reforms began in 1978, the region around Wo Hing has been transformed. On the country road here, dozens of sprawling factories making furniture and pots and pans swallow space next to chicken farms and lumber yards. Wo Hing, on the other hand, has largely remained the same since it was built in 1902. The buildings aligned almost perfectly perpendicular to one another are separated by dirt path alleyways roamed by packs of ragged dogs.

Against the front wall of each home's living room are tall red- and gold-colored shrines on wooden platforms. It's a prime location where Americans might elect to place their flat-screen TVs, but for the villagers, it's where you honor your ancestors.

Paying respects to the place where past generations were born and spirits are still believed to be is what compels Arcadia resident William Wong to return to Wo Hing every other year.

Wong was 14 when he left Taishan in 1947. He now heads the region's overseas association in L.A.'s Chinatown. When the group formed decades ago, there were 2,000 members. Today, there are half that many.

"The younger guys don't join, and we keep losing the senior members," said Wong, 74, a retired Los Angeles County engineer who carries packets of red envelopes stuffed with $10 bills to give to villagers when he visits. "We're trying to bring some college and high school students out there this summer to show them their roots."

Wong returned to Wo Hing for the first time in 1994. The home he was raised in had partially collapsed. For $10,000, he had it rebuilt. It's now the only modern structure here, covered in white and green tiles and boasting a stainless-steel front door.

NOT everyone feels the tug. Ben Wong's parents grew up in the village, but he's only been there once for a brief visit in 1980. The former West Covina councilman, who is not related to William Wong, said he and his children were too immersed in their lives in America to contribute the way his parents did.

"The next generation came along and we didn't find ourselves in that same position as our parents," said Ben Wong, 56. "I got married and had kids and a career. There's still some connection, but it's always difficult for me. I never found time to bring my kids out there, and I regret that to an extent."

The villagers who remain in Wo Hing say they don't have close enough relatives in the United States who can sponsor them. Otherwise, many say, they'd be gone by now.

Some, like 88-year-old Wong Kong Chuan, had their chance to leave, but misfortune got in the way.

"I've been once," he said, explaining that he tried to go to the U.S. to meet relatives in Stockton.

"I tried, but they turned me away," he said of the border guards.

That was 1931. He had journeyed with his uncle, who made it through. That uncle would start a family in the U.S. Pictures of his children standing in front of Griffith Observatory hang on Wong's wall.

"He used to send me $200," he said, losing his breath from the effort of standing and talking. The uncle is dead now, and Wong is still here in Los Angeles village.

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-taishan21may21,1,4560222.story

Some Had Made Their Marks, and Many Others Were Just Beginning

2007-04-18T15:23:00.000-07:00

Some Had Made Their Marks, and Many Others Were Just Beginning
Published: April 18, 2007
Remembering some of the students and faculty members killed in the Virginia Tech shootings, in these biographical sketches.

Henry Lee, 20

A freshman majoring in computer engineering, he was in elementary school and unable to speak English when his family emigrated from China. When he became an American citizen in 1999, he changed his name from Henh Ly. That same year he graduated from William Fleming High School in Roanoke, Va., and was salutatorian of his class with a 4.47 grade point average. He worked part time at Sears in high school and was honored for his scholastic achievements by the local Burger King, which gave his class vouchers for free Whoppers.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/18/us/18portraits.html?pagewanted=2

Ethnic changes in store for Chino Hills

2007-04-12T19:55:00.000-07:00

Ethnic changes in store for Chino Hills
Some residents protest, in vain, an Asian market in the upscale community. Others say it will serve their needs.
By Sara Lin, Times Staff Writer
April 12, 2007

An hour before Sunday services at a Lutheran church in Chino Hills, the Rev. Andy Wu joined his congregants in front of plates piled high with boiled Napa cabbage, shiitake mushrooms, stir fried tofu and rice.

Since Wu became an associate pastor in 2002, attendance at lunch and his worship services in Mandarin Chinese have doubled. So has Chino Hills' Asian population, which now makes up about 40% of city residents.

"Five years ago, if I walked into a Vons market and saw an Asian face, I would get very excited," Wu said. "Now, every day we see Asian faces."

But the demographic shift has proved unsettling for some in this upscale San Bernardino County town, and that tension surfaced when a major Asian grocery chain, 99 Ranch Market, announced plans for a Chino Hills store.

The Chino Hills City Council heard an outcry from a small group of residents, including one who wrote that he didn't want to see "little Chinatowns all over the Hills" filled with Asian signs he can't read.

The skirmish mirrors clashes in the San Gabriel Valley in the 1980s when Asian immigrants moved into the traditionally white and Latino suburbs. When a wave of Asian businesses followed, city officials in Monterey Park tried unsuccessfully to pass English-only ordinances, arguing that Chinese-language business signs would confuse firefighters and emergency workers.

Larry Blugrind of Chino Hills told the City Council in a letter that the store would "result in a run-down center that is the equivalent of a Chinese Pic 'N' Save less than a mile from the kind of high-quality shops our city has been trying to attract to this area."

Reached by telephone, Blugrind explained that he enjoyed having a diverse community — his daughter-in-law is Japanese.

"My worry is that 99 Ranch could be a steppingstone for it to become all Asian," he said. "I don't want another Hacienda Heights."

In Chino Hills, the City Council has no say in whether Tawa Supermarkets Inc. can open a 99 Ranch Market. The store is moving into a space formerly occupied by a Ralphs supermarket. It's a simple case of one grocery store taking over for another, said Mayor Gwenn Norton-Perry.

"It's an approved use, and we as a city have no purview over this. That's the bottom line," Norton-Perry said.

But that hasn't stopped angry residents from sounding off to the City Council.

The market's owners downplayed the controversy.

"We don't want to focus on that part," said Jennifer Tsao, a spokeswoman for Tawa, which operates 22 stores throughout California. Inside the store, Tsao said customers could expect clean aisles, signs in English and Chinese, as well as bilingual employees.

The 99 Ranch Market in Chino Hills may have struck a chord with residents because it "makes the Asian American community very visible and displaces businesses that people were comfortable with, in this case a Ralphs," said Linda Vo, an Asian American studies professor at UC Irvine.

From 2000 to 2005, the city of 81,000 saw its Asian population jump from 22% to 39%, according to the U.S. Census Bureau's most recent survey. Of those, 10,316 were Filipino and 7,752 were Chinese. Asian Indians, Koreans, Vietnamese and Japanese constitute most of the remaining Asian Americans.

The Asian influx has already had an effect on some public services: The Chino Hills library stocks books written in Chinese, Korean and Japanese.

Similarly, in Orange County, nearly one-third of Irvine residents are Asian Americans. But Irvine's transition was a slower one, with many immigrants moving into newly built neighborhoods, Vo said. There was some mild resentment from the community about the changing demographics but nothing overt, she said.

At the Mediterranean-style plaza in Chino Hills where workers are readying the 99 Ranch Market for a summer opening, a handful of the plaza's 20 shops already seem to reflect the city's changing face.

There's a karate studio, a Chinese buffet and Thai restaurants.

Every Tuesday, restaurant owner Chad Chantaracharat invites Thai monks wearing saffron robes to lunch at his Thai Original BBQ Restaurant. The monks live at a Buddhist temple a few miles away.

Chantaracharat said he had mixed feelings about the new market. The store could attract more business to his restaurant, but he wasn't sure if the market planned to have a small cafe inside serving cheaper meals.

He sympathized with some residents' concerns, saying he has noticed that 99 Ranch Markets in some areas are not that well kept, but said that once people saw the spread of Asian vegetables and fresh seafood — often still swimming in tanks until a customer orders it killed — they'd like the market.

"I think people are going to dig it," he said. "It's something new, and everyone here likes to be trendy."

At Loving Savior of the Hills Lutheran Church, Chinese congregants mostly welcomed the market, saying its unconventional wares would be a boon to the community. The market could also become a much-needed hub for older Asians to meet friends, chat and sip tea.

"I think the market is absolutely a good thing. We've been waiting a long time for this," said Cindy Fu, 40, who recently moved from Chino Hills to Chino. "Every culture has businesses; some are super clean, and some are not. But you can't use just one to judge an entire culture. I think this could be a good opportunity for us to earn a good reputation."

Still, others were afraid that the market could give well-heeled residents of this semirural community at the westernmost edge of San Bernardino County the wrong impression about Asians.

"We've tried very hard to build up ourselves and build up our image to Caucasian people here. I hope 99 Ranch will hold up to that high standard," said Wu.

The new grocery store wasn't the first controversy to arise from the changing faces in Chino Hills neighborhoods.

Three years ago, Hindu leaders proposed a grand temple on former farmland, in part to serve the 500 Indian families there.

But the plans drew protests from some residents who contended the project would turn Chino Hills into a "Third World city" and a haven for terrorists.

After a heated public hearing, the temple's supporters won approval to build, but it ultimately did not win permission to construct the temple's spires that exceeded the city's 43-foot height limit.

City leaders say the community isn't in danger of losing its rural feel: The Sheriff's Department station is surrounded by white post fencing and horse pastures. Forty percent of Chino Hills' 46 square miles is dedicated to open space, Norton-Perry said.

The 99 Ranch Market, as any other grocer, will undergo regular inspections by the county Health Department.

As for the sign, "We can tell them we prefer signs to be in English only, but we can't require it," Norton-Perry said.

Still, some say the spat is much ado about nothing.

"Last I remember, the words '99 Ranch' were in English," said Don Nakanishi, director of UCLA's Asian American Studies Center. "You have El Pollo Loco," he said, referring to the popular Mexican restaurant chain. "Nobody's telling them to translate that."

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-chinohills12apr12,0,7537913.story?coll=la-home-headlines

Diversity program mostly benefits Asians

2007-04-02T20:38:00.000-07:00

Diversity program mostly benefits Asians
Beverly Hills High looks to L.A. Unified to increase minority enrollment but can't ask applicants about race or ethnicity.
By Joel Rubin, Times Staff Writer
April 2, 2007

In 1969, when nearly every student at Beverly Hills High School was white, school officials went looking for some help diversifying the campus. They found it in the polyglot Los Angeles school system that surrounds the tony, iconic city.

Under a system of "diversity permits," the high school began enrolling scores of minority students from Los Angeles each year. For decades, the permit program aimed to bring in a deliberate mix of black, Latino and Asian students from outside the city limits.

Today, however, the vast majority of the students enrolled with diversity permits at Beverly Hills High are high-performing Asian students.

The dramatic shift stems from California's stringent anti-affirmative action law, approved by voters in 1996. Concerned with running afoul of the sweeping ban, Beverly Hills school officials have followed what amounts to a "don't ask, don't tell" policy on the diversity permits. Students who apply are not allowed to identify their race or ethnicity.

