Author Archives: Ellie Wong

War Orphans in WW2 China (遗华日侨)

Context:

The informant is a senior undergraduate International student from China, studying at USC. She grow up in a very traditional Chinese household, and are well-educated in Chinese culture.

Text:

“This story is about the wife of my grandmother’s younger brother.

She was born in 1938, during the war between China and Japan, which was the early stage of World War II. Her biological father was an officer in the Nationalist Party. Her biological mother was a Chinese woman who could speak Japanese.

I think one of the big problems at the time was this: after Japan occupied Northeast China, many people born there — including Japanese settlers and local Northeasterners — experienced an identity crisis. They couldn’t tell whether they were Chinese or Japanese.

For the Japanese born there, they thought: “Our country has occupied this land. I was just born on land occupied by my country. I was born in the fourth year of the Shōwa era, so I am Japanese.” Later, when this land was redefined as China, they still considered themselves Japanese.

For the local Northeastern children, because the Japanese required everyone to learn Japanese, they spoke Chinese at home but had to speak Japanese at school and pledge loyalty to the Japanese Emperor. So they too experienced this identity confusion.

The mother in this story was exactly that kind of person with an identity crisis. Ethnically, she was Chinese, but she was fluent in Japanese and worked as an interpreter for the Japanese. Naturally, at that time, she was labeled a “traitor” (汉奸).

Around the time the War of Resistance against Japan was about to be won, in the mid-1940s, the Nationalist government was retreating to Taiwan around 1944–1945. Her biological father was very irresponsible. He bought only one boat ticket and abandoned the mother and daughter in Northeast China. The mother was left alone with a baby only five or six months old, barely able to carry her in her arms. Life was extremely difficult. Also, because she had been labeled a traitor, she couldn’t raise her child properly. So one day, she placed the baby on a woodpile in a rural area, hoping some kind-hearted person would adopt her.

Soon an old woman came out to gather firewood for the heated brick bed (炕) common in Northeast China. She found the baby. The baby hadn’t been wrapped properly — her right foot was exposed, which later caused a permanent disability. The old woman took the baby home and slowly began raising her. To be honest, the old woman wasn’t entirely kind-hearted: she wanted to raise the girl as a future child bride for her own son. But regardless of her intention, she did save the girl’s life.

The girl grew up in that household. Besides her future husband, there was an older brother, much older than her. The brother treated her more or less okay, but after he got married, the sister-in-law was not so kind. For example, when the girl wanted to study, the sister-in-law wouldn’t let her use the oil lamp. She suffered a lot, but through her own hard work, she got into China Agricultural University — which is still a prestigious university today.

When she grew up, the Cultural Revolution had already passed. Then, in the 1990s, someone contacted her, claiming to be her biological father. It turned out that he had never made it to Taiwan for various reasons. Later, during the Cultural Revolution, his identity as a former Nationalist officer was exposed, and he was severely persecuted, even losing the use of one leg.

As for her biological mother, she fared relatively better. After leaving the baby at the old woman’s home, the mother claimed to be a Japanese refugee. Since Chinese and Japanese people looked similar, and she spoke fluent Japanese, no one could tell the difference. Before the People’s Republic of China was founded, she managed to flee to Japan, where she remarried — a Japanese man — and lived a fairly happy life. Although the Japanese economy was poor after the war, under American occupation, people could still get enough to eat.

So, in the end, this is a family tragedy set against the backdrop of a turbulent era, but also a small family legend.”

Analysis:

This is family legend shaped by historical trauma, where large political events are understood through personal experience. It highlights themes of identity instability, as characters are caught between cultural and national affiliations and judged by shifting social norms. The narrative also reflects a common motif of abandonment and rescue, though presented with moral complexity rather than clear good or evil. Overall, the story shows how family narratives preserve cultural memory while helping later generations make sense of difficult and ambiguous histories.

The Hitler Parody

Context

The informant attended the same elementary school as me and is currently studying in college in China. During the time we were in school together, “Hitler Parody” (希特勒鬼畜), also commonly referred to as Downfall Parodies was a widely popular internet meme within Chinese online culture, particularly in early Bilibili video communities. The meme originates from a 2004 German film, Downfall (Der Untergang), and became globally viral through user-generated parody edits.

Text:

The informant recalls that during elementary school, “Hitler Parody” videos were very popular online. These videos are based on a scene from Downfall, where Hitler, portrayed by actor Bruno Ganz, becomes extremely angry upon hearing news of Germany’s defeat in 1945.

In internet adaptations, users kept the original German audio but replaced the subtitles, making it appear as though Hitler was angrily reacting to modern situations such as failed exams, video game updates, or everyday frustrations. Sometimes, the audio is also distorted and replaced with popular songs, making it appear as though Hitler himself is singing and performing the music. The informant explains that the exaggerated emotional performance made the scene highly adaptable for parody.

One of the many examples: bilibili.com/video/BV1Jx411w79d/?spm_id_from=333.337.search-card.all.click&vd_source=64229e788fe1b4b2152a8b0251a4c2ee

Analysis:

This meme demonstrates how digital folk culture transforms historical media into modern content through remixing and reinterpretation. By replacing subtitles while retaining the original emotional performance, users create a flexible narrative template that can be applied to present situations. This process reflects a form of “internet folklore,” where repetition, modification, and collective participation generate shared cultural meaning.

