Li Zhang

On January 1,1979, China and the United States formally established diplomatic relations. Shortly after, Deng Xiaoping visited the U.S., marking the beginning of China’s “Reform and Opening Up.” That same year, I was born in Tianjin, one of China’s then three municipalities, about seventy-five miles from the capital, Beijing. I do not know how my parents brought me home from the hospital because at that time Tianjin had no taxis. Nationwide, taxis existed only in Guangzhou, and a single ride could cost half a month’s income for an ordinary family. Every family had bicycles, but that was clearly impractical for a newborn, so I assume they squeezed onto a bus. The buses had no fixed schedules, and one often had to wait an hour; when they arrived, they were always overcrowded. Until the age of ten, I slept in the same bed with my family. There were four of us in a one hundred square foot room. Our only furniture was a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a sideboard, a folding dining table, and two chairs. When my parents went to work, they often locked me from outside. When strangers came, they would stand at the window, as the interior was fully visible from outside, and I had no place to hide. When it rained, the roof leaked, and we used basins or pots to catch the water. The bathroom was a public latrine a few minutes’ walk away, and we bathed at a communal bathhouse. At the time, I did not feel this life was difficult because my neighbors and friends lived under the same conditions—we were all children of the working class.

Looking back at my childhood, I believe the time and space of my birth shaped the possibilities of my future development. I grew up during a period of rapid economic growth in China. In 1979, China’s per capita GDP was approximately $270; by 2009, when I was establishing my own career and family, it had reached nearly $3,900. After the restoration of the national college entrance exam in 1978, education became the most reliable path for upward mobility. It was widely believed that entering university through examinations was the most predictable route to a better life. But opportunities were not evenly distributed. China’s long-standing urban-rural disparities meant that cities not only had more educational resources but also more stable access to healthcare and employment. Even though the examination system was standardized in form, the starting points for competition varied by region. After age ten, like many urban Chinese families, our living conditions improved: we moved into an apartment in a better school district. I was fortunate to be good at exams, and after twelve years of rigorous schooling, I entered university, studying international trade, one of the most promising fields of the era. I remained within the educational system through a PhD and eventually became a university lecturer. For me, this marked my first upward class mobility, from the working class to the intellectual class. Most of my college classmates achieved similar transitions; even those from rural backgrounds successfully found their place in the city. The upward economic momentum of Chinese society at that time provided significant class mobility.

During my master’s studies, I met my husband. We both hoped to live and work in a developed country. In 2013, when our first child was two years old, we immigrated to Canada. To prepare for the future, my husband started a business. The first years were steady and exploratory, but the true turning point came in 2022. The geopolitical shock of the Russia–Ukraine war unexpectedly reshaped global supply chains, propelling his industry into a “gold rush” phase. This structural windfall brought the company into a higher tier of commercial networks. Consequently, our family wealth also experienced a rapid leap. This change did not stem from a sudden surge in our personal abilities but rather a violent reshaping of individual destiny by the tides of history.

After achieving this second class leap, I gradually became aware of what is called “privilege.” It does not always manifest explicitly but rather in an almost imperceptible state of being. On the surface, it is material: I no longer need to consider price when consuming, and both necessities and luxuries become easily accessible. I do not have to worry about my children’s future. We once joked that our two children could simply “guard the gates” of their father’s factory—one at the front, one at the back. Behind this joke lies a certain confidence in class reproduction.

More subtle changes occurred in social relations. I began to frequent spaces exclusive to a certain class, such as specific neighborhoods, schools, and social clubs. I live in a school district with almost no minorities. It was only when I encountered Black families participating in the METCO program at school that I suddenly realized this artificial segregation. In rentals or conversations, seemingly casual questions like “What was your previous car?” actually serve as class signals. When I mention where I live, people likely already have an assumption of my social position. Meanwhile, I have also developed the ability to read others’ class positions, a skill not innate but polished through long-term social conditioning. Class also has altered the standards by which others evaluate me. Friends I’ve just met often say I am the most easygoing wealthy person they know. Basic qualities like humility and politeness are magnified into exceptional virtues, as if these qualities are more “precious” against a background of wealth. Or rather, society lowers the moral standards for the wealthy, treating them with greater leniency. Perhaps the most hidden side of privilege is how it obscures my perception of others’ circumstances. On one trip back in China, I felt discomfort from the smell inside a taxi. Only later did I realize that some drivers, to save time and cost, essentially live in their cars. This lag in cognition made me realize that the ability to “not see” is, in itself, a privilege.

As I experienced more, I began to wonder whether this upward class mobility has given me more freedom or if it has alienated my soul. With improved living conditions, I have gained access to choices that were once out of reach. I could use medical care, aesthetics, and fitness to look younger. I could even consider, although I will not, using money to replace processes I must personally experience, such as surrogacy. But this “service” is clearly predicated on the oppression of vulnerable populations, specifically impoverished women. Before leaving the country, I attended a gathering with friends, arriving at a high-end KTV in Maybach. The waiter was a young, attractive man. I was slightly drunk and, carried by that moment, repeatedly called him over to serve us, looking down at him as he knelt to speak with me. Recalling the moment, I believe he was trained to serve customers in this position. That night, I experienced what it feels like to be a wealthy man. I was intoxicated by the feeling of power; it was addictive, like a drug. But almost simultaneously, I felt an intense discomfort, I felt shame and disgust toward my own behavior. I was shocked to see this side of myself. Power was not something I wielded that night; it was something the structure dressed me in, and for a moment, I wore it willingly.

Looking back at over forty years of life, I see my position in society as the result of structural shifts in China’s global standing, contingent historical events, and my own efforts and intentions. It is difficult to say which factor is decisive; all are indispensable. The outcome of class leap, while meaning more freedom, also brings with it the oppression of the lower classes and, unexpectedly, the alienation of oneself. It is this tension that brought me to the Race, Class, and Gender course at MCC. Here I have learned how power is produced, how class structures reinforce themselves, how intersectionality illuminates what structure alone cannot explain, and what it might mean to commit “class suicide,” something I am not sure I am capable of. For the first time, I see myself within the structure, and I see those who are deliberately erased by it.