The program has become as competitive as the Ivy League, with about 8% of the students who applied last year being accepted. Critics say the program has shifted by default from a program aimed at increasing racial and ethnic diversity to one that simply brings smart, well-rounded students into the district.

"We were looking to expand diversity but didn't have any racial information," said Dan Stepenosky, the former principal at Beverly Hills High. "We were operating blind, to be honest."

Not only does the high number of Asian students raise questions about the purpose of the program, but it also illustrates the inability of the Los Angeles Unified School District to keep its high-performing students in its schools.

The permit program offers another option, along with private schools or even moving outside the district, for parents dissatisfied with the academics and concerned about safety on L.A. Unified campuses.

"Why wouldn't I take advantage of this opportunity?" said Teresa Roth, whose two sons are half Asian and attend Beverly Hills High on diversity permits. "In LAUSD, they don't care if your kid is gifted, if he plays sports, if he is well-rounded. They couldn't have cared less. I felt quite let down."

Roth, who lives in Westwood, said she started looking for a way out of the L.A. school system after applying unsuccessfully to enroll her older son, David, in one of the district's selective magnet high schools. Sending her sons to a large, traditional Los Angeles Unified high school, she said, was not an option she was willing to consider.

The Beverly Hills High diversity permits, Roth said, offered a free, quality education on a safe campus. Several Asian students who attend Beverly Hills High on the permits gave similar reasons.

In California, students cannot enroll in schools outside their districts without special permits.

Of the 159 Los Angeles Unified students who attend Beverly Hills High on diversity permits, 108 — more than two out of three — are Asian, according to L.A. Unified statistics. Only 16 of the students are Latino and 19 are black.

Those numbers do nothing to balance diversity at Beverly Hills High, where — excluding those with permits — minority students are also mostly Asian.

About 17% of the 2,362 students at the school are of Asian extraction, about 4% are Latino and about 5% are African American. Nearly 70% of the students are white, a category that includes 450 students of Persian descent.

The disproportionate number of Asians who receive the permits also stands in stark contrast to the racial breakdown of the 12 L.A. Unified middle schools that participate in the permit program. More than half of the students at those schools are Latino, one-quarter are African American and fewer than 8% are Asian.

Beverly Hills Unified School District Supt. Kari McVeigh acknowledged that the numbers are skewed, but she defended the permits. The Los Angeles students, she said, bring an element of diversity to the sheltered, upscale world of Beverly Hills regardless of their race.

"This is very much a small town surrounded by a large city, and kids here experience life very much through the lens of a small town," she said. "Any time you can … have different kids who come together from different experiences, it's a good idea. The permit program allows us to do that."

She also conceded that money is one of the motivating factors for keeping the program alive.

Because the amount of public funds a school receives is based on the number of students enrolled, Beverly Hills High uses the diversity permits — and other types of permits — to fill empty seats and maximize funding. This year, the district will receive nearly $1 million for enrolling the diversity-permit students.

"Taking in nonresident students is always an issue for some people," McVeigh said. "But it's a crucial source of income for us. It helps us provide the types of programs we are known for."

The influx of Asian students apparently began in 2000, when the permit program came under scrutiny. The program's admissions policy, district lawyers advised the Beverly Hills school board, violated the state law that bars public institutions from considering race in admissions.

Board members moved to do away with the program altogether but backed down in the face of well-organized protests by parents. To avoid possible lawsuits, however, the board decided that a student's race or ethnicity could no longer be considered when awarding permits. Instead, students were chosen based on an application, which included grades, test scores, essays and extracurricular activities.

Neither school district could provide ethnic or racial breakdowns of the students who attended Beverly Hills High before the changes in the program went into effect. But parents, former students and permit rosters indicate that it was a more diverse program then.

Most of the students who receive the permits today are Asians enrolled in gifted programs at two Los Angeles middle schools, John Burroughs and Palms, L.A. Unified figures show.

"Of course it's Asian students" who receive most of the permits, said Robin Day, assistant principal at Palms. "They are the students who are most driven and have the highest grades.

"Their parents are very on top of" the application process too, Day said. "It's a chance at Beverly Hills, and that's attractive to many people."

Indeed, Beverly Hills High — with its smaller class sizes, better resources, impressive test scores and higher number of Advance Placement and arts courses — outshines most traditional Los Angeles Unified high schools.

Had they remained in L.A. Unified, for example, many of the permit students would have been slated to attend Los Angeles High School — a struggling, 4,300-student campus that is nearly 79% Latino and 8% Asian.

The school has been on a federal government watch list for poor student performance for several years, and more than two-thirds of students last year tested "below basic" or "far below basic" on the state's standardized English and math exams.

"Because all the discussion is on the kids who are failing, there is no equal effort to search for and serve the most talented in the district and provide them with a rigorous education," said Los Angeles school board member David Tokofsky.

Board President Marlene Canter, who largely represents schools on the Westside, agreed. She said L.A. Unified needs to be more responsive to parents who have the option to leave the district. The district should double its number of selective, specialty magnet schools and allow parents a greater say in reforms to their middle and high schools, she said.

"Our public education system on the Westside is going to die if we don't nurture it," she said. "Parents want to know that they will have a program that will be exciting for their kids…. Right now, there is the perception that the grass is greener elsewhere."

Canter added that she was very concerned when she learned about the diversity permit program and questioned whether the district should continue to cooperate with Beverly Hills High.

Proponents of the permits say that scrapping the program would be a loss but that changes are needed.

Melinda Weathersby was in the first group of students in 1969 who received the permits. In 2000, with two of her children enrolled with permits, she led the fight to save the program when the school board tried to cut it.

Now, Weathersby, who is black, believes Beverly Hills High officials need to recruit Latino and black students more aggressively. She also wants the school district to select a few students from each of the participating Los Angeles middle schools in an effort to enroll a more diverse group.

"You have 12 schools, and you can't find one or two students at each who qualify?" she said. "It is called equity."

http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/california/la-me-permit2apr02,1,1992980,full.story?coll=la-headlines-pe-california&ctrack=3&cset=true

More U.S. schools offering Chinese language programs

2007-03-15T09:55:00.000-07:00

More U.S. schools offering Chinese language programs
By Adam Gorlick, The Associated Press
Inland Valley Daily Bulletin
Article Launched:03/14/2007 12:00:00 AM PDT

EASTHAMPTON, Mass. - In Alaska, students are calling their teacher "lao shi." In Illinois, they're learning that one plus one equals "er." And in western Massachusetts, kindergarten students who can sing their ABCs will soon start honing Mandarin accents.
As China's economic power grows, Chinese is becoming the new language of the future.

At least 27 states offer Chinese language classes in either elementary, middle or high schools. And at least 12 public and private schools across the country teach most subjects in Mandarin Chinese, according to the Center for Applied Linguistics in Washington.

"It's about jobs and a world economy," said Richard Alcorn, who with his wife won state approval last month for the first Chinese immersion charter school in Massachusetts.

"There are unbelievable opportunities to do business in China, so there's a need for Americans to learn the language so we're not left out."

Alcorn runs a business importing English versions of Chinese books. He is still looking for a location for the Pioneer Valley Chinese Immersion School, which is scheduled to open in the fall with a 75 percent of the curriculum to be taught in Chinese.

Some of the push for Chinese instruction is coming from families who want their children to learn the language of their heritage.

"But the major force behind it is coming from parents who don't speak Chinese and want their children to be exposed to it," said Zhining Chin, a coordinator at the Eisenhower Elementary School, a public Chinese immersion school set to open in September in Hopkins, Minn. "They recognize the importance of China as a world power."

Shuhan Wang, executive director of Chinese language initiatives for the New York-based Asia Society, said the surge in Chinese language classes started around 2003.

"Anyone who reads the newspaper realizes that you can't ignore Asia anymore," she said. "American education has always been Euro-centric, and now we're realizing how inadequate our perspective on Asia has been."

In the decade following the Cold War, Americans largely maintained their suspicions about the world's most populous country.

The federal government distributed about $9 million last year to schools to support efforts to teach Chinese and other "critical languages" such as Arabic, Russian, Hindi and Farsi.

President Bush also announced a separate national security initiative to offer instruction in those languages, but Congress has yet to fund the $114 million program.

http://www.dailybulletin.com/search/ci_5430432

China's global go-getters

2007-03-13T23:36:00.000-07:00

China's global go-getters
By Don Lee, Times Staff Writer
March 12, 2007

Erenhot, China — ARMORED dinosaurs once ruled this Gobi Desert area near the Mongolian border. Millions of years later, it became the domain of Genghis Khan and his clan. Now the land belongs to Jin Xiancong and the people from Wenzhou.

Jin ships 10,000 VCRs each month into neighboring Mongolia, runs his own logistics firm and builds office properties. He will soon be mining iron and other minerals in the region, where winter temperatures can drop to 40 degrees below zero. Summers are so hot and dry that people get nosebleeds.

Jin was just 23 when he arrived in 1993 with little more than two large sacks stuffed with hairpins and trinkets to peddle to Chinese, Mongolian and Russian tourists. "My parents told us, 'Go out and explore,' " says the brush-cut Jin, whose four brothers and sisters are scattered in Italy making and selling apparel. "The farther you can reach, the stronger you get."

Like modern-day Marco Polos, the people of Wenzhou are extending the frontiers of China's booming economy. Hundreds of entrepreneurs from the southeastern Chinese city 1,200 miles away have flocked here, opening retail stores and developing hotels and apartments, even a $1-million nightclub featuring topless Mongolian dancers. (The club is named SOS, presumably after the distress signal.)

Undaunted by treacherous terrain, harsh climate and hostile governments, Wenzhou natives are spreading Chinese commerce not only here but across the globe. They are mining molybdenum in North Korea, acquiring cow leather from African tribes, selling shoes in Iraq and exporting Arctic shrimp and turbot from Iceland.

Even after two decades in Reykjavik, Iceland, seafood trader Xiang Youyi, 45, still finds it tough to endure two months of near-total darkness every year. "This place isn't suitable for living," he says, only to add: "I have opportunities here."

Almost 2 million people from Wenzhou, a metropolitan area of 7.5 million about 250 miles south of Shanghai in Zhejiang province, have left their homes over the years in search of riches. The migration goes back at least a century, but accelerated with Communist China's opening up to the West nearly 30 years ago.

"Wherever there is business opportunity, there are Wenzhou people," says Zhong Pengrong, a prominent Chinese economist in Beijing. He calls them a people of "four thousand spirits" — they walk through a thousand rivers and mountains, speak a thousand words to promote their goods, dare to solve problems in a thousand ways and endure a thousand hardships.

