This article was originally posted on medium.com on May 23, 2018, and is republished here for archival purposes.
While Chinese youth cautiously celebrate increasing Communist Party support through “Huafu Day”, they are wary of state intervention as possible repeat of tragic history 100 years ago; meanwhile American-born Chinese confound their Asian brethren with the concept of “cultural appropriation.”
For the past two months, “traditional Chinese clothing” has been in the spotlight on social media and a topic of discussion, and not without a flurry of confusion and anxiety from some deep soul-searching. While many mainland Chinese were baffled or even lashed out against their American-born brethren on the issue of a white young woman wearing Shanghai-style qipao as “cultural appropriation,” dismissing their “Democratic political correctness culture gone too far,” they had their own similar case with traditional clothing being appropriated by someone of superior social power — except this time the category isn’t racial, it’s political.
“Han” and “Hua”
It all started with Leung Chun-Ying, former Chief Executive of Hong Kong and now Vice-chairman of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), appearing in a gentleman’s hanfu outfit the “International Chinese Costume Festival” in Causeway Bay, Hong Kong on April 7, 2018. “The Western suit and tie shouldn’t be the only formal and business dress,” Leung addressed to the public, “in our day and age, formal dress in international events and venues also includes traditional attire in their country of origin.” And then on the very next day, the Communist Youth League of China (CYLC) announced a major online and in-person celebration event called “China Huafu day” to be held on April 18, 2018, and is co-organized with BiliBili, the Chinese video and streaming service with a viewer-based video annotation system based on Japan’s Niconico Douga.
Leung’s timeliness with endorsing the Hong Kong festival and Communist Youth League’s China Huafu Day announcement event seems almost uncanny, as they are unrelated organizations under separate political jurisdictions, but both point to an indicative change to the Chinese Communist Party’s attitude towards the dress.
During Hu-Wen administration from 2003–2013, what advocates called “hanfu” was described in official media as “antiquated clothing of the Han Dynasty (2 c. BCE to 2 c. CE)” and were sneered by officials and social opinion-at-large, and were ironically targets of “nationalistic” mob attacks in Chengdu of 2010, having mistaken the origins of the dress as Japanese rather than Chinese. The media began to soften after the viral spread of yet another incident in 2012 where a Yongkang high-school girl was sent home because the principal deemed her conservative outfit of a broad-sleeved, cross-collared top and ankle-long skirt to be “strange and outlandish clothing,” attracting alarm and public denouncement of the school administration for discrimination against the expression of one’s cultural heritage.
In contrast, under the Xi administration’s mandate in pursuing the “Chinese dream (zhongguo meng) of the glorious Chinese national (zhonghua minzu) restoration,” hanfu was little if no longer publicly and violently discriminated against, and saw a steady rise of regional government and large industry events. The appearance of a group of musicians in hanfu playing on bianzhong (orchestral bells) and other classical court music instruments during US President Trump’s state visit to China on November 9, 2017 was the first instance where the dress was adopted as a symbol of Chinese cultural heritage and presented in a state function by the People’s Republic government. Short of a full written or verbal proclamation by Xi or a member of the Chinese central leadership affirming the Hanfu Movement’s mission in official recognition of the term as “Han ethnic traditional dress (Han-minzu chuantong fushi),” it seems that almost all is but said and done, and that their objective has already been achieved by default.
Except that the name of the Youth League’s event was a stark, unsubtle reminder that it was not.
While “China Huafu Day” leverages itself on numerous authoritative bodies and occasions to bolster hype and support from the hanfu community, the hasty announcement of the festival a mere ten days prior to the event and landing on a working day (Shangsi is a traditional festival but not a civic holiday) caught many off-guard and ill-prepared for a trip to Xi’an or even to prepare photos for submission. Most controversial of all, however, is the term “huafu” titled in the Party-endorsed event, when the dress depicted in all promotional media is commonly and commercially established online as “hanfu.”
