Dr Sherrie Lee | Tag: New Zealand

What happened to the Diasporic Academic?

Almost 5 years ago, I re-named my blogging website ‘The Diasporic Academic’, inspired by a keynote presentation given by Wendy Larner at a conference on international education held in Wellington. A diasporic academic by her definition was someone with multiple national affiliations, for example, a researcher from one country based in another country working on a project, or travelling between countries for research purposes, and at the same time, having a role as an intermediary between cultures, for example, translating from one language to another, or providing a culturally nuanced interpretation of things. (To dig deeper into the concept of diasporic academics, I highly recommend reading Larner’s 2015 paper on which the keynote presentation was based, as well as a 2020 book chapter I co-authored with a fellow diasporic academic.)

No doubt I’ve long left my academic ambitions at the door of the once enamoured institution called a university, but my academic sense making and inquiry has been put to good use in my public sector career – demanding clarity in policy definitions, looking for evidence to support claims, assessing the value of outputs and interpreting the validity of outcomes. So I’m proud to say that the ‘academic’ part of my identity has taken on a new form, that of a conscientious public servant.

In terms of living out my ‘diasporic’ potential, it has been an interesting journey through the professional and personal contexts of living and working in Aotearoa New Zealand. Being visibly and audibly different from the ‘European norm’ of everyday affairs, I’ve gone through various degrees of identity crises or conscious raising moments. It has made me become more sensitive to social and cultural assumptions, both my own and those around me, and often wonder about what actually goes on in people’s heads when they have an intercultural interaction. We probably assume ‘nothing’ until a word or gesture prompts an ‘aha’ response. Or we might be deliberate about discovering differences and similarities if we actually talk about cultural differences with genuine interest and respect – and how rare is that!

Let’s talk about names – a diasporic reflection

One of the common assumptions we make is people’s names.

Your name is something you take for granted. You know what it is, the variations in different contexts, how you like to be addressed, how you don’t like to be addressed, what is acceptable and welcomed banter, and what is offensive or inappropriate. To illustrate, I’ll start with the ‘Western’ name, that is, one with a first name, middle name, and a family name: Elizabeth Bennett Brown, an officially recorded name.

If we know or assume that the person is single, officially we would address the person as ‘Miss Brown’. Friends might call the person ‘Liz’ or ‘Lizzy’ or ‘Beth’. When using the name in a professional context, the name could be written simply as ‘Elizabeth Brown’, and perhaps even ‘Lizzy Brown’ if that has been the version used over time or could even be a personal brand that warrants formal usage. If the person was married, we’d say hello to ‘Mrs Brown’ and perhaps infer that ‘Bennett’ was her maiden family name. Or maybe ‘Bennett’ was her actual middle name and her maiden family name is buried in school photos and the like. This is how the office, banks, schools, and various institutions would likely respond to the person with the name of ‘Elizabeth Bennett Brown’.

Now compare this with an officially recorded name of a Chinese Singaporean woman: Lim Bee Choo, Maureen. Lim = family name, Bee Choo, Maureen = given names. ‘Lim Bee Choo’ is the the romanised rendition of the Chinese name based on the dialect group of the person (in this case, Hokkien), ie, it is rendered as it is spoken, as opposed to how the Chinese character would be spoken in standard Mandarin (in this case, ‘林’ pronounced ‘Lin’). Maureen is the given English name. It’s quite common for a Chinese Singaporean to have an English name, and by that I mean a name that is given by the parents, recorded at birth, not a name taken at a later age in life. (Something that can be attributed to Singapore being a former British Colony but of course more complex than that, and maybe something to ruminate on later.)

As this is the person’s officially recorded name, we can assume this is the maiden name. If the person were married and wanted her married name officially recorded (eg, on the national identity card), the most common option would be to apply to have the married name added as an alias. This means the person’s maiden name is the principal name, and by default, the official name. Replacing your maiden name with a married name on an official identity document needs to be done by executing a Change of Name Deed Poll. (It’s extra work and costs money so I’ve yet to know of any married female friends who have done so.)

