Fourth-year Adrian Ke, a first-generation Chinese American, is well versed in the manners and mores of the dim sum service. But while in Peru, she found new items on the menu. Sitting at a lace-topped table with red chopsticks at the ready, Ke delicately probed a “tamale china,” a Peruvian take on zong zi, sweet, sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves and steamed.
The “tamale china” is one iteration of chifa, a word used to refer to Peruvian-Chinese food, one of the most visible legacies of the Tusán people, who immigrated from China to Peru in search of opportunity. Ke, a history major from Roslyn, New York, is studying the Tusán. With funding from the Center for the Study of Ethnicity, Race, and Immigration and the Paul and Kathleen Barthmaier Award through the Center for Undergraduate Research and Fellowships, Ke spent three weeks in Lima this summer, combing through library archives and interviewing the descendants of these Chinese immigrants.
Peru had three waves of immigration from China, Ke says. The first occurred in the late 19th century. These immigrants were almost exclusively men, part of the Chinese coolie trade and meant to replace slaves after the abolishment of slavery in Peru, she says. “They were lured in by stories of employment and not necessarily wealth but a better life.” The work was often grueling. One of Peru’s chief exports—then, as now—was guano used in fertilizer. Many laborers were assigned to this industry, says Ke, spending their days manually scraping and harvesting bird feces off rocks.
The contracts the men signed were binding and exploitative, Ke says, but marriage to a Peruvian woman offered a way out. Rates of intermarriage were high, and “Chinese men were viewed as desirable because they were considered docile or obedient,” traits considered advantageous in a husband, says Ke.
The second wave of Chinese immigrants came during the second Sino-Japanese War, in response to political instability following the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1931. These were wealthier individuals and families who founded laundromats and restaurants, which is how chifa was born, Ke says.
A third wave of immigrants came in the 1970s and 1980s, when the Chinese government began investing heavily in Latin America, she says.
Ke focused on the second wave for her project, wondering how the Tusán reconciled their varied cultural backgrounds to form a personal identity.
By 1913, the Chinese government had established formal diplomatic relations in Lima, and the second wave of immigrants had more protection as well as more formal ties to their country of origin, Ke says. In the archives of La Universidad de San Marcos, she was able to find two magazines dating from this time period: Oriental, a lifestyle magazine that kept Chinese Peruvians up to date with both countries’ news, and New Chung Wa, a political magazine.
Among the Tusán she interviewed, Ke found that, in part, cultural identity was correlated with class. An immigrant family’s ability to connect and reconnect with China depended on money and leisure. While some of the Tusán organized cultural events, were involved in politics, and sent their children to Chinese school, others simply did not have the time for anything beyond putting food on the table.
Ke interviewed one man whose father had come to Peru from China to work in the agricultural industry. “He talked about how he really didn't have that much contact with his dad, since his father was always working and he was always working,” Ke says. "He didn’t think about his sociopolitical identity at all because all he was focused on was working and making enough money to survive.”
This caused Ke to reflect on her parents, who wanted to instill a sense of cultural pride in their daughter. “They were very strong in their Chinese values,” Ke says, sending her to Chinese school to enhance her reading, writing, and speaking skills. Despite their efforts, Ke rejected Chinese identity. She identified with life in Long Island, not China. She wanted to be accepted by her peers.
“That search for identity is something that I struggled with myself,” says Ke. “I identified as American for a very long time. Then in Peru, I see Tusán who are sixth-generation Peruvians, who appeared not to be Chinese at all. They don’t speak the language; they don't write or read Chinese. And they are so proud to be Chinese, to have Chinese heritage.
“I interviewed a boy who was 18 years old. He knew so much about his great-great-great-grandmother, who immigrated from China, and had so much pride in his family lineage, even though he was not as connected as I am by name or by these measures that we use to see how Chinese or how American or how Peruvian someone is,” Ke says.
Ke felt inspired by his connection to culture and newly grateful to her parents. “I look back on my time growing up and I just wish I was a little more grateful for all the opportunities I had to visit and to learn, to be in a country where there is a vibrant Chinese immigrant community,” she says.
“It’s just beautiful to understand different cultures beyond my own,” Ke says. “You have a deeper connection with people when you can understand where they come from, their national history.
“I felt a connection with the Tusán,” Ke says. “I am also Chinese American but in a different way.”