Hua is a much more ambiguous and contentious term to wrest with. While in dynastic history it is a term being synonymous to the Han ethnicity and its central court culture, its modern usage is Liang Qichao’s neologism called “Zhonghua Minzu (lit. the Chinese nation)” coined in the late 19th-century. Forced to legitimize all “races” and ethnicities in the Qing Empire and subsequently the unity of its territory, Zhonghua minzu is described as an umbrella term for all such groups, despite their varied language and heritage origins, are inherently “Chinese.” Today, this Zhonghua minzu according to the People’s Republic definition includes 56 officially-recognized minzu (ethnic) categories, to which the Han is one of them.
The reluctance for the Communist Youth League to call the rose by its name shows the embarrassing position state institutions have on Han cultural propriety and ethnic policy: By calling the hanfu event “Hua” ensures the inclusion of all peoples of China in this celebration of heritage, but at the same time reopen the fruitless “national costume debate” from ten years ago, when a range of prominent citizens from scholars to National People’s Assembly representatives urged to revive hanfu as the “national dress (guofu)” of all China, setting a clothing standard for a multitude of situations from academic regalia to displays of Chinese culture in international venues like the Olympic Games (the Beijing Olympics was a little over a year away then). The idea was fiercely countered by many older intellectuals as “Han chauvinism,” a term Mao Zedong coined to warn of the imposition of Han majority values and cultural imperialism on the ethnic minorities, especially in regards to policy-making.
Because of the history of the Zhonghua minzu rhetoric and the CYLC as a national organization representing the Party’s ethnic principles and inclusion for all to participate in its event, the invisible obligation for a ‘national costume’ celebration for all ethnicities has warped not only the event but the object in the spotlight — hanfu, to be called “huafu” instead — to represent and include all those within the Zhonghua modern state.
Despite its initial goodwill, the CYLC’s rhetoric is bound by a national obligation and rhetoric of inclusivity for the other ethnic minorities, but has paradoxically become a burden and conducer of cultural appropriation of the highest order. Had the event been simply been labeled as an exhibition of ethnic Han culture, however, it would paradoxically enough garner the accusation of Han chauvinism, as drumming up a “proprietarily Han” festival was said to attract suspicion of alienation or even forced assimilation of minorities and their culture when the intention is the opposite.
It does not take a Western critical eye to identify the root of this problem, and netizens have clearly expressed their concerns and dissatisfaction on platforms such as Zhihu, Baidu Hanfu Bar, and WeChat QQ. As Kenrick Davis at The Sixth Tone reported in the initial press release on Huafu Day, followers and commercial sponsors from the hanfu community are having none of it, and outwardly insist on referring to their clothes as “hanfu.”
To hanfu supporters, having a festival that celebrates all ethnic dress in China but calling the clothes of the Han as “Hua” simply reiterates the dead-end discussion a decade ago. Hardliner Hanists will put it even more bluntly: Doing so is “culturally appropriative” and self-Orientalising, where the Communist Party (or anyone thinking along such ideas) becomes allegorically the “White” actor as to the “Native” Han authenticity.
Despite these restrictive sensitivities and contexts, BiliBili and other main organizers strived to stay true to the mission and purpose of the event: to celebrate the wearing of hanfu, the traditional dress tradition of the Han Chinese brought back into daily practice thanks to a decade of persevering promotion by individuals of every social strata. This is why on posters promotional material, the cross-collared robe and skirt is unambiguously haralded despite the “inclusivity” fine print, included in the terms for the ‘offline event’ convention to be held in Xi’an. As seen in Figure 2, the organizers make a conscious and deliberate balance between the objectives of the hanfu movement (to disassociate the qipao with the Han) and national ethnic policy (to have minority inclusion and respectful representation). The list reads (square brackets by the translator, bold text from red underline in image):
“Except for shoes, a full outfit of proper Zhonghua-minzu ethnic dress is considered for entrance fee exemptions as, for example:
1. A full set of Qizhuang [traditional Manchu dress] is considered, but not [the modernized, form-fitting] qipao; a full set of hanfu is considered, but Han element [ie. ‘modernized’ fashion designs based on hanfu appearance or form, see examples] are not; a full set of ethnic attire is considered, while ethnic element fashions are not.
2. A single magua [a parallel-collar jacket with frog buttons and Mandarin collar] is not considered eligible for fee exemption, such as: a person only wearing a top of ethnic dress design is ineligible, but with one exception: traditional Zhongshan jackets (four-pocket jacket) [aka. Mao suits or Yat-sen suits] are eligible for fee exemption.