You could use your married name in other contexts (eg, professional name), and be known as Mrs Maureen Goh. Or to just indicate you’re not single (or to be ambiguous about it), Ms Maureen Lim. (In my mother’s generation, it was common to use your married by simply adding ‘Mrs’ in front of their husband’s name. So if Lim Bee Choo, Maureen married Tan Soo Teck, David, her married name could be Mrs Tan Soo Teck, David, or Mrs David Tan.)

To address Lim Bee Choo, Maureen (married or not) in less formal settings, family might call her ‘Bee Choo’ or ‘Choo’, or ‘Ah Choo’; her peers would call her ‘Maureen’, and would be professionally known as ‘Maureen Lim’, although school communications to parents would list her as Mrs Goh. (Note: I found a very helpful resource on Singapore naming conventions and culture, which also has similar entries for other countries and cultures. Absolutely worth reading if you regularly interact with friends or business associates from non-Western backgrounds.)

If Maureen had to list her official name on documents from the ‘Western world’, she would be careful to list ‘Lim’ as her family name, ‘Bee Choo, Maureen’ as given names. If she was forced to choose single names to fit the given categories, her name might be recorded as: Family Name – Lim; Middle Name – Bee; Given Name – Choo; Preferred Name: Maureen. Automated letters drawing from the categories would simply address her as ‘Choo Lim’, and if it were recorded that she was married, ‘Mrs Choo Lim’. ‘Maureen Lim’, as she was commonly addressed and acknowledged in Singapore, would have an automatic identity makeover in New Zealand.

The Inciting Incident

I love the concept of the inciting incident in film and novels: the event that sets the main character on the journey that will occupy them throughout the narrative. Like how Biff calls Marty McFly ‘chicken’ in Back to the Future, triggering Marty to react with determination to put Biff in his place, keenly aware of how his father was a pushover, an easy target for bullies.

Just like how inciting incidents upset the balance within the main character’s world, inciting incidents in my life in New Zealand have made me question why the people around me held the assumptions they did, and why I reacted the way I did. These inciting incidents have touched on deeply personal things such as my name, the colour of my skin and hair, and my customs. And nothing gets me going more than inciting incidents about my name, the most common inciting incidents of them all.

Imagine Elizabeth Bennett Brown, Lim Bee Choo, Maureen, and myself found ourselves in conversation during tea break at a business seminar in Auckland, and our name tags reflected our names as follows: Lizzy Brown; Choo Bee Lim; Sherrie Lee. Our imaginary (and all too real) conversation could go like this:

SHERRIE LEE
Hi, (reading name tag) Choo Bee, I’m Sherrie (SHAIR-ree).

CHOO BEE LIM
Oh, it’s actually Bee Choo, long story about computer systems, …

SHERRIE LEE
No, I get it! Of course, you’re Bee Choo! (laughs). And you’re either from Malaysia or Singapore right?

CHOO BEE LIM
Born in Malaysia, but grew up in Singapore. Most people call me Maureen, only my family calls me Bee Choo. But when I came to New Zealand, after filling out a couple of forms, my default name is Choo, and a real struggle to get Bee Choo or Maureen recognised as my proper name. (sigh) So it’s not too bad that I managed to get Bee Choo on my name tag, even though it’s the wrong order! (joint laughter) I’m guessing you’re from Singapore?

SHERRIE LEE
Yep, born and bred. Looks like our accents and names give us away. (joint laughter)

LIZZY BROWN joins the conversation.

LIZZY BROWN
Hello, I’m Lizzy.

CHOO BEE LIM
Hi Lizzy, I’m Bee Choo or just call me Maureen.

LIZZY BROWN
Maureen it is, I’m better with English names. Hi (reading name tag) Sherrie (sher-REE).