"Unlike many other businesspeople in China who became rich overnight," Zhong says, "almost all the Wenzhou people built up their wealth from nothing and amassed their fortune through years of hardship."

NOW, nearly half a million of them are staking their claims in 70 foreign countries, including 100,000 in the United States, mostly New York, where they've opened dozens of supermarkets and dollar stores. They like New York City because they don't need a car to get around, says Lin Ter-Hsien, who started out with a tiny gift shop in Brooklyn, then imported gloves from South Korea and hats from India and now invests in Los Angeles real estate. Lin splits his time between Alhambra, New Jersey and Wenzhou.

In Tanzania, Hu Qiaoming keeps a loaded pistol near his bedside because robbery is rampant. Even with a stable of dogs, an electric fence around his compound and alarms that will bring police within minutes, the 52-year-old entrepreneur doesn't take chances. A couple of years ago, he says, robbers killed two guards protecting the house next door.

Since arriving in the East African nation in 1993, Hu and his wife have opened shoe plants there and in Kenya, Congo, Zambia and Malawi. He keeps shotguns in his factories too, although they can't protect him from the sub-Saharan heat and long rains, political turmoil and disease.

Hu's employees have been ravaged by malaria, and his wife, Xu Shuping, has a four-inch scar running down her left arm, a reminder of the tumble their car took as it was hurtling along rugged roads.

Still, the couple made $3 million in profit last year. They have homes in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania; Wenzhou and Diamond Bar. If he could do it over again, Hu says, he wouldn't change a thing. "Many of the Africans who used to be barefooted are now wearing my shoes," he says, speaking from Wenzhou, where he was visiting for the lunar New Year holiday.

Scholars attribute such entrepreneurial verve to geographic isolation. Wenzhou is hemmed in by jagged mountains on three sides and the East China Sea on the fourth. Lacking arable land, many villagers must travel to prosper.

Wenzhou traders have been at the forefront of Communist China's market-driven economic reforms — launching businesses, raising capital and making investments — but their tradition of private enterprise goes much further back. During the Southern Song Dynasty about 850 years ago, a school of thought known as Yongjia (the old name of Wenzhou) espoused that government should embrace commercial society to develop the nation.

The Yongjia school, led by scholar Ye Shi, was ridiculed by the dominant Confucian philosophers of the day, whose view of social rank had teachers and bureaucrats at the top and the merchant class at the bottom.

More recently, Wenzhou's spirit of capitalism might have been further nurtured by the spread of Christianity in the city in the same way the Protestant work ethic pushed America's economic development. In an officially atheist country, Wenzhou is home to more than 2,000 churches, a legacy of the Nanking Treaty of 1842, which required China to open up nearby Ningbo Port to missionaries.

"Their spirit of putting up with hardship is in harmony with the Protestant spirit," says Xie Jian, executive vice president of Wenzhou University's City College. He says the church's emphasis on mutual trust and aid also may have been a factor in Wenzhou's famed network of private lending.

The city is a hub of informal money channels. Many Wenzhou people bypass state-owned banks, preferring instead to borrow money from relatives, friends and business associates, even though interest rates are much higher.

The loans are typically sealed with handshakes, but Wenzhou people say defaults are very low because borrowers fear ostracism. Such deals have financed tens of thousands of factories in the city and surrounding areas that produce a good chunk of the world's shoes, buttons, eyeglass frames, razors and cigarette lighters.

But these low-value industries aren't enough to sustain several million residents, and many Wenzhou people would rather be their own bosses.

Wenzhou's streets are teeming with new cars, including scores of BMWs and Mercedeses. Rows of fancy villas are being built. But not all the streets are paved with gold. The city mostly looks like other mid-size Chinese cities, with their dusty air, grimy factories and slabs of dreary apartment buildings. Wenzhou's per-capita income of $3,000, about double the nationwide average, would be higher but many neighborhoods are left with mostly old and young people.

Outside their city, many Wenzhou businesspeople help one another. After peddling calendars in New York subway stations, Yu Xilong, 42, raised more than $20,000 by borrowing $500 each from fellow Wenzhou emigrants in town. With that, the middle-school graduate opened a fruit and vegetable stall in a large market on East Broadway.

That was 1993. Today, he owns his own big supermarket on East Broadway, as well as another in Flushing, a section of Queens where he and most Wenzhou natives in New York live.

"I never had to write down a single IOU," Yu says. "We Wenzhou people value credit more than our lives."

ABOUT 100,000 Wenzhou natives now live here in China's Inner Mongolia. Like others from their hometown, they shun politics but have taken pains to dispel the notion that they are carpetbaggers. Some have given up their Wenzhou hukou, or residence cards, and switched to those of their adopted homes.

Erenhot is on China's only railway route to Mongolia, but it wasn't until 1992 that authorities in Beijing allowed the town to operate as an open international hub. Then, only about 8,000 people lived in Erenhot.

The city's population now hovers around 100,000 — with 40,000 migrants coming in to work on construction sites and other jobs, many of them created by Wenzhou merchants.

Ying Hongju, 37, arrived here three years ago, after roaming China's rugged far western Xinjiang region and the northeast.

Ying left his village when he was 15, but all his travels didn't prepare him for Erenhot. In winter, powerful gusts of bai mao feng — literally "white hairy wind" — can blind drivers and knock their cars off roads. On summer evenings, he says, hot air seems to rise up from the ground.

"My lips and nose bled," he says, adding that there's nothing fun to do here. He winces when someone mentions SOS, the name of the Wenzhou bar with the Mongolian dancers. "I don't like it here," Ying says.

But he stays for business. Ying and two partners recently raised $15 million and, in five months, built the International Trade City mall, a block-long, three-story wholesale market that houses 527 tenants who sell silk fabrics, rabbit and fox furs and other commodities. The mall, festooned with red signs in Chinese and Russian, opened last summer and is fully occupied.

"Next year, I'm going to Russia and Mongolia for business," says Ying, whose two children live in Wenzhou with their grandparents while Ying's wife travels between two homes in Inner Mongolia.

For Jin Xiancong, his wife and their two children, Erenhot is home. Not that they've forgotten their first winter, when the couple huddled around a coal-burning stove in a 15-foot room where they lived. That was behind their counter, where they sold hairpins and ribbons for a dime each. Jin remembers his black mustache turning to ice outside, making him look like Santa Claus.

"I would be talking and my eyebrows would freeze," recalls his wife, Xu Xihong. "I just focused on making money."

They made money that winter of 1993. The town was growing and Wenzhou people were repairing shoes and selling watch batteries and items such as buttons, then lacking in this remote outpost.

"My friends said anything that's red and green would sell well," says Jin, sitting in his 40-room Golden Leaf Hotel.

Like most Wenzhou businesspeople, Jin does not want to disclose much about his company's sales and his personal wealth. But he and his wife own four apartments and several shops in Erenhot, and they pull in tens of thousands of dollars more through trading and investments.

On summer weekends, their children go horseback riding nearby in the Mongolian grasslands. Jin and his wife rarely take vacations, although once a year the entire family returns to Wenzhou. Jin couldn't recall exactly when he last saw his four siblings. The oldest left in 1992, paying $15,000 to a so-called snakehead to sneak him into Italy. Jin was the next to leave home. Then the others followed, all to Europe.

Jin says he isn't done roaming the Mongolian region. He wants to find oil and dig up iron ore.

On a recent frigid afternoon, Jin feasted on strips of beef and sheep stomach boiled in soup, then walked along Dinosaur Park, a large field with statues of the sauropods that trampled the area eons ago.

For now, Jin says, he is content to stay in Erenhot. But he sees himself eventually moving back to Wenzhou.

The air outside was below zero. He paused, then recited an old Chinese saying: "A fallen leaf will return to its roots."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
don.lee@latimes.com

*

Cao Jun in The Times' Shanghai Bureau contributed to this report.

http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-nomads12mar12,1,7296495,full.story

Asians Flex Muscles in California Politics

2007-03-13T23:22:00.000-07:00

Asians Flex Muscles in California Politics
By CINDY CHANG
Published: February 27, 2007
Correction Appended

LOS ANGELES, Feb. 26 — When Leland Yee ran for the San Francisco school board in 1986, Asian-American elected officials in California were rare and misconceptions about them rampant. Mr. Yee, who immigrated from China at age 3 and has a doctorate in child psychology, recalled that some people at the time wondered if he knew how to speak English properly.

State Senator Leland Yee is among a growing number of Asian-American public officials in California. At a State of the State speech by Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mr. Lee spoke with Senator Mark Ridley-Thomas.

Mr. Yee won that election and went on to serve four years in the State Assembly before being elected in November to the State Senate. He is California’s first Asian-American senator in more than 30 years, and its first of Chinese descent.

California’s 4.4 million Asians constitute the state’s second-largest ethnic minority group (after Latinos) and the largest Asian population in the country, but they have been underrepresented in elected office. Now they are moving beyond fund-raising, where they have long been a force, to elect representatives of their own.

Last year for the first time, Asian candidates across the state were supported by a major political action committee, the Asian American Small Business P.A.C. In addition, the California Asian Pacific Islander Legislative Caucus, a coalition of Democratic legislators of Asian ancestry, helped organize crews of bilingual volunteers to knock on doors and make sure Asian voters made it to the polls.

There are now nine Asian-Americans in the State Legislature, compared with one 10 years ago. In November, a Chinese-American, John Chiang, was elected state controller. Four of the five members of the Board of Equalization, which administers the state’s tax policies, are Asian-American, including Mr. Chiang.

“If you look back a decade or two ago, there was a considerable amount of talk about Latinos being the sleeping giant in politics, that they’d reached a certain level of potentially having impact,” said Paul Ong, a professor at the University of California, Los Angeles, who has written about Asians’ growing influence in the state. “Asians are at that point.”

If Asians can continue to build on their recent successes and muster voter turnout close to their share of the population, “they will literally be the balance of power in most elections,” said Garry South, a Democratic political consultant who informally advised several Asian-American candidates last fall.

The Census Bureau projects that the number of Asians statewide will nearly double in the next two decades. Of the state’s 2005 estimated population of 35 million, Latinos accounted for 36 percent, or about 12.5 million; Asians 12 percent, or 4.4 million; and blacks 6 percent, or 2.2 million.

Should the number of Asian-American elected officials continue to grow, the issues many of them have pursued — bilingual language assistance, equitable admissions standards at state universities and affordable health care — will become increasingly visible.

Despite efforts by political candidates and nonprofit groups, though, Asian immigrants are registered to vote at rates much lower than the general population. Only recently have Asian-Americans begun to develop the fund-raising and campaign operations that have helped blacks and Latinos solidify their bases.

