Inside the Walls of a Chinese Residential Compound: A Community That Raised Me

Community is infused in the Chinese fabric. I grew up in a 小区 (xiǎoqū)—a gated residential compound common in Chinese cities. Housing estates are not just structures; they are tight social units of neighbors, security guards, babysitting grannies, and spontaneous dancing parties on the sidewalks. My housing estate shaped my cultural understanding of social obligation, privacy, and the way norms, rather than being legally inscribed and enforced, get policed through watchful eyes.

I am from Nanjing, a populous urban area located in the eastern part of China which has over 9 million inhabitants (National Bureau of Statistics of China, 2020). The community is comprised mainly of middle-class families, among whom there are many dual-income families and only one child—a remnant of the numerous decades of the one-child policy.

Everyone knows everyone—or everyone sees everyone, anyway. There is this communal surveillance. If your teenage child is getting home late, the auntie next door is going to tell your mother. There is also this sense of communal maintenance: people clean the stairwells, they water the public plants, and they watch raucous children. What I came to understand where I grew up is that for Chinese culture, privacy isn't exactly being alone but rather being able to get along with your neighbors.

This kind of environment created in my childhood years created the sense of social responsibility. I remember feeling embarrassed when my name would be publicly called out since I had not recycled my trash properly. This made me understand my personal behavior was observed to contribute to communal behavior. When we immigrated abroad, I was surprised to find neighbors don't for the most part even exchange names. Living within the housing compound opened my eyes to how big of an impact culture has on what we deem is “normal.”

My neighborhood wasn't simply a place—it represented Chinese values: collectivism, order, and unspoken care. Understanding the way this place influenced my behavior is the key to why it was so disorienting to relocate to a more individualist culture. Home is not geography; it is the culture that silently teaches you to live.


References:

National Bureau of Statistics of China. (2020). China Statistical Yearbook 2020. http://www.stats.gov.cn/tjsj/ndsj/2020/indexeh.htm

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

From Falafel to Formula 1: Embracing Global Inspiration to Discover Myself

Image
Identity today is never one string—it is a tapestry. I did not come of age merely Chinese. I came of age Chinese under the influence of cultures well beyond my borders—through foods eaten, styles mimicked, cities traveled through, and tales that stayed with my mind. My roots might be Chinese, but the branches of my being stretch across the continents. The Flavor of the World I'm a recent convert to Mediterranean cuisine—not just because it's so tasty and so vibrant, but also due to what it means. When I eat a plate of falafel, hummus, or grilled vegetables, the loveliness of simplicity, balance, and wellness comes to mind. Occasionally, I even cook simple breakfasts à la Mediterranean myself, but otherwise, it's in eateries with friends that we go. Sharing dishes is one of the most wonderful ways to experience the world: comfort, sharing, and curiosity. (Researchers in tourism and culture typically assert that the path to identity is through food—and I agree.) Wearing Confi...
Read more

More Than a Mistake: Why Restorative Justice Belongs in Our Schools

In school, the word "discipline" is most often preceded by silence, fear, or shame. Kids screw up, they get punished, and the machine rolls on. But what if the machine isn't actually working? What if punishment only drives people further apart? What if, instead of "Who's to blame?", we were to ask, "What happened—and how can we make it right?" That's the beauty of restorative justice—and something that I firmly believe in. I recall a student in my middle school who was consistently tardy. Teachers saw him as disobedient and lazy. Detention after detention did not work—he only got quieter, more withdrawn. We later discovered that he was caring for his ill grandmother each morning since his parents worked early. The system did not ask. It only responded. What he needed was not punishment. He needed compassion. Restorative justice is all about that: hearing before judging. It replaces zero-tolerance policies with actual dialogue. Restorative justi...
Read more