The new revolution brings smog and suburbs

I'm living in the middle of a revolution. It's something that only happens once every few generations. "China will soon become the centre of the universe," my friend Ted, visiting from Vancouver, tells me. His comment may sound a little over the top, but it holds a lot of truth.

China watchers from Toronto to San Francisco to London predict the Middle Kingdom as the next great superpower. They speak of it not as a possibility, but as the inevitable. The Globe and Mail even devoted an entire weekend issue with section after section detailing the country's meteoric rise. Even then, journalist hacks living in Beijing say it's old news.

The revolution seems to be passing me by as I massacre the four very-difficult-to-master tones in Mandarin and still long for clean B.C. air. The smoggy dust-filled gritty streets of Beijing make me nauseous more often than not.

Tiananmen Square

There are days the smog hangs over the city like an eternal fog; it's actually not all that different from the "London fog" common during Europe's Industrial Revolution. Back then coal was to blame. It's the same today.

In Beijing, factories and many homes still rely heavily on toxic coal as an energy source, which contributes to the smog that drapes the roads and skyline like wisps of second-hand cigarette smoke.

"Raw" is definitely one word to describe living conditions, and the people, here. And the quality of life is not at the top of the list when Chinese Canadians like Ted talk about moving back to China for retirement or work. Something else is drawing them back. It's a need to be part of change, a part of something exciting and vibrant.

For some older Chinese, it's a dream come true to be able to live once again in China. My friend Morris's parents fled China in 1949 after the Communist takeover. During this time, countless other Chinese left homes behind, and even relatives who were unwilling to leave. Families were ripped apart. Some were never reunited. He's learned much about his family history just by moving to Shanghai a few years ago, and he's even reunited with a long-lost cousin in Beijing.

With my overseas Asian friends, or CBCs (which stands for Canadian-born Chinese) and ABCs (American-born Chinese), we've discussed on occasion the irony of their return to China. Early Chinese immigrants saw North America as "Gold Mountain," a place where their kids could fulfil their dreams.

They made huge sacrifices so their children could have "a better life." Families learned a new language, adjusted to culture shock, adapted to an entirely different life. And now we're back in the land our parents left, adjusting to a culture that is, in so many ways, just as foreign to us.

An ex-Vancouver resident in Beijing says his parents have bought a home in the suburbs to retire here. "It's relatively stable now. That's why my parents wanted to come back," he said, "They've always wanted to come back." This means he no longer has a family home in Canada; he says he feels like a tourist whenever he goes back to Vancouver for a holiday with his wife and kids.

That more Chinese expats, or hua-ren as locals call them, are returning can best be seen on Shanghai's outskirts. Many Canadian developers are creating virtual "foreign communities" where expats can feel at home. One can buy a "Toronto suburban-style house" with the regular amenities, like nearby strawberry picking fields and horseback riding trails.

But keep in mind that for a North American experience, you're expected to pay North American prices. The "Vancouver Forest" gated housing community in Beijing boasts of luxury abodes in an area that looks just like B.C.

I moved to China to share an adventure with my future life partner. As a writer, this place is a storyteller's Shangri-la. He says, "Everywhere you look, there's a story." Sadly, he's right. And beyond the tale of China's rise as an economic superpower is the reality of how so many are being left behind.

The gap between the rich and poor is staggering. Impoverished farmers are coming into the cities in droves to make some money. These migrants are often exploited, and are never paid for months of hard labour.

Southeast Asian news agencies report the government is concerned about a potential widespread agitation by the have-nots. Riots in rural communities are becoming an all-too-frequent occurrence, although you will rarely ever hear of it in the heavily censored Communist-directed media.

One night before dinner at Paul's Steak and Eggs, an ever popular greasy spoon diner run by a Maritimer, my fiancé and I were discussing something in English when a gaggle of kids and an elderly man asked us in Chinese for money. We gave them some bills. A Beijing woman looking on scolded us and told us these kids target foreigners and they're "bought and organized by rich gangs" and forced to beg. One four-year-old girl had a blackened face and wore layers of thick Chinese coats. It was way past her bedtime. I urged the middle-aged woman with the girl to take her home.

Here, I unfortunately witness the extremes of a country catapulted into unprecedented cultural and economic transformation. One Chinese actress, Zen Bao Yi, said in a recent interview on a Shanghai-based TV show modelled after Sex and the City and Friends, a lot of people can't handle this rapid change and find it hard to adjust.

Caught between this tension and my own transition away from family and friends, I find my own identity as a Canadian surprisingly intensified. Living in Beijing for the last month and a half has stretched the way I see life in ways I'd never have experienced living in Hogtown or Vancouver. And that is perhaps why so many Asian-Canadians are immigrating back to the Far East.