According to a study by S. Karthick Ramakrishnan, an assistant professor of political science at the University of California, Riverside, only 37 percent of Asian-Americans in California voted in the 2004 elections, compared with 68 percent of blacks and 73 percent of whites. Latino turnout, at 32 percent, was even lower.

The disparity can partly be explained by lower rates of citizenship: only 67 percent of Asians and 59 percent of Latinos living in California at the time were citizens. But even those who were citizens had much lower rates of voter registration than other ethnic groups.

“I don’t doubt that they’re doing better than they were before, but I don’t think that they’ve reached any sort of critical mass or threshold,” said Antonio Gonzalez, president of the Southwest Voter Registration Education Project, a nonprofit that promotes civic participation among Latinos. “I don’t think they conceive of themselves yet as coherent and cohesive as one needs to.”

Still, progress on turnout and an increased willingness on the part of non-Asians to vote for Asian candidates helped spur the gains of the past decade, analysts say.

It took years, but the Asian-American political community has recovered from a series of demoralizing fund-raising scandals in the 1990s, including a controversial 1996 appearance at a Buddhist temple in the Los Angeles area by Vice President Al Gore.

Already, some non-Asian politicians are paying attention. The Democratic campaigns for governor of Gray Davis in 2002 and Steve Westly last year — both of which Mr. South helped to run — featured advertisements on Asian-language television stations and news conferences geared toward Asian media.

But there is still a long way to go, Asian politicians and political analysts agree, with much depending on the progress Asian-Americans make in strengthening the nascent organizations they have built to support candidates and get out the vote.

Though the number of Asian-American local and state officials is growing, there are only two Asian representatives from California in Congress, of seven Asian-American members in all.

“We’re still two to four election cycles from fulfilling expectations,” said Assemblyman Alberto Torrico, chairman of the California Asian Pacific Islander Legislative Caucus.

Correction: March 1, 2007

An article on Tuesday about the increase in the number of California office holders who are Asian-Americans misstated the number of Asian-Americans on the five-member Board of Equalization. There are four, not three.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/27/us/27asian.html?ex=1330232400&en=710baee89ee0a5c3&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

Some in Chino Hills nervous about ethnic shift

2007-03-13T23:21:00.000-07:00

Some in Chino Hills nervous about ethnic shift
10:00 PM PST on Tuesday, February 6, 2007
By DOUGLAS QUAN
The Press-Enterprise

The opening of a large Asian-oriented supermarket in Chino Hills is getting a mixed reception from residents, a possible sign of things to come as more companies clamor for the hearts -- and appetites -- of the Inland region's increasingly diverse population.

Tawa Supermarket Inc., an Asian grocery chain with 22 stores in California, is planning to open a 99 Ranch Market in a vacated Ralph's store in April or May.

Some Chino Hills residents said they worry the store's arrival could lead to a concentration of other Asian-oriented businesses and a proliferation of Asian-language signs and traffic similar to what exists in some Los Angeles County communities.

"It will turn into anther Rowland Heights," said Carolyn Matta, 67, referring to the unincorporated community 35 miles west of Riverside where the population is 55 percent Asian. "We're not going to be welcomed in our neighborhood."

Supporters said the store sells fresh seafood, produce and specialty items that can't be found elsewhere. The complaints smack of racism and ignorance, some of them said.

"Let us put our bigotry aside and welcome the Indians, Hindus, Asian, and other ethnicities into our neighborhoods," Michael Newton of Chino wrote in a letter to the Chino Hills Champion newspaper.

Alan Lee, Tawa's vice chairman, said that of the company's 22 stores throughout California, some attract up to 25,000 visitors a week, and they integrate well in the communities they serve.

"We are a full-service market" catering to Asians and non-Asians, Lee said.

Timothy Fong, a professor and director of Asian-American studies at Cal State Sacramento, said many of the complaints are similar to those heard during the '80s, when an influx of Asian-oriented businesses in Monterey Park, the first "suburban Chinatown," caused an uproar and the City Council attempted to pass English-only ordinances but failed.

"Monterey Park went through a lot of upheaval that a lot of people regret," Fong said.

Demographic Shift

The Tawa Supermarket chain's push into the Inland region was inevitable given the area's growing and affluent Asian population, retail experts and economists said.

While the overall Asian population remains small -- nearly 5 percent in Riverside County and almost 6 percent in San Bernardino County, according to the Census Bureau's 2005 American Community Survey -- some pockets have grown tremendously.

In Chino Hills, a former farming community now marked by new housing and shopping developments, low crime and lots of green space, the Asian population climbed from 22 percent in 2000 to 39 percent in 2005, Census figures show. The city cites a figure of 28 percent, using a different source.

The opening of the store "is a reflection of changing demographics," said Mayor Gwenn Norton-Perry, adding that she plans to shop at the new store.

Asian-Americans are drawn to the Inland region's new homes and good schools, said Edward Chang, a UCR professor of ethnic studies.

Tawa isn't the only big player in the Asian grocery industry pushing into the Inland region. The Hannam Chain, which operates five Market World stores in Southern California catering largely to a Korean clientele, hopes to open a sixth store in Rancho Cucamonga by summer, said Vice President Steve Kim.

That city's Asian population rose from 6 percent in 2000 to 8 percent in 2005.

Experts said they predict more of these types of stores to open in other Inland cities in coming years, including Corona, whose Asian population jumped from 8 percent to 11 percent from 2000 to 2005.

What they lack in numbers, they make up for in affluence, said Julia Huang, president of interTrend, a Long Beach marketing firm that helps companies target the Asian-American community.

"At the end of the day, it's the buying power," she said.

The 2005 census figures show that nationally Asian-Americans had a median household income of $61,094, higher than any other group.

Opposition

While some regard the eastward expansion of these supermarkets as Capitalism 101 -- go where the demand is -- others view their arrival as a threat.

"We have diversity in Chino Hills and I am HAPPY with the degree of diversity we now have in Chino Hills," Larry Blugrind wrote in a letter to the City Council. "In Rowland Heights, THERE IS NO DIVERSITY -- IT'S ALL ASIAN!!!"

Darrin Lee wrote in a letter to the local newspaper that he fears a loss of the aesthetic qualities in the neighborhood.

"I see the 99 Ranch Market with its soiled concrete pathways and smeared windows covered with posters in Chinese writing. I smell the odor of spoiled seafood in the trash Dumpster out back," he wrote.

In a phone interview, Lee said the issue is not about xenophobia but ensuring that the store adheres to community standards.

Samuel Park, owner of a neighboring dry cleaning store, said he worries how the new store will impact his business, since most of his customers are non-Asian.

The 99 Ranch store can attract more customers by hiring employees who reflect the makeup of the community, he suggested.

Lee, Tawa's vice chairman, said 99 Ranch stores are similar to other large chains.

Signs will be printed in English and the company welcomes job applications from everyone, he said.

Lee said he hopes traffic from the 99 Ranch will benefit neighboring businesses and vice versa.

"We'll be a good neighbor... we'll be a plus to the city, the community," he said.

Tony Gallimore, manager of a neighboring hobby store, said he has never shopped at a 99 Ranch and looks forward to seeing what they have to offer. Increased traffic should be good for business, he said.

"We're all expecting a spillover (of customers) ... and bring up sales a bit."

However, the prediction that the new store will attract other Asian-oriented businesses is not off-base, some experts said.

When a major Asian-oriented grocer moves in, ancillary businesses, such as boutiques or medical offices, catering to an Asian clientele tend to follow, said John Husing, a Redlands-based economist.

In Rowland Heights, the 99 Ranch store is surrounded by many Asian-oriented businesses, including dim-sum eateries and clothing boutiques.

But at the World Market store in Diamond Bar, neighbors include a PetSmart and a Jo-Ann craft store.

"I don't think Chino Hills will become Rowland Heights overnight" because the Asian population is not as large, said Vilma Chau, a senior vice president at Lee & Associates, a commercial real estate firm.

At the World Market in Diamond Bar and the 99 Ranch in Rowland Heights, most aisle signs and shelf labels have English translations. Spicy kimchi soup shares the same aisle as Ragu sauce. Chili bamboo shoots are stacked near Aunt Jemima-brand syrup.

Western pop music plays over the speakers at the World Market. Promotional announcements at 99 Ranch are spoken in Chinese and English.

Rob Jaworoski, 45, a Chino Hills resident and 99 Ranch fan, said the fruit and vegetables typically cost half what you'd pay at a mainstream store.

"I think if people give it a chance and see how good it is, they'll be happy," he said.

Old Arguments

It's unfair to label all critics as bigoted, but some of the criticisms probably are driven by an underlying anti-Asian sentiment, said Cal State Sacramento's Fong.

The sentiment is rooted in a fear that Latinos are taking over culture and Asians are taking over the economy, he said.

There are some lessons from the 1980s that residents in Chino Hills can learn from, Fong said.

The Asian-American community could try to integrate more fully into the community, by joining social clubs, for instance.

Meanwhile, established residents should accept that it's not so simple anymore to demand assimilation from newcomers.

"Change is inevitable," Fong said. "If white yuppies were moving in, would they be complaining? I doubt it."

http://www.pe.com/localnews/rivcounty/stories/PE_News_Local_D_asian07.25558b4.html

Class Divide in Chinese-Americans’ Charity

2007-03-13T23:20:00.002-07:00

Class Divide in Chinese-Americans’ Charity
By NINA BERNSTEIN
Published: The New York Times, January 20, 2007

As a schoolteacher in New York’s Chinatown in the 1960s, when the government’s war on poverty seemed focused on blacks and Latinos, Virginia Kee noticed that many of her Asian pupils were too poor to pay $2 for a class trip. To connect community needs with public money, Ms. Kee helped found what is now the Chinese-American Planning Council, one of the largest social service agencies for Asians in the country.

These days, in an era of shrunken public dollars and booming philanthropy, as universities and museums showcase multimillion-dollar gifts by Chinese-Americans, Ms. Kee worries about a different kind of disconnect: a divide between the explosive growth of Chinese-American wealth and the unmet needs of a new generation of Chinese immigrants who have streamed to the city since the 1990s.

In the society pages, out of reach, Ms. Kee said, she sees figures of Chinese-American success at benefits that raise half a million dollars for the Frick Collection or $3 million for breast cancer research.

“We’re out of their orbit,” Ms. Kee observed wistfully. “We get donations from poor people that we’ve helped. We don’t get donations from the rich, who should be helping the poor.”

No comprehensive numbers exist to track charity by ethnic groups, let alone donors of Chinese heritage. Many people of all ethnicities keep their donations private.