SHERRIE LEE
(cringing inside but smiling outside) Hi Lizzy. It’s Sherrie (SHAIR-ree), like the drink, rhymes with ‘cherry’.

LIZZY BROWN
Rhymes with cherry, cute, I can remember that (laughs), so Sherrie (SHAIR-ree).

SHERRIE LEE
(more cringing inside but a wider smile outside)

CHOO BEE LIM
We’re just talking about our names and the difficulty with Chinese names.

LIZZY BROWN
Actually I don’t think your Chinese name is too difficult, they look like English words to me, so ‘Choo Bee’, have I got that right?

CHOO BEE LIM
It’s actually Bee Choo, they got the names mixed up. It’s ok, Maureen is fine.

SHERRIE LEE
(attempting neutral small talk) Lizzy, is that short for Elizabeth?

LIZZY BROWN
Yes, it is. And Sherrie (sher-REE), what’s your real name?

SHERRIE LEE
(even more cringing inside) Sherrie (SHAIR-ree) is my real name, my mother gave me that name.

LIZZY BROWN
(laughs) I mean, what’s your Chinese name?

SHERRIE LEE
(with defiance and a steely look in her eyes) I don’t use it.

LIZZY BROWN
I used to have Chinese borders, students studying at uni, and one girl would change her name every semester. First it was Lucy, then it became Anna, not sure what name she does by now (laughs). Maureen, did you have a different name before?

CHOO BEE LIM
No, my name is Maureen, always has been.

LIZZY BROWN
(laughs) Nice talking to you (walks to another group of people).

CHOO BEE LIM and SHERRIE LEE exchange knowing glances and laugh out loud.

The Diasporic Resident

The inciting incident about names was an imaginary movie scene, created from personal and observed experiences of cultural assumptions and hidden meanings, and snatches of phrases from well-meaning individuals not yet familiar with the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia. If this is sounding too academic, it might as well be. After all, it will be a part history part anthropology lesson if I start unpacking Chinese naming conventions, cultural norms and expectations, and colonial influences. (Try Chapter 1 of my 2019 thesis if you’re up for some fairly readable academese.)

Inciting incidents like these that help me appreciate who I am in the world, the world of ‘European norms’ in a settler colony, with the Crown gradually unpacking and honouring Treaty obligations, as well as the wider world of migration and multiculturalism. In the immediate world of my living and working, it can often feel like I’m justifying my existence to others around me – why I should be accepted and feel valued. And when I’m considering my relationship with tangata whenua (the Māori, the peoples of the land), I have questions about what it means to be tauiwi (foreigner/immigrant), especially a non-white immigrant. Whereas if I’m operating in a world where the mobility of people and their culture and languages is welcome, then there’s much more freedom to embrace and celebrate differences.

After finishing my PhD, I truly wanted to be an academic operating in that world of migration and multiculturalism, desiring to be that cultural intermediary or broker who could help explain the unspoken thoughts in people’s heads during the kind of conversation Lizzy, Bee Choo and I had. Although I am not that academic I thought I’d be, I can be a diasporic resident in the world of cultures and clashes.

So here’s a challenge to myself and fellow diasporic residents – the next time an inciting incident about your name occurs, will you be that diasporic resident who explains the story behind your name?

Careers / Cross-cultural / international education / Phd / Story

Final Destination: I’ve Found What I’m Looking For

28 October 202110 March 2025admin2 Comments

Seven years ago I made the most significant life decision to date – uprooting my family from Singapore and moving to New Zealand for what many would regard as ‘a better life’. I felt my family was complete with three young children, had an epiphany about doing research and preparing for an academic career in international education, and wanted to start fresh in a new place that would welcome us wholeheartedly, a place we could grow to love, a place we trusted to provide a more equitable future for our family.