At the same time, the meme illustrates how humor is used to distance and reframe historical figures, turning a figure associated with extreme violence into a source of comedic exaggeration. This reflects a broader tendency in online communities to neutralize seriousness, while also raising questions about the boundaries between humor, memory, and historical representation.

The Pen Spirit (笔仙)

Context:

Me and the informant became friends in middle school due to our common interest in ghost stories and spiritual ceremonies. We decided to summon 笔仙 (a spirit that can be summoned through the action of two or more participants holding a single pen over a sheet of paper), and to let them answer some of our stupid questions, and it actually worked, somehow.

Text:

“笔仙 (Pen Spirit) is a very popular folk ritual in China,” the informant recalls, “even for people who are not into spiritual study, it’s almost safe to say that whenever people think about spiritual rituals, they would immediately think about 笔仙. Like any other folk ritual, the 笔仙 ceremony has multiple variations of how to perform it, but what we did was we wrote the alphabet on a piece of paper. We held a pen in our hands and chanted an incantation and start drawing in circles. If the spirit has been successfully summoned, the pen would start moving on its own, and then it is time for us to ask whatever questions we want. However, there are limitations, of course. You can’t ask how the spirit that is summoned died, or else it would be considered disrespectful. In addition, after you finish all your questions, you need to respectfully ask the spirit to leave.”

“And the spirit you summon can be random. For everyone who is performing the ritual, you are not summoning the same ghost. It varies—some can be friendly, some can be hateful toward us. So I’m really surprised that back then we even had the courage to actually do the ceremony, because if we were ever to summon a spirit that wanted us dead, they could potentially curse us. But he was so friendly (the informant was referring to the spirit that we successfully summoned). We didn’t ask any questions regarding his death, of course, but we did ask him something about his past life and the reason why he is still around on earth. I remember he said he actually spoke some English, and he went to college, and I think he died at a young age.”

“He was very generous with our stupid questions”, I said.

“Yeah, because I remember we were asking questions like who would be the next president of the United States. It was back in 2020, before the presidential election. He said it would be Biden, which he did get right. Many people summon 笔仙 to predict things, you know, but I don’t think the spirit that we summoned had that much power or energy to do so. We just asked a lot of random and silly questions, and we let him go, as if we were chatting with a friend or something. This is still a totally crazy experience, you know—we were two crazy middle schoolers.”

Analysis:

The interview highlights how rules and boundaries play an important role in shaping folk rituals, even among young participants. The informant describes clear limitations, such as not asking about the spirit’s death and the need to respectfully dismiss it, showing that the ritual follows an understood structure and moral code. At the same time, this experience reflects a coming of age moment, where engaging in something slightly forbidden or risky becomes a way for middle schoolers to test boundaries and bond with each other. The mix of caution and curiosity suggests that the ritual is not only about contacting a spirit, but also about navigating fear, respect, and social connection. And for sure, me and the informant became closer after this experience.

Not Kicking the Flag Pole

Context:

The informant is a member of the Trojan Marching Band at USC. At the same time, the informant is a strong supporter of USC school spirit and marching band traditions, and is very knowledgeable about band “lore” and internal practices.

Text:

One of the most well known game day traditions at USC is kicking the pole before leaving campus through Exposition Blvd to attend the football game. This tradition is said to symbolize luck, some even say that if you don’t perform it, you will bring bad luck to the football team.

According to my informant, the marching band does the same thing as well. As they march in formation and pass the pole, all members stop the cadence for a second and kick the pole. Upperclassmen even make sure that freshmen who are catching up with the tradition perform the ritual in time.

However, after the game is finished, when the marching band is marching back to campus and passing by the same pole, people are not allowed to kick it anymore. It is the total opposite this time—if you kick it, you would give bad luck to the football team for their next game.

“The worst thing is,” the informant said in exclamation, “the general fans are not aware of this tradition. They would kick the pole on their way back in front of us! That always annoys me!”

Analysis:

The “pole kicking” tradition at USC illustrates how folk rituals create meaning through collective practice, timing, and shared knowledge. Although the action itself is simple, its significance changes depending on context. Within the marching band, the ritual also functions as a form of group coordination and identity, reinforcing shared participation through performance. At the same time, the informant’s frustration with general fans unknowingly breaking the rule highlights how such traditions can serve as markers of insider knowledge, distinguishing those who understand the “correct” practice from those who do not.

The Paper Fan

Context:

The interviewee attended the same elementary school as me. She is currently in her early 20s and studying in college in China. The events she describes took place during her elementary school years, in a typical Chinese classroom setting with approximately 40–50 students per homeroom.

Text:

“So it became a trend, a fashion, really,” the informant said.

The informant recalls that back in elementary school, she learned how to fold a simple paper fan using homework paper without any glue or scissors, so students could basically fold it whenever they wanted (especially during class). At one point, everyone in the classroom was trying to make their own paper fan.

The trend eventually got stopped by the teachers because they noticed students getting distracted in class from making paper fans. Some paper fans were confiscated, and students stopped making them. The trend ended quickly—within a week, like many school trends do.

Analysis:

This account reflects how small, improvised practices among children can rapidly develop into collective trends within a tightly structured environment like a Chinese public school classroom. The paper fan activity demonstrates how shared constraints (limited materials, classroom setting, and boredom) can encourage creative folk practices that spread quickly through the imitation. At the same time, the teacher’s intervention highlights the role of institutional authority in regulating informal student folk culture.