But concerns about an uptown-downtown split are widely echoed by Asian-American groups serving the working poor in the sprawling Chinatowns of Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan; by scholars of philanthropy; and by Asian donors who have bucked the tide.

Those concerns have grown along with the influx of immigrants from China, up 53 percent in New York in the 1990s alone; today, among foreign-born New Yorkers, the Chinese outnumber every nationality but Dominicans.

Of course, many other immigrant groups have shown similar patterns of giving. The first generation typically sends money back to needy relatives and hometowns, while later strivers mark their success with gifts to mainstream institutions patronized by America’s patricians, or give to art and education to enhance wider appreciation of their cultural heritage. Even Jewish philanthropy, now often admired as a model of ethnic solidarity, was long divided by resentment between wealthy German Jews and penniless Jewish newcomers from Eastern Europe.

But the Chinese diaspora in America has been even more fragmented by language, lineage, class and political history. In 1949, when the founding of Israel served as a unifying event for many Jews, the rise of Communist China further polarized the Chinese in America, noted Henry Tang, 65, a founder of the Committee of 100, an organization of prominent Americans of Chinese ancestry.

For people in his generation, Mr. Tang said, loyalties and outlook differ radically depending on where and when they trace their Chinese roots. There is little commonality between, say, the children of the wealthy elite who left Shanghai before World War II and the descendants of Cantonese peasants who migrated to the United States in the 19th century and were ghettoized by anti-Chinese laws. The differences can be even sharper, he said, for those raised in Hong Kong, Taiwan or a rural province of mainland China.

“When you say, ‘Donate money to help the Chinese,’ ” Mr. Tang explained, “they’re conflicted that their monies will not be helping people of their own. Like, some people will say, ‘I grew up in Taiwan, and you’re asking me to help these people from Fujian’ ” — the coastal province that has generated the latest wave of immigrants, both legal and illegal.

“Others will say, ‘I’m a Hong Kong person, and your mission here is to serve people from everywhere else.’ Or you may get an A.B.C. — American-born Chinese — saying, ‘Well, I really want to help the people in downtown San Francisco.’ ”

As immigration soared after the 1965 overhaul of immigration laws and Asians reached 5 percent of the American population, the picture was further complicated by a pan-Asian structure of giving fostered by the United Way. Umbrella organizations like the Asian American Federation lump together groups that have warred with each other in recent history — Koreans, Japanese, Indians, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis, as well as the Chinese, who officially reached 2.5 million in 2000, with 374,000 in New York City.

“When you represent all Asian ethnic groups, you don’t represent any Asian ethnic groups,” said Wayne Ho, director of the Coalition for Asian American Children and Families. “It’s really hard to get individual donations.”

A working paper on Asian-American philanthropy produced at Georgetown University’s Public Policy Institute in 2004 cited anecdotal evidence that “many Chinese-Americans do not give at all, and those that do, give to their university, or to their church, but not to ethnic causes.” The author, Andrew Ho, who recently earned an M.B.A. along with a master’s in public policy, added in an interview that especially among the well-off in their 30s and 40s, “those ties that bind us all as Chinese are not there,” making suburban fund-raising difficult for organizations trying to help new immigrants.

Such groups typically hope for a continuing relationship with the prominent Asian-Americans honored at their annual galas, but report mixed results. For example, two Asian groups that honored Vera Wang, the American-born fashion designer, in the 1990s said they had been unable to get her to attend benefits since. (Ms. Wang declined through a spokeswoman to be interviewed for this article.)

But the rising affluence of a younger generation of Asian professionals shaped by American ideals and New York diversity is prompting fresh efforts to bridge the gaps.

“I make easily 10 times what my parents would make in a lifetime,” said Jimmy Pang, 34, an investment banker who grew up in what he called “the hodgepodge” of Elmhurst, Queens, and saw his parents, a waiter and a garment worker, scrimp to pay his Catholic school tuition. “I could just be one of the lucky ones, so I think it’s good to give back.”

Mr. Pang was a founding member of AsiaNextGen, a small “giving circle” of young Asian-American professionals who want to be catalysts for change. Started in 2004 by five friends who each donated $4,000, the group gave $20,000 to the Queens Child Guidance Center to hire a part-time social worker. This year, they plan to choose a program for the elderly.

The sums are modest, said Mr. Pang, who helps manage a $20 billion asset fund in Hong Kong for his company. But leading members like Gary Lee, a Wall Street analyst raised in Whippany, N.J, and Michelle Tong, the director of donor relations for the Asian American Federation, believe they are pioneers of a more vocal, hands-on Asian-American philanthropy.

“The majority of the Asian ethnic groups, they don’t want to draw attention to themselves,” said Ms. Tong, who joked that she absorbed outspokenness with the lox and bagels she ate growing up in Bergen County, N.J. “Once they’ve achieved a certain level, some of them tend to distance themselves from where they come from. They want to show that they’ve made it, they want to blend in with the mainstream. They don’t go back to Chinatown.”

Exceptions tend to underscore the importance of individual connections. Many of those interviewed cited the way a clinic that had been established in Chinatown by volunteers in 1971 became the Charles B. Wang Community Health Center. It was renamed for Mr. Wang, the co-founder of Computer Associates, after he gave $1 million for its expansion in 1999.

But initially he rejected the clinic’s application for money, recalled Marie Lam, one of the founding volunteers and the board chairwoman. Mr. Wang, the donor as well of a $52 million Asian and Asian-American cultural center on the Stony Brook campus of the State University of New York, changed his mind after a mutual friend intervened, she said.

Mr. Wang said he did not recall the initial request from the health center, “but was pleased to learn more about it and what they were doing, and how my donations could make a significant difference.”

Ms. Lam herself, a Hong Kong doctor’s daughter who earned a degree in social work at the University of California at Berkeley and married a New Jersey businessman, said she might never have connected to ailing immigrants in Lower Manhattan. But she happened to volunteer at a Chinatown health fair, and was moved to find sick old men stranded without families by the effect of old immigration laws and reluctant to apply for Medicaid.

“I’ve seen the hardships people go through,” she said. “I’ve gotten some of my friends and acquaintances interested. But people want to see a bang for their buck.”

Some observers, like Kenneth J. Guest, an anthropologist at Baruch College who has studied the latest immigrant stream from Fujian province, see a divide even within Chinatown between the newcomers, who have little education, and those who run the nonprofit organizations.

“There’s some very strong prejudice within the Cantonese community,” he said, drawing a parallel with assimilated German Jews who looked down on Jewish newcomers from Russia. “It’s interesting to see what the 30-somethings will do.”

Today, almost a third of Manhattan’s Chinatown residents live in poverty, including 40 percent of children and 35 percent of the elderly, census data show, and only about 7 percent of households receive public aid. At the other extreme, a 2004 study by the Spectrem Group of Chicago, financial consultants, found that Asians accounted for 5 percent of affluent households in the United States, up from 1 percent two years earlier; they had an average net worth of $2.9 million, typically earned rather than inherited.

“The Chinese-American community really has an opportunity because there’s a critical mass that wasn’t there before,” said Jessica Chao, a vice president at Rockefeller Philanthropy Advisors. “A critical mass of wealth and opportunity, and a critical mass of awareness of the social issues that impact poverty.”

For social service organizations like Ms. Kee’s, the emerging link may be the people they helped as children. Danny Ong Yee and Norman Louis, boyhood friends who attended the council’s child-care programs, are now, respectively, the founding trustee and the executive director of the Ong Family Foundation, which provides annual grants of $5,000 to $50,000 to nonprofit organizations, including the council.

“We were not the royal class; we were the peasant class,” Mr. Louis said. “My mother did not know how to read or write; she was a seamstress. My father worked in a restaurant. Danny’s father worked in a laundry.”

Mr. Yee, formerly a partner of Goldman Sachs, now lives in Hong Kong, but cherishes his Chinatown roots, Mr. Louis added.

“We want to give all the new immigrants and American-born children the same opportunities,” he said. “We want to open it up to them.”

About Asian-Americans

2007-03-13T23:20:00.001-07:00

About Asian-Americans, USA Today 1/18/07
Many of the 14 million Asian-Americans in the USA are high-powered consumers and business people whose dollars are increasingly coveted by corporate advertisers. For example, Asian-Americans:
•Boast spending power of $427 billion, expected to grow to $623 billion by 2010.
•Have a median household income of $58,000 in 2004 ?the highest income level among all ethnic groups.
•Owned 1.1 million businesses in 2002, with sales receipts of $343 billion.
•Have the highest percentage (49%) of bachelor's degrees of all ethnic groups.
•Have the highest percentage (46%) of people in professional and managerial jobs among all ethnic groups.
Sources: Census Bureau, The IW Group, Selig Center for Economic Growth

Asian American voters flex muscles

2007-03-13T23:19:00.001-07:00

Asian American voters flex muscles
Rebounding from a scandal, they see gains in both the electorate and the winners' circle.
By David Pierson, Times Staff Writer
November 11, 2006

As he savored his victory this week in the race for state controller, John Chiang couldn't help but reflect on how grim the political landscape had been for Asian Americans just a decade ago.

Back then, a fundraising scandal involving then-Vice President Al Gore and a Buddhist temple in Hacienda Heights embroiled the Democratic Party and in some eyes cast suspicion on Asian American donors and politicians.

But in the decade since, the fortunes of Asian American politicians have rebounded in dramatic fashion.

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FOR THE RECORD: In an earlier version, John Chiang was incorrectly referred to as treasurer.
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Tuesday's election marked a watershed moment for the community, with more than two dozen Asian Americans running for state office. Nineteen candidates won, giving Asian Americans a record representation in Californian public office with a total of 20 elected officials. (Before the election, there were 17.)

Democrat Chiang's victory garnered the most headlines. But the election also resulted in a major shift at the State Board of Equalization: Four of its five members will be Asian American. They are termed-out Democratic Assemblywoman Judy Chu; board incumbent Betty Yee, a Democrat; newcomer Michelle Steel, a Republican; and Chiang, a member by virtue of being controller. The non-Asian is Republican incumbent Bill Leonard.

"There's a new generation of Asian Americans getting involved in the community, governance and public policy," said Chiang. "It speaks volumes about the resiliency of the community that a decade ago, it was under attack."

The victories come on the heels of a study released by the Asian American Pacific Legal Center that showed the Asian American electorate grew by nearly a third in Los Angeles County and more than two-thirds in Orange County in the last few years.

Chu and others say that, aside from general population growth, registration drives and efforts to translate voter and campaign material in recent years have helped increase the size of the Asian American electorate. She also credited the popularity of absentee ballots. Of 22 million eligible voters in California, about 2.5 million are Asian Americans.