A disclaimer self-consciously explains in the immediate following sentence, “Since ethnic traditional dress has yet to be standardized by the authorities, all responsibilities and final right of say in considerations of the participants’ outfit eligibility belong to [the organizers].”
Party involvement — A bad omen for repeating history?
To veteran Hanfu promoters who have long wrestled with Zhonghua minzu cultural affirmation policy, the sudden turnaround by the Party towards supporting the movement (despite its awkward way with the hua part) sounds almost too good to be true. While this change came from a culminated process of early promoters now entering prominent influence in the workforce and accumulation of successful private industry ventures like the Xitang Hanfu Festival for the past 4 years, the fact that the Party is showing support now, during the meteoric rise and possibly the height of Xi Jinping’s power and personal reputation, is a less-than-subtle semblance to how hanfu could’ve been legally the national dress of China but was totally thwarted because of one political event.
In the transitional decade from the Qing to the Republic (~1906–1914), Revolutionaries calling for the toppling of the Manchu imperial court and establishment of a Han nation-state have a fashion subculture for “pre-Qing ancient dress” — what we call hanfu today, and very much illegal at the time, punishable on threat of death (although nearly impossible to enforce by then). For many who studied or took asylum in Japan, the kimono was purchased and worn as a substitute product, and pondered on China’s possibilities at a time when Japanese dress and textiles began to find its way on the international stage from the overpowering Westernizing force from the Meiji Restoration. On the dawn of the Revolution in 1911, there have been reports of ‘men in Ming-style Confucian scholar caps and robes’ meeting and celebrating the independence armies marching in.
This Han dress fad (and its grand vision for a politically and sartorially Han China) was small compared to the pressures of Western dress from the Treaty Ports and Manchu-Qing dress of the old guard (many kept wearing them despite most men cut their queues) but perhaps had more promise than we may have witnessed through the scant memoirs and newspapers at the time, according to a study by Li Jingheng in 2014. While the prospects for a “Han China of its 18 provinces” fell apart with Sun Yat-sen transferring presidency to Beiyang Army commander Yuan Shikai in March 1912 thereby preserving Qing borders and multiracial inclusivity (Sun himself started touting for “Five Races under One Union” in accordance), the push for Han dress was still strong. The first Republican formal dress code was drafted in June and then published in August 1913, for use in Confucian and other state rituals and functions — its first use being the Heaven Sacrifice at the Temple of Heaven in Beijing on December 23, 1913. It was widely believed that support for Han dress came to an abrupt halt when Yuan declared himself Emperor in 1915, when “ancient customs and ancient dress” were directly linked with the grossly unpopular return to monarchy, and after Yuan’s death in 1916, only extremely rare examples like Confucian scholar Chen Huanzhang continued promoting its use — but for the rest of the Republican era, only the Confucians and some parts of Chinese academia wore the cross-collared form of antiquity in addition to the traditional usage by Daoists, Buddhists, and theatrical troupes. Yuan Shikai’s dress code survived with the Nationalists’ retreat to Taiwan, where Chiang Kai-shek made a revision in 1967 during the “Chinese Traditional Renaissance Movement” in counter to the Cultural Revolution on the mainland, changing the outfit for government officials to the cheongsam and Manchu horse jacket on top while removing most imperial patterns and simplifying designs on non-governmental staff regalia, where it is still the standard today.
In daily life on both sides of the strait, however, Western dress eventually prevailed since Yuan’s downfall.
The story of Yuan Shikai and his re-introduction of Han dress through establishing the dress code and the spectacles of ritual (as witnessed through the camera lens) is often cited by most Chinese today as telltale signs of monarchistic revivalism and its “feudal dregs” of imperial values — the very target of their all-too-recent Revolution in 1911. For most Chinese readers and netizens watching Xi Jinping showing support to hanfu as part of his “China Dream” plan in exporting Chinese tradition as a “soft power” symbol through the Belt and Road initiative, all the signs for a “second coming” seemed to be there.