Today, seven years after making that decision, I have finally found what I’ve been looking for. 2021 has become the year of the ‘final destination’ not because there’s nowhere else to go from now on, but the culmination of residency, house ownership, established relationships and meaningful employment has marked the end of a seven year journey towards being and feeling settled.

I never thought it would have taken seven years when the typical time was 24 months, at least according to well-meaning advice from the New Zealand government in the form of a settlement curve (Note: While they say it is different for everyone, there’s no other example given). But perhaps those seven years were necessary to build up resilience through struggles of varying depth and emotion, and to fully appreciate the complex feelings and mental state around migration and settlement.

The journey started on shaky ground.

We arrived in Hamilton in late November 2014 close to the start of the summer holidays and were left wondering if we had chosen a ghost town to reside in in the first couple of months. That meant having to do a whole lot of DIY in finding familiar people and networks, much like how we had to figure out how to DIY around the house. You might consider this just an initial blip of an otherwise upward trending settlement experience (again, according to the settlement curve theory). But the experience was more like ‘peaks and troughs’ unevenly spread out, interspersed with flatline day-to-day routine living of school drop-offs and pick-ups, supermarket runs and going to church.

Peaks were often associated with feeling part of the community (whether this was school, work or church) where we could express ourselves without fear of ridicule or suspicion. These were positive outcomes of coming to New Zealand. But the most significant peak was securing sufficiently paid employment that was considered relevant for a residency application. That was the biggest deciding factor for our future in the country after I completed my PhD study. This meant moving from Hamilton to Wellington, and changing my life and career trajectory altogether.

The troughs, in contrast, can be characterised by feelings of rejection by the host country. Rather than singular events, it was the reminders of how Kiwis were largely ‘friendly but not friend making’; efforts to establish personal relationships were either misplaced or flat out unreciprocated. But then again, new friendships in my stage of life – middle-aged with three children turning into teenagers – were going to be far and few between. And so I quietly resigned myself to the temporary friendships with fellow international PhD students for several years. When I started working, navigating collegial relationships in the New Zealand workplace was another new experience to grapple with. I remember having coffee with a new team and feeling like a foreigner all over again with jokes and cultural and sports references zipping past over my head. And during times like these, I would hear the soundtrack playing the song of whether the strange would ever truly become familiar.

Through the seven years of peaks and troughs and flatlines in between, as well as pandemic induced lockdowns and border restrictions, I have learnt how to do more of ‘living in the moment’ – a challenge for someone who thrives on order and being organised. Carpe diem – seize the day – as my 20 year old self would remind me.

I’ve also realised that the initial dream of ‘a better life’ in New Zealand has changed into something else. It has been muted by the reality of creeping housing prices and inflation, petty politics and shortsighted planning. But the desire for a more equitable future for the family is playing out in different ways and unfolding over time. The grass is always greener on the other side, and to New Zealand’s credit, the air is fresher and personal freedoms are greater on this side of the world. Particularly with greater personal freedom, I’ve experienced and achieved a number of things which would have been difficult or impossible if I had remained in Singapore.

Part of the dream of ‘a better life’ was about creating an environment where we could appreciate different worldviews and other cultures while being comfortable with ourselves and others. Today we have the permission to call New Zealand home, a house we own, a community we belong to, new and meaningful friendships, and most recently, landing a job that meets my pragmatic, professional, intellectual and aspirational needs. So in some ways, I’ve fulfilled my dream, but it’s really a dream in progress, working at embracing all of the good, and overcoming the struggles and setbacks.

P.S. The title of this blog post is a response to U2’s song. It has a catchy tune but I’m glad I’m not singing this in my head anymore.

Cross-cultural / Education / Higher Education / international education / Internationalisation

International education – Not just an experience but the possibility of a new life

22 September 202110 March 2025admin1 Comment

I’ve been reading the draft policy statement on high-value international education in New Zealand which aims to define what ‘high value’ means and minimise risks. Reading between the lines, the policy is responding to the growth of ‘low value’ and ‘high risk’ international education in the past decade or longer, most visible in the sub-degree courses with majority international student enrolments, marketed by off-shore agents as study pathways to residency. The message seems to be international education must not be seen as a ticket to residency, or some sort of back-door entry into the land of milk and honey.