"I think after a while, success breeds more success or at least encourages people to give politics a go," said Don Nakanishi, director of the UCLA Asian American Studies Center. "I don't think running for office is in anyone's cultural DNA, even though a lot of Asian Americans will say they never had a tradition of political participation back in Asia."

In 1996, the political outlook for Asian Americans had soured. A controversy began with Gore's visit to a temple in Hacienda Heights that linked the Democratic National Committee to Asian American donors who were suspected of having illegally provided the party with money from China.

The temple visit became part of a larger national fundraising controversy; ultimately, the party returned about $3 million in donations and several fundraisers were charged.

The scandal had a chilling effect in the local Asian political community, Chiang and others said. Some politicians and candidates declined to take money from Chinese American donors, and some Asian American candidates struggled to gain support, they said.
"They made them [feel like] outcasts," Chiang said.

The fact that many Asian American candidates for statewide office are now appealing to a broad swath of voters is a testament to the changed environment.

Although candidates can win office in some city and school board elections by appealing mostly to Asian voters, victory in statewide and legislative campaigns requires coalition-building.

Some, including Chu, have developed ties to Latino politicians and labor groups, and Chiang said his parents' story of hardworking immigrants seeking better lives in the United States for their children resonates with any voter.

And as Asian candidates reach out to the mainstream, non-Asian candidates are increasingly courting Asian voters.

Nakanishi sees it in campaign mailers in which candidates make their pitches in Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese.

This outreach is evident in Southern California, which has the nation's largest and most diverse Asian American population.

The Asian Pacific American Legal Center's study documented dramatic Asian American voter participation gains in L.A. and Orange counties but also showed that percentages did not equal the two counties' overall turnout numbers.

In the 2004 general election, 78% of registered voters in L.A. County and 73% of registered voters in Orange County voted.

By comparison, 71% of registered Asian American voters in L.A. County and 68% of those in Orange County voted.

Although L.A. County's electorate grew by 11% and Orange County's by 12% between the 2000 and 2004 general elections, the Asian American electorate in L.A. County grew by 29% and Orange County's grew by 68% in those years.

"To politicians, it says Asian Americans are becoming engaged in the political process. They're increasingly a population elected officials need to attend to," said Dan Ichinose, project director for the survey.

That means offering language assistance during campaigns and at the polls, Ichinose said.

The survey found that 40% of Asian American voters in L.A. County and 37% of Asian American voters in Orange County were deemed to have limited English proficiency. Koreans and Vietnamese voters struggled the most with English, the survey showed.

The majority of Asian American voters in the two counties were foreign born. In L.A. County, they represented 67% of 271,497 Asian Americans who voted in the 2004 general election.

In Orange County, foreign-born voters made up 80% of the 137,583 Asian Americans who voted in the same election.

Christine Chen, executive director of APIAVote, a nonprofit group based in Washington, D.C., that encourages civic participation by Asian Pacific Islander Americans, said all eyes were on California's changing Asian American electorate.

"We look at what happens in California and what can be replicated in other areas," Chen said.

"It's such a large population and there are so many more nonprofit organizations," she said.

Chen noted that the rest of the country has been catching on.

Most recently, Jim Webb, who won a Virginia Senate seat, employed Korean American actor Daniel Dae Kim, from the television show "Lost," to court the Asian American vote in a TV advertisement.

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*

Voters

Recent years have seen sharp growth in the Asian American electorate in Southern California. The breakdown by ethnic groups:

Asian American voters, 2004 general election

Los Angeles County Group Voters Percent
Filipino 78,770 29%
Chinese 74,496 27%
Korean 35,109 13%
Japanese 31,130 11%
Vietnamese 24,712 9%
Asian Indian 12,616 5%
Cambodian 3,706 1%
---

Orange County Group Voters Percent
Vietnamese 52,508 38%
Filipino 25,358 18%
Chinese 16,999 12%
Korean 12,612 9%
Japanese 9,860 7%
Asian Indian 7,097 5%
Cambodian 1,811 1%
Note: Does not include all Asian American groups; numbers do not add up to 100%.

Source: Asian Pacific American Legal Center.

http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/california/la-me-asian11nov11,1,6555086.story?coll=la-headlines-pe-california

Teens find a connection in returning to Chinatown

2007-03-13T23:18:00.001-07:00

Teens find a connection in returning to Chinatown
By Juliana Barbassa, The Associated Press
San Bernardino County Sun
Article Launched:10/29/2006 01:00:00 AM PDT

SAN FRANCISCO - Passengers pour from a crowded bus onto a Chinatown sidewalk. The thin frame of a teenage boy is jostled like a rag doll by women with babies, school kids with backpacks, elderly shoppers picking through bins of flopping fish, and tourists looking for bargains among the plastic Buddhas.
A crowd of teens gathered in the dark basement of the Chinese Historical Society on a Friday night bursts into laughter as the familiar scene from their daily lives plays out on video. They made the short movie to reflect their impressions of a neighborhood that is much more to them than dim sum and souvenir shops.

Chinese-American teens in San Francisco have a complicated relationship with the biggest of the nation's many Chinatowns.

On the one hand, it's a place of comfort and familiarity. But the noise, crowds and smells wafting from open-air produce stands selling dried mushrooms or fresh herbs can seem old-fashioned to a generation hooked on iPods and YouTube, and chaotic compared to the suburbs where some now live.

Yet whether they live in the densely packed blocks or visit regularly to find a physical connection to their culture, history and friends with similar backgrounds, Chinatown still is home to the teens who cherish what it represents even as they make fun of it on film.

"Universally, kids will seek a place of comfort," says Ben Wong, director of the Chinatown Beacon Center, a community organization that offers education and leadership programs for youth. "They naturally connect based on ethnicity, language, socio-economic status. If they leave, they come back. It's a place of connection."

For more than 150 years, the neighborhood has sheltered immigrants. It's one of San Francisco's biggest tourist draws, but still offers a first toehold, a network of support and the reassurance of familiar languages and customs to new arrivals.

This is what sets it apart from other ethnic neighborhoods that within decades can go from a dynamic community to little more than a collection of restaurants and quaint signs. The Chinese have been a part of San Francisco from the city's inception, and the neighborhood is a physical reminder of those roots. It has become a tourist attraction, but visitors have to compete for sidewalk space with recent immigrants looking for spices or foods they can't find anywhere else.

The young people who live and congregate here confront the same challenges faced by inner-city youth of all backgrounds: difficulty accessing good health care, a quality education, tight quarters. In hotels where one room can house a whole family, there's a lack of recreational opportunities and spaces kids can consider their own, said Jan Lin, a professor at Occidental College and author of "Reconstructing Chinatown: Ethnic Enclave, Global Change."

There are drawbacks, but there is also a sense of community that draws teenagers like Vinson Chen, 17, who helps his parents run a general store in Chinatown although he lives across town in the comparatively tidy and spacious Sunset district.

The Chinese were an integral part of San Francisco's wild Gold-Rush days, but for decades segregationist practices forced them to pack their lives into a dozen or so square blocks. They provided for themselves what the outside world would not: schools, markets, medical care and entertainment, building a home in a country that was intent on making them feel unwelcome.

The 1906 earthquake destroyed the old Chinatown, along with most of downtown San Francisco. Some local leaders saw it as an opportunity to sweep the enclave away altogether.

"The cities in the immediate vicinity of the San Francisco Bay never in the past had such opportunity as now to forever do away with the huddling together of Chinese in districts," the Oakland Enquirer wrote days after the destruction.

Instead, the neighborhood was rebuilt, this time in an elaborate Oriental style whose curved eaves and colorful lanterns were designed to attract tourists even as it continued to house traditional family associations, herb shops and restaurants.

Even as immigrants established themselves and moved to outlying neighborhoods, San Francisco and especially Chinatown grew to become "a center of Chinese and Chinese-American culture," says historian Judy Yung, who grew up in the neighborhood during the 1950s and recently published "San Francisco's Chinatown - Images of America."

Today, the largest number of ethnic Chinese in the city live in the Sunset district. But when a leading Board of Supervisors candidate seeking to represent the Sunset held his first fundraiser, it was not in that part of San Francisco but in Chinatown.

"Whether you're living in the Sunset or other parts of the city, you'll return to Chinatown because that remains the cultural and political center of the Chinese-American community," says David Lee, executive director of the Chinese American Voters Education Committee and a professor of political science at San Francisco State University.

http://dailybulletin.com/search/ci_4568176

The border is everywhere

2007-03-13T23:16:00.000-07:00

The border is everywhere
Illegal immigrants come by land, sea and air
Mason Stockstill, Staff Writer SAN PEDRO When 29 undocumented Chinese nationals were found trying to enter the United States through the Port of Los Angeles in April, it wasn't the Border Patrol that caught them.
San Bernardino County Sun
Article Launched:12/19/2005 12:00:00 AM PST

SAN PEDRO -- When 29 undocumented Chinese nationals were found trying to enter the United States through the Port of Los Angeles in April, it wasn't the Border Patrol that caught them.

The men had arrived in a cargo container carried on a Panamanian vessel that had last stopped in China and Hong Kong. Port security personnel spotted them wandering around a cargo area.

The security officers called the U.S. Coast Guard and Immigration and Customs Enforcement, which later described the scene as familiar: a 40-foot shipping container filled with empty food packages, water bottles and receptacles overflowing with human waste.

Smuggling fees for immigrants from China can run as much as $60,000 per person. Although tougher security in the post-9/11 world has decreased the smuggling of immigrants by sea, the practice continues.

"It isn't all that uncommon," said Tony Migliorini, a spokesman with the Coast Guard. "We have caught them several times."

The phenomenon of would-be immigrants shipped in sealed containers drives home a fact faced daily by officials around California and the rest of the nation: The battle over illegal immigration is no longer fought only at the line separating the United States from Mexico.

As the tide of undocumented aliens swells, the border is everywhere.

It's a stiff challenge for personnel at ports of entry along U.S. coastlines and at international airports throughout the country. With so much commerce and so many people entering and leaving the country each day, inspecting every man, woman and package that enters the United States would be a daunting task.

Instead, officials use intelligence and improved communication to identify potential threats, focusing limited resources where they're likely to accomplish the most.

But sometimes, someone or something slips through the cracks.

By air and by sea

At the nation's airports, Customs and Border Protection the agency that includes the Border Patrol is charged with maintaining security and making sure no one enters the country who isn't supposed to.

The agency was created in 2003, after the Department of Homeland Security reorganized immigration, border enforcement and customs services. Since then, security at airport checkpoints has improved, said Ana Hinojosa, area port director for CBP in Los Angeles.