And it doesn’t help when Chinese social media are banning all the keywords related to Yuan and his short-lived reign — including his name — and the lack of warning whispers only makes the looming fear ever louder in suppressed silence.
Cultural “Hijacking” and Cultural “Appropriation”
Unlike popular interpretation, Li Jingheng argues that the greatest failing of the Han dress pursuit in the 1910’s was not because of Yuan Shikai and his path to totalitarianism, but in that the people establishing a direct correlation between the dress and a biased interpretation of Yuan’s actions, which made a tragic turn for the nascent sub-fashion. “Han Chinese heritage, including dress and canon,” Li argued, “were positive symbols around the time of Revolution.” “It was under [Yuan’s] strategy, that “Han dress” and “national essence (guocui)” became hijacked onto the war chariot of monarchism.”(Li 2014 3–4) Rather than attacking monarchism and criticizing totalitarian regimes, the people shifted their target toward symbols that the institution had cladded itself on — and in this case, long-standing Chinese heritage became unfortunate scapegoats and strawmen of political happenstance that otherwise would have been positively perceived and normally develop.
Hanfu activists ruminating on Li’s idea turned their attention towards debunking the dress from its “dynastic” and “imperial” labeling — from the dress as a whole concept of ‘ancient clothing (guzhuang),’ to ending a feud within the hanfu fashion circles where some insist that only certain designs from certain periods (particularly the Ming) can be considered ‘legitimate.’
“Remember the ‘former tongpao (hanfu advocates)’ you know or may have heard of. There are quite a few who have rescinded from wearing hanfu because of all the abuse they experienced with no way to counter them, heads hanging low in despair. Or, amidst the arguments from within the circle, they have been forced to the opposition against hanfu and traditional Chinese culture — surely you know of such people?
As you read this little passage, there are people who are undergoing the same thought process as those a hundred years ago. One person’s fragile heart and pride may not be much, but when a group of people’s hearts collectively becomes as brittle as glass, we then should be wary of them “shattering.”” (Section 4)
Less than a week after Huafu Day on the other side of the world, Jeremy Lam’s critical statement on Keziah Daum’s prom photo sparked yet another popular debate on Asian dress in Western fashion. To many mainlander Chinese, cultural appropriation and American PC-culture was a foreign concept — and others felt that Lam was defending “the wrong tradition” to begin with and called to distinctify the Chinese Americans from themselves.
By comparing the concerns of cultural appropriation by Asian Americans with cultural hijacking of the Mainland Chinese, we see variations on the tune of misinterpretation and misuse of a culture’s image by an authority — whereas in the American case clearly a racial profiling (“whiteness”) denotes the oppressing subjectivity, the Chinese case is much more subtle with “popular backlash against unwanted intervention” — the Communist Youth League and “huafu,” in the previous example given.
There is much to gain from each side’s experiences and approaches. While American Chinese may balk at the approach of deliberately making their own dress culture as a spectacle and commoditizing it for all to buy and consume — the very offense in most “cultural appropriation” cases, à la American Apparel or cheap dollar-store hallowe’en costumes, to the mainlanders it has been also the most effective way in putting a stop to it, by way of proactively providing high-quality articles of the dress, meticulously designed and produced compared to the zip-up costumes made with plastic and synthetic fibres that fill the wardrobes of photo and tourist trap rental studios and rendering them obsolete with market competition. On the other hand, mainland Chinese could learn a thing about cultural sensitivities and consuming a culture as ‘exotic entertainment’ — even if that object of cultural consumerism could be nominally “their own.” It is commendable in celebrating the heritage of the ethnicity that makes up 92% of the Chinese population alongside the various minority groups as equals, but as long as “tradition” stands as a categorical antithesis or counterpoint to the “modern” or “real life,” then even the most faithful and passionate advocate still stands as an Other exploiting the graves of the ancestors, for protests from the dead lay deaf among the living.
Juni Yeung is a Master’s in Comparative and Public History from the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and will soon graduate from the Department of History at the University of Toronto. Yeung has been involved in the movement in Toronto since its inception in 2003, is a co-founder of the Toronto Association for the Revival of Hanfu in 2006, and the Hanfu Movement of Eastern Canada in 2018.
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