Frank the Peasant Scholar

Living in China, I have already met a certain type of Chinese man several times. He is proud of Chinese culture, knowledgeable of Chinese history, literature, philosophy, arts, and politics. He assumes he understands much about Western culture, but in actuality, he knows little. As a matter of fact, he is quite wary of Western culture and to tell you the truth, he feels Chinese culture is vastly superior to anything the West has to offer.

I call this man the "Peasant Scholar".

Stuck in the back of a Mercedes with Frank on my recent business trip to Shandong, I figured I should make small-talk with him. We were introduced and he began speaking English to me (he did not at the time know that I speak Chinese). Within several minutes, I could tell several things. First, being an English teacher, it was obvious that like most Chinese people, his spoken English was poor. Second, Frank was a condescending asshole.

Frank is about my age, has a degree in civil engineering, an MBA, and is now working on a doctorate in project management. He dresses in the standard dress of the Chinese peasant scholar--mismatching suit jacket and pants, no tie, cheap sweater, and soiled, cheap shoes.

After listening to Frank's shitty English for several minutes, I decided to start talking Chinese to him. After all, I'm not getting paid to teach him English here.

I figure I'm going to have to sit in the back seat of this car for the next four hours with him, so I figure I should make the most of it. I start calling him 老師 ("laoshi", teacher) and tell him that I would like him to help me with my Chinese. He tells me he has a deep understanding of Chinese culture and that he is willing to teach me.

As we all talk in Chinese, I ask Frank to teach me the meaning of some words I don't understand. He explains them to me. Although I feel I am being gracious and allowing Frank to be my teacher, relieving him of the need to speak his shitty English, he nevertheless is still quite condescending.

Frank waxes philosophical about the wonders of the Chinese language. He then begins to dis the English language saying that Chinese has so many subtle ways to describe certain things, but that the English language doesn't.

I think back to my Chinese Literature teacher at the university where I am studying, Professor He (pronounced Huh) . Professor He studied Chinese in college (including classical Chinese) and has written books. Recently, his greatest passion is reading English literature, and during our class breaks he shows me passages (in English) in the Virginia Woolf book he is reading that he needs me to help him understand. I look at the passages and they bowl me over with their beauty, their complexity. I tell He Laoshi that even most college students would have difficulty interpreting these passages, but I do my best explaining to him what they mean. In Chinese. The English language is indeed beautiful.

So, when Frank tells me, in his way, that Chinese is so beautiful and subtle and complex, and English isn't, I quickly retort, "Frank, maybe your English level isn't quite advanced." For the time being, Frank shuts up.

Later in our journey, I tell Frank about the story we just read in Professor He's class, about a man who gives up his dream of music so that he can have a stable marriage to a woman he's not in love with. I ask him why most Chinese people would support the man's decision. Of course, I know why most Chinese people would, but I want to hear Frank's opinion.

Frank remarks about my Western lack of understanding of Chinese culture to his coworkers in the front of the car. His tone is mocking and once again condescending. Our car is going about 80 MPH. I think to myself that it's not a good time to push him out of the car and so I restrain myself.

The conversation lulls and then Frank turns to his coworkers and makes a remark about my Chinese name. "Do you know whose name Kaiyuan's name sounds like? It's a person in Chinese history."

David and Candy are too young to know, but I know, because I've lived in Chinese culture for a little while and some others have made the same remark. My name, Yao Kaiyuan, sounds like one of the members of the Gang of Four, Yao Wenyuan. Frank asks again, but David and Candy still don't know.

With no response from the front, I tell Frank I know and he seems astounded. "Really?", he asks, "Who?"

I tell him Yao Wenyuan and he is flabbergasted (I mean how could a Western guy know this stuff?). He is truly dumbfounded and can't believe I know. He asks me how the heck I know this.

I tell him, "You know, Frank, you're not the first smart Chinese guy I've ever met."

David looks at me in the rearview mirror and gives me a big smile. I'm not even good with clever lines in English. I can't believe I was able to pull that one off in Chinese.

The car grows silent, and thankfully, Frank shuts the fuck up for the rest of the afternoon.

The next morning, Frank and I head back to Beijing by plane. We are driven to the airport in the client's van and when the driver drops us off at the airport, he pulls out two small flashlights. He gives them to Frank, and in Chinese he says, "This is a small gift to you and the foreigner guy. It uses our company's technology."

Frank smiles and puts both of the flashlights into his purse and we continue to check-in. I am curious if Frank is going to give me one of the flashlights, but I don't say anything yet.

We line up to check in and I get out my passport, which I am now holding in my hand. Frank turns to me and says "Get out your passport."

"I have it in my hand," I say, and show it to him. I really want to say, "I have it in my hand, fuckhead!" but I know his listening ability isn't up to the task.

I then say to him in Chinese, "Hey, can I see that gift the client just gave you?" Frank gives me a half smile and a slightly nervous laugh that says, "Hey, I wasn't going to give that to you, but you are a clever laowai, so here you go", as he pulls out a flashlight and gives it to me.

Of course, I don't really give a shit about the flashlight, I just want to bust Frank.

We get on the plane, and I think I perhaps should ignore Frank. After all, he just tried to steal a flashlight from me. But, I let it go and read my Chinese book. Of course, Frank is curious and tries to help me with my Chinese. I let him do this and of course he tries to explain very basic words to me, as if I am an idiot.

I find it ironic that Frank, who has devoted years of schooling to studying subjects that were invented in the West, has little respect for a Westerner. There are so many ways that living in China tests my patience. Unfortunately, I feel I've probably failed the Frank test.

But fortunately for me, I haven't lost it and for the rest of the flight, I continue with the "Frank Laoshi" game and the Peasant Scholar teaches me some more Chinese.