Information on travelers is now more readily available to customs officers, Hinojosa said sometimes before flights to the United States ever leave the ground. CBP also has officers stationed at overseas airports, working with foreign governments to screen passengers and keep those deemed "high risk" from boarding U.S.-bound flights.

Before the 2001 terrorist attacks, illegally entering the country through an airport was attempted far more frequently. More than 1.8 million people were apprehended between October 1999 and September 2000 at U.S. airports.

Now, new programs such as US-VISIT which links travelers' visas with fingerprints and digital photographs make it harder for anyone to enter the country without valid documents. But many still try. Customs officers catch impostors "all the time," Hinojosa said.

"In the past, it was easier for brothers or cousins to swap each other's paperwork and come in," she said. "That's no longer an option for them, because we verify their fingerprints."

The government also has implemented a program requiring travelers connected to certain "special interest" countries to undergo stricter screening and questioning upon arrival.

Similarly, information on cargo shipped to the United States is closely monitored by CBP, but only a small fraction of it is ever physically inspected.

Containment problem

Considering the amount of cargo arriving each day, incidents in which immigrants are found inside a container are rare. But many say the fact they happen at all shows the nation's seaports need much tighter security.

Of the thousands of containers coming into U.S. seaports every day, few are opened or scanned to see what's inside. In 2004, the total was 6 percent of all seafaring cargo.

CBP requires information on all cargo coming into the country more than 24 hours before it's loaded onto vessels at foreign ports. That information what's being shipped, where it's coming from and which company is shipping it is used to determine the ships and containers that will be searched with X-ray scans and radiation-detection equipment.

"It gives us 24 hours before that container's actually going to be boarded to screen it and determine whether or not there's any high-risk factor," Hinojosa said.

Additionally, about 40 percent of incoming cargo is transported by companies that participate in a government-certified security program. CBP officers go overseas to be sure the firms involved in the program have instituted higher levels of security.

Customs officials say those programs, taken together, mean 100 percent of cargo entering the country is screened in one way or another.

But that still leaves the port infrastructure in the United States. In 2002, Congress passed the Maritime Transportation Security Act, which was intended to improve security at and around ports. Among the changes it mandated were the use of biometric identification cards, vessel tracking and secure port perimeters.

Although all of the nation's seaports meet the minimum level of security required by the act, many port operators say funding from the federal government to cover those improvements has been slow in coming.

"The government has done a lot with security, especially on the air side, but it's now time to more effectively fund the maritime side," said Aaron Ellis of the Association of American Port Authorities. "We need to make sure our seaports are treated as fairly as our airports."

Many seaports have paid for security improvements out of their operating budgets, then found themselves shut out of federal grants available for reimbursement, Ellis said.

Port security is important to ensure no one can enter a seaport and slip explosives or something else aboard a container scheduled for departure, Ellis said. Also, port security personnel are on the front lines in the immigration battle, like the ones who found the 29 Chinese nationals at the Port of Los Angeles this year.

Watching the waters

That those 29 got ashore before being discovered shows how difficult it can be to stop illegal immigrants and contraband from entering the country, said the Coast Guard's Migliorini.

With more than 12,000 miles of coastline, 300-plus ports, daily arrivals of dozens of foreign ships and 76 million recreational boaters to monitor, the Coast Guard is a busy agency.

The emphasis on anti-terror operations that followed the terrorist attacks of 2001 changed the way the force works. The Coast Guard has increased security patrols around seaports, begun sending armed officers to board incoming and outgoing vessels, and started flying helicopters armed with machine guns in some areas off the East Coast.

Enforcing U.S. immigration laws at sea remains one of the Coast Guard's missions. Each year, thousands of immigrants usually from island nations such as Haiti, Cuba and the Dominican Republic are halted before they reach U.S. soil. Many, however, succeed in landing at U.S. territories such as Puerto Rico.

"If we come across some illegal-immigrant or smuggling operations, we're going to attempt to find those and stop them," Migliorini said.

Depending on whether potential migrants make it to U.S. soil or are intercepted while still in the water, they can be immediately deported or turned over to Citizenship and Immigration Services for processing. At that point, refugees can claim asylum and remain in the country if they meet certain requirements.

In recent years, human smuggling from China has become a larger problem for the Coast Guard. Migliorini said it's not unusual to find a ship nearing U.S. waters with dozens of Chinese nationals crammed together in the cargo hold.

That's where the cargo containers come into play. Although many migrants have been apprehended in the United States and at ports in other nations, it's possible that more made it successfully through the various security measures in place.

"It's hard to tell how often it's happening and if we're catching them every time," Migliorini said. "If they remain in the container and then drive off without anybody knowing, it's hard to know if we missed them."

http://dailybulletin.com/search/ci_3322145

Walls of broken dreams

2007-03-13T23:15:00.000-07:00

Walls of broken dreams
1930s Chinese poetry reflects disillusion in American dream
Phillip Zonkel, Staff Writer
U-Entertainment
Article Launched:05/31/2006 12:00:00 AM PDT

IN 1985, RICHARD Turner, an Orange resident and professor of fine art at Chapman University, visited San Francisco's Angel Island Immigration Station, a California state park, and saw intricate poems carved and painted on the walls of the men's barracks. They were created by Chinese immigrants who were detained on the 470-acre island in the middle of San Francisco Bay under Chinese exclusionary laws in the early 20th century.
The poems — long forgotten until they were rediscovered accidentally in 1970 by a park ranger — express grief, frustration, nostalgia and the broken dreams of the languishing victims.

The works inspired Turner's sculpture, "Bridge to Angel Island," which flanks the entrance to the art gallery of the University Art Museum on the Cal State Long Beach campus. It consists of four panels comprised of glass, steel and wood — materials similar to those of the barracks. The panels, which have been at the site since 1994, contain etchings, carvings and sandblasted calligraphy replicas of four Angel Island poems written in Chinese characters.

One reads:

The insects chirp outside the four walls. The inmates often sigh. Thinking of affairs back home, unconscious tears wet my lapel.

Another reads:

America has power, but not justice. In prison, we were victimized as if we were guilty. Given no opportunity to explain, it was really brutal. I bow my head in reflection but there is nothing I can do.

The panels, although mounted on a conjoined grid, are monolithic and tombstone-like memorials.

Turner wanted the represented poems in their original Chinese.

"The viewer is in the shoes of a Chinese immigrant who can't read English," he says. "The viewer becomes for a moment in a small sense an outsider."

These poems mirror the feelings of many Chinese immigrants who were housed at Angel Island. PROCESSING CENTER From 1910 to 1940, Angel Island Immigration Station served as a processing and detainment center. The station processed about 1 million immigrants (Japanese, Russian, Indian, Korean, Australian and Filipino), including 175,000-200,000 Chinese. The station was closed in 1940, but was used by the U.S. Army as a prisoner of war processing camp during World War II. It was permanently shut down after WWII.

Despite its innocent sounding name, Angel Island was more of a devil's island. It was the West Coast's insidious version of Ellis Island. It was established through federal legislation aimed at stemming the tide of immigration — the physical embodiment of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which prevented Chinese laborers from entering the U.S. The law was enacted in response to complaints about the influx of Chinese laborers, who had come to work on the railroads. In some cases, traveling U.S. citizens of Chinese descent had to endure the same procedures and some were not granted permission to re-enter America.

The Chinese Exclusion Act was the first U.S. legislation to ban a specific ethnic group. It was repealed in 1943, when China became America's ally in World War II, and replaced with a quota system that allowed only 105 Chinese per year into the U.S.

Chinese were not on equal-immigration footing with other ethnicities until the laws were completely rewritten in the mid 1960s.

Unlike Ellis Island, where most immigrants only stayed several hours, Angel Island held Chinese immigrants for an average of two or three weeks, some for nearly two years, as officials verified their immigration status with grueling interrogation interviews.

Historical accounts of life at the station showed great disparity between treatment of Asian and non-Asian immigrants, who were held in separate quarters. Asian detainees, housed in sections of the two-story barracks building that were meant to accommodate 100 but often held 500, were given substandard food, saltwater showers and limited recreation behind barbed-wire fences.

Views from triple-stacked bunks only hinted at the lush greenery and deep blue ocean just outside their confines. Detainees were kept on the north side of Angel Island, facing away from the bustling city that promised them so much opportunity. EXPRESSIVE POEMS Languishing from indefinite stays, prison-like quarters and humiliating medical examinations, many Chinese turned to poetry to vent.

"These walls are talking," says Erika Gee, education director at the Angel Island Immigration Station Foundation.

The raw, poignant language reveals the poet's intimate feelings and state of mind.

"Poetry with a personal feeling is a bedrock in Chinese literature," says Charles Egan, associate professor of Chinese at San Francisco State University. "It dates back as far as 500 B.C. when the 'Shijing' or 'Book of Poetry' was compiled.

"Poetry was seen as a natural product of emotional experience, so there was always a premium placed on expressing yourself, especially in a time of high emotion.

"This is not gibberish," Egan says. "It's good poetry. "These people received at least some education. They use historical allusion and classic language. There are references to classic literature and mythology."

In traditional China, writing poetry was a social practice, with groups of people getting together to transcribe their feelings. The authors also posted their work on public walls.

The poems at Angel Island suggest the writers were well-educated and well-organized, possibly working in "poetry clubs" that were selective about what became mural-like carvings on the wall, Egan says.

"There's a call and response going on in the poetry," he says.

Homer Lee, who was 16 when he arrived at Angel Island in 1926, remembered seeing groups of older men — many of them schoolteachers — huddled together to discuss and display their poetry on the walls during his six-month detainment.

"They tell the truth of their lives and the future of their lives on the wall," says the 95-year-old, who now lives in Berkeley.

Dismissed as graffiti by guards and officials at the time, the writings frequently were painted over and/or filled with putty, which obscured them for decades until a park ranger rediscovered them in the 1970s.

RESCUED FOR HISTORY

At the time, the dilapidated barracks were scheduled for destruction, but were saved from demolition. In 1997, Angel Island Immigration Station became a National Historic Landmark. It is one of only two sites related to Asian-American history (the other is the Japanese-American Internment Camp Manzanar) that hold national-landmark status.

"There is no other historical presence like this in the United States for Chinese Immigrants," says Daphne Kwok, executive director of the Angel Island Immigration Station Foundation.

The poems have been the focus of a $50 million, three-phase state parks restoration project under way at the Angel Island Immigration Station. A mix of federal, state and private money funds the project.

Before work began last August, a team of scholars combed the station's barracks and hospital, locating every visible piece of writing on the walls. It was the first-ever attempt at creating such a record, and scholars are using it to find out more about the life of detainees.

Until now, the most comprehensive account was the 1980 book "Island," which published 135 Angel Island poems. But the collection, based on 1930s-era manuscripts by two detainees who reportedly copied poems off the walls, never was physically corroborated. The project located most of those poems and found about 60 new ones.

In 1979, researchers started the process of conducting oral histories with 30 detainees, who wanted to remain anonymous, and translating the poems.

Historian Judy Yung, a co-author of "Island" who conducted oral histories of former detainees, says researchers have been unable to locate any of the poets. Unlike writings by detainees of other nationalities, most of the Chinese work was unsigned.

"There was a sense of secrecy and shame to what happened at Angel Island," Yung says. "It doesn't matter who wrote them, but that the poems speak certain truths and speak certain feelings that we all understand."

Former detainees did not share their stories of incarceration with their children, wanting to put their unpleasant experience behind them. Chinese immigrants who came under false names lived in fear of government retribution and even possible deportation.

"Some (former detainees) want to forget or minimize what happened," says Georges Van Den Abbeele, professor of humanities at UC Davis, who is directing the third phase of the oral history project. "All these things conspire to make it difficult" to record the stories.

"It's not one of the more pleasing parts of American history; it's pretty negative, and it's a forgotten chapter," he says. "But it's important to get the story told."

Angel Island Immigration Station will reopen to the public in the summer of 2007 after completion of the first phase of restoration, featuring a new exhibit with the scholars' findings.

The exhibit spotlights the Chinese poetry, but it also includes writings from other Asian, Russian, South American and Middle Eastern immigrants who passed through the station, as well as World War II prisoners of war later held there.

While those writings were mainly just short messages and name inscriptions, Egan says the diversity shown hopefully will help visitors understand the Angel Island experience as "a real American story out there that has a large resonance."

http://dailybulletin.com/search/ci_3880042

U.S. Asians drawn to life in Irvine

2007-03-13T23:13:00.000-07:00

U.S. Asians drawn to life in Irvine
Good schools, low crime rates, well-paying jobs lure many, especially Chinese Americans.
By David Kelly, Times Staff Writer
October 29, 2006

In the world of highly manicured Orange County communities, few are polished to the luster of Irvine. The master-planned, upscale city of cookie-cutter homes and broad boulevards looks every inch the stereotype of suburban living — orderly, safe and homogenous.

Yet just beneath the surface lies another Irvine, one of Buddhist temples and teahouses, a city with bustling Chinese markets and a university where nearly half the students are Asian. Once the epitome of conservative, white suburbia, Irvine is now a place where a person can spend a lifetime never having to speak English.

"I used to think I would retire someday and move to Chinatown," said Yvonne Wang, who moved to Irvine from New Jersey in 1994. "Now Irvine is like Chinatown."

Attracted by good schools, low crime and well-paying jobs, Irvine has become a destination for Asian American professionals, especially Chinese Americans. It's home to one of the country's biggest Chinese language schools, the largest Buddhist temple and monastery in Orange County, a Chinese orchestra and clubs for artists, students and senior citizens. More Chinese Americans live in Irvine than any other city in the county.

"A lot came in the last decade. The education system has clearly been a magnet; people don't end up living here by accident," said Irvine Mayor Beth Krom. "We are a Pacific Rim community, so it's natural to see more Asian people."

According to U.S. census estimates, 36.7% of Irvine's 185,000 residents are Asian American. Of that, 21,757 are Chinese, up from 14,973 in 2000. Koreans, Vietnamese and Japanese constitute most of the remaining Asian Americans. Irvine schools, where classrooms are often heavily Chinese American, have become among the most competitive in the region.

"I have heard parents say they don't want to send their kids here because they aren't high achievers," said Jung Kang, who teaches Chinese at University High School. "The students are very competitive, but that is an incentive for others to do better."

Yet despite the heavy influx of Chinese, there is no Chinatown or strictly Chinese neighborhoods. Such enclaves are more often found in lower-income immigrant areas, places that don't exist in Irvine. New arrivals here tend to be doctors, lawyers, engineers and academics with the language skills and money that many traditional immigrants don't have.

And they are catered to in typical Orange County fashion, with neatly kept shopping centers and strip malls. The largest is Culver Plaza, home to Chinese banks, restaurants, tea shops and the sprawling 99 Ranch Market, which carries pickled lettuce, quail eggs, live catfish and moon cakes.

For culture, Chinese plays and operas are performed at the Irvine Barclay Theater.

Nancy Cheng, 75, a teacher and nurse, came to Irvine from Villa Park because she was constantly attending Chinese functions here.

"I never spoke so much Chinese in my life until I moved to Irvine," she said.

The rapid transformation of the town from a predominantly white enclave to an increasingly Asian one can startle even the Chinese Americans.

"I came from San Bernardino, where I was the only Chinese girl in my school," said Belinda Vong, a member of UC Irvine's Chinese Assn. "I felt special. Not anymore."

Kevin Lee is president of the association. He said UCI, which is 40% Asian, is often referred to as University of Chinese Immigrants.

"When you leave Irvine, it hits you that this is really a bubble," he said. "A lot of Asians here take their culture for granted."

Not those who came first. They remember when there were only a handful of Chinese Americans, when there were no clubs, when buying ingredients for dinner meant driving to Los Angeles and the idea of staging a Chinese opera was simply unthinkable.

"Ten years ago there was not one Chinese store. When I first came there were a few, mostly Taiwanese, residents. China had not opened up yet," said Jimmy Ma, a leader in the Chinese American community. "The big reason people came was because of the schools. Chinese stress education. That's how we compete."

Ma and others rented high school classrooms for a Chinese language school. When the rent was raised, they decided to build their own facility. After years of planning, the $12-million, 44,000-square-foot South Coast Chinese Cultural Center opened in April.

The center's Chinese school now has more than 1,000 students. It also offers Japanese and Korean language classes, along with Chinese dance, art, basketball and badminton courts. Students can also get academic tutoring and SAT preparation.

"We want our children to combine the good part of both cultures — Chinese and American," said Joy Chao, who runs after-school programs at the center.

The school system has had to adapt to Asian immigrants. They have hired Chinese, Korean and Japanese-speaking staff. They hold regular meetings with parents to explain how the schools operate. Often, educators say, parents are keenly interested in what sort of academic performance is required to get their students into Harvard, Yale or Stanford.

"People talk about culture and they focus on the exterior, superficial things like food and festivals, but it's really about a person's worldview," said Melodee Zamudio, who coordinates language programs for the Irvine school district. "Many of these kids come from a culture where education is such a precious gift, and you bring honor to the family by studying hard."

At University High, 41% of the students are Asian American, the vast majority Chinese Americans, said assistant principal Chuck Keith. The Academic Performance Index is 891, putting it among the top 2% in the state.

"I think the Asian family is a factor in that score," Keith said. "I think it is part of the culture of our school and I see kids rise to meet those expectations."

Asian American students admit there is pressure to perform academically, though some say it's easier here than where they came from.

"My parents are very serious about school. They don't push extracurricular activities," said Charles Jawa, 16. "If I want to do it, fine, but studying comes first."

Jacob Chen, 11, moved from Taiwan three years ago.

"It's much better here than Taiwan," he said. "In Taiwan they give you four times as much homework."

Some Chinese Americans privately complain that other parents ask them what grades their children get or what college they will attend. Others send their children to schools with fewer Chinese students, hoping it will be less competitive. Many struggle for a balance.

"It's an extremely competitive place even at the preschool level," said Isabel Mah, 39, as she waited for her 5-year-old son to finish Chinese class at the Chinese cultural center. "I want my kid to be a kid but I want him to do well in school."

As Chinese influence grows, local political leaders are learning that international disputes can now erupt at home.

That's what happened in June when Mayor Krom went to China to establish a sister city arrangement with Xuhui, a region of Shanghai. She said a city staffer signed the agreement before she saw it. The deal required Irvine to recognize the One China Policy — meaning China and Taiwan were one, not two, countries. It also demanded that Irvine officials not travel to Taiwan where they have a sister-city relationship with Taoyuan.

Shortly after, nearly 200 protesters, originally from Taiwan, showed up at a City Council meeting, angry at what they saw as Irvine's kowtowing to China.

The council quickly rescinded the sister-city deal and said it would renegotiate another only if it was strictly nonpolitical.

"Regardless of what was signed, we don't take our marching orders from other countries," Krom said.

Taiwanese and mainland Chinese residents of Irvine insist there is no tension between them.

"We treat the Taiwan-China debate like religion — you don't talk about it," said Rose Cheung.

Her friend Susie Chu said, "It's a fact, there are differences between the two."

Chu and Cheung belong to the Irvine Evergreen Chinese Senior Assn., a group of about 400 senior citizens engaged in a wide array of cultural activities.

"My mom is 86 and never thought she could live in a place like Irvine and not have to speak English," Chu said.

Despite their growing numbers, the Chinese Americans worry how they are perceived by the community.

"I think we have set a good example," said Yvonne Wang, 70, president of the Evergreen association. "We have been very constructive to society here."

Cheung nodded.

"We still have our individuality," she said. "But collectively we are very conscious about how we present ourselves."

Across town, along a busy street of low-slung warehouses, the sloping red roof of the Pao Fa Temple rises. Guarded by stone dragons at the door, it is calm and quiet inside. Incense burns. Buddhist nuns with shaved heads and brown robes chant sutras in the Great Hall, where 3,000 golden Buddhas stare down on them.

The $5-million temple, one of the biggest in the nation, opened in 2002. Irvine was selected, according to a nun, because the abbot received a sign during meditation to put it here.

After a recent service, a collection of worshipers — men on one side, women on the other — silently ate in the spartan cafeteria.

When she finished, Ying Chow, 62, stepped into the library. She revels in time spent at the temple, remembering when she had to drive to Hacienda Heights to attend services.

"Most of my friends are in Irvine now. It has become a real community for the Chinese. But it's still surprising to see this temple here," she said, folding her hands and smiling. "Orange County has really changed. I feel good about it, I feel very special."
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-irvine29oct29,1,339208.story

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A multitude of Asian groups

Asian Americans account for almost 37% of Irvine's population, and people of Chinese ancestry account for more than a third of the city's Asian Americans. Irvine estimates the city's total population at 185,000, while the 2005 census data estimate is 172,182.

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In Irvine, the percentage of the population that is Asian American is 36.7%,
in Orange County 16%, and in the state 12.4%

Chinese in Irvine

Irvine's residents of Chinese ancestry make up a higher proportion of the city's Asian population than in either the county or the state.

Chinese as a percentage of all Asians, by region

Of California's Asians - 25.5%

Of Orange County's Asians - 15.8%

Of Irvine's Asians - 34.5%

Sources: U.S. census data; 2005 American Community Survey