IT’S ODD that a wall made of bricks seems to show a reflection of an identity I no longer recognize. The more I walked away from the wall built to protect me, the more I realized it was keeping my true values astray.
To my peers who did not grow up in a Chinese environment, the Great Wall is humorously associated with dating restrictions rather than recognized for its cultural significance in the Philippines.
Each brick on the wall is formed from complexions of marginalization, alienation, and exploitation from early inhabitants—passed down through several generations. Such vulnerabilities layered the wall with stereotypes of how Filipinos are viewed among the Chinese community.
Unfolding the layers through history, policies like the Retail Trade Nationalization Act of 1954 removed Chinese retailers from the economy, altering the community’s social standing. Over time, authorities often overlooked crimes reported by the Chinese, sometimes demanding payment from victimized families instead of offering protection.
This fear of exploitation deepened a sense of siege that pushed the community toward family and kinship for survival, adding another layer to the wall.
While the 1975 Mass Naturalization Decree granted naturalization rights to the Chinese, traditional elders continue to maintain these boundaries to preserve traditions and bloodlines.
Growing up as a second-generation in the Philippines, my parents had always built the idea of the Great Wall for me, such as Filipino men being sweet talkers but irresponsible in taking care of the family. Over time, these labels turned into a reflex—it stopped being spoken and became something my family simply assumed. The silent judgment my parents passed off as respect for others became their bare minimum to interact with a Filipino.
Slowly, my values outgrew the labels I was taught. This discomfort became particular to me during moments when my tongue could not seem to roll out Tagalog phrases fluently, whether ordering food at a restaurant or interacting with someone outside my circle. Not because I despise hanging out with them, but because I was taught in my Chinese private school that Tagalog is a punishable language. It took a journalism organization for me to realize how little I knew about the country I grew up in.
The Great Wall, in today’s generation, has turned into a medium of skepticism to label stereotypes onto others. When, in reality, younger Chinese generations have started rebranding themselves as Chinoy to better blend into friend groups.
Such a phenomenon is hypocritical when some of my Chinese peers have abandoned Chinese traditions entirely, yet invoke the Great Wall the moment the question of a partner comes up. If the laws that once forced these boundaries no longer hold, shouldn’t we be the ones to finally bring the wall down?
Perhaps the wall was never meant to protect us forever. Bricks laid in fear were always vulnerable under the weight of a generation that grew up on both sides of it. For me, the wall has become irrelevant somewhere between the silence at the table and the bricks I have removed that kept me distant from the country I grew up in.
Finomena is a fourth-year Management Information Systems student at Ateneo de Manila University and a Taiwanese citizen who grew up in the Philippines. Drawn to analyzing how identity and culture affect systems, she hopes to close the gap between Chinese and Filipino communities through stories drawn from her own family.
Editor’s Note: The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.