Low value, high risk edu-migration

The international students who come through this promised study to residency route may not have optimal attitudes toward study as they have their eye on the prize of migration. But if they’ve been sold a dream, including the ‘package deal’ of work rights as a student, minimum wage, and jobs in demand, then study is really a means to an end – legitimised by a burgeoning edu-migration business and success stories.

The ‘low value’ of this type of international education translates into misaligned academic goals between the institution and student, but actually very high value in terms of international student fees earned, and the investment the student puts towards the edu-migration course of action, with immediate gains for agents. The ‘high risk’ is played out in the over-reliance of institutions on fee-paying students as a business model, blurred lines between legitimate academic programmes and programmes designed to encourage unrealistic study to residence pathways, but more alarmingly, the labour exploitation of international students.

A news report from 2016 illustrates the ‘low value’ and ‘high risk’ type of international education that I’m describing. The focus is on labour exploitation of an international student but the backstory of why and how the student gets to New Zealand, and the survival issues he is constantly facing, demonstrate the tragic consequences of market forces and policy loopholes. Only recently was there a Temporary Migrant Worker Exploitation review which was prompted in part by numerous cases of labour exploitation of international students. This has resulted in new measures of greater compliance and enforcement, but also a practical way-out for those caught in these situations (there’s a new visa to support migrants to leave exploitative situations quickly and remain lawfully in New Zealand).

The new draft policy statement

So it comes as no surprise that the draft policy now refutes the suggestion that international students can take low level courses as a way to gain residency as that ‘weakens the integrity of the immigration system’. Instead, international students should be coming to New Zealand for “high-quality programmes in New Zealand’s areas of excellence”, have sufficient academic ability to succeed, enjoy their educational experience, and then what? With the idea that guaranteed pathways to residency is somewhat reprehensible, we are left to assume that genuine international students who are focused on studying should be expected to leave New Zealand after they finish.

Putting aside the scenario of rogue agents selling the international education residency dream, this expectation seems unrealistic. As a former international student, and having done research in the area and moved in international education circles for several years, there is an implicit if not explicit hope among many students to at least entertain the possibility of making a new life in their destination country. In fact, it is the possibility of working and living in the destination country that makes the country an attractive study destination. The 2019 IDP international student survey results bear out these sentiments, revealing Canada as the most desired destination. This is no surprise given Canada’s immigration policy has been closely linked to international education for many years, with the latest news reiterating and strengthening that stance – a welcome signal for many prospective students across the globe.

Fortunately, the piece on high-value education does not drop the ball on study to residence pathways, but there are clearly favoured groups: i) those in in sub-degree programmes that are linked to domestic labour needs, and ii) post-graduate and professional degree students “who increase New Zealand’s long-term human capital and labour productivity”. So reading between the lines once again, if I’m doing an arts or some non-professional degree or a sub-degree in a subject that has not been classified as meeting domestic needs, I’m not valuable enough to be considered a potential worker or migrant. And I should go home once I’m done with my study.

Looking ahead: Challenges and opportunities

While specific criteria for ‘high-value’ international students may be justified, I wonder if we’re missing out on those ‘undefined’ categories of international students who may be pursuing various areas of interest and who may prove to be just as valuable human capital in the long run. If they are able to find meaningful work in New Zealand after graduation, what’s our attitude towards them? If our population stagnation stats and projections remain true (eg, two-thirds of the country’s regions would be in a state of population stagnation or decline by 2040), then perhaps we should expand our criteria for study to residence pathways, and actually be upfront about study to residence pathways..

More critically, however, international education policies, immigration policies, labour needs, and population trends are so intertwined that they need to work together to inform a robust international education vision and roadmap for the future. No doubt there has been ongoing research attempting to pull together these various strands. Some reports I’ve come across include:

i) Moving places: Destinations and earnings of international graduates published by the Ministry of Education in February 2017

ii) Immigration and Labour Market Outcomes of International Tertiary Students published in March 2018 by the Ministry of Business, Innovation & Employment

iii) What happens to international students who remain in New Zealand after getting a degree? published in August 2021 by Universities New Zealand

I look forward to reading more about how we can match up international education with growth industries and look further ahead rather than just meeting immediate labour shortage needs.

A ‘high-value international education’ will need to address a range of aspirations held by prospective students. While many international students may only be interested in an overseas education experience and no more, there are just as many, if not more, who are deeply invested in the possibility of study to residence pathways. In both cases, I think demonstrating strong links between a New Zealand education and meaningful work opportunities, whether in New Zealand or elsewhere, is going to be critical. And if we are serious about having international students contribute to our current and future labour needs and population growth, then we need to be fully cognizant of push-pull factors, manage expectations, and think global and long term.

Careers / Cross-cultural / Professional Identity

Don’t call me Migrant or Asian but who do you say I am?

2 February 202010 March 2025admin1 Comment

Despite what feels like a ‘long’ time, I’m really still a newcomer to Aotearoa New Zealand. And considering more than 4 of the 5 plus years were spent in Hamilton, and having recently relocated to Wellington, the Aotearoa I know is just an emerging picture.

It is a picture coloured by intense periods of questioning my various identities and ‘trying’ and ‘doing’ social integration. It is also not a stable picture, with emotional highs and lows heightened in periods of uncertainty and angst, in the overall quest for ‘settledness’ and normalcy.

With my heart on my sleeve, and a restless mind seeking anchors, I invite you to pause and examine this picture that usually hangs unnoticed on your wall.

Rooting for my team

Image by Natalia Ovcharenko from Pixabay

In the current climate of ‘diversity’ and ‘inclusion’ in workplaces, these trendy terms fail the reality test of working in a largely Anglo/Euro-centric culture. I recall the jaw-dropping audience of old-timer administrators when I related my ‘confinement’ experience after childbirth. As I sat at the lunch table with a story that grew scandalous with each cultural revelation, I felt humiliated for trying to strike up interesting conversation. But at the same time it thickened my skin and forced my sensibilities to learn from this faux pas.

When I share such experiences with others, it is often fellow migrants, often Asian, who nod along in agreement and commiserate with sighs of resignation. We learn quickly from our mistakes and embarrassment, but we nonetheless feel indignant over unequal opportunities in accessing jobs and opportunities. Often we hold a special gratitude for our first boss who let our foot in the door.

These ‘migrant’ or ‘ethnic’ conversations can feel familiar and safe. There seemed to be a natural urge to express solidarity, whether outright or implied, of asserting our shared experience and struggle in a hostile environment, whether real or imagined. There was tacit solidarity over the necessary ‘struggle’ before achieving success for ourselves and our family.

In recent times, I’ve become more ambivalent about my role and identity in the community script. I’ve moved cities, work environments, professional sectors, and social circles. My affiliations have multiplied, and so have my social identities. But to suggest I play a different role can seem unnatural, unusual, or worse yet, an act of betrayal against my own kind.

At a recent forum on Asian leadership, there was a pervasive presumption that Asians were overlooked and undervalued. I could identify with feelings of indignation and injustice, but also wanted to share my positive experiences of being treated with respect and included in a Pākehā dominant work environment. My story, however, simply jarred with the plot of the day.

Finding safe houses

I have also shared my journey with another group who are not necessarily migrant or Asian. This is a group I call my ‘safe house’ because with them I felt free and safe to be who I was and who I was trying to be. You could characterise them as empathetic multicultural-minded friends. Some of them were from mixed cultural families, others worked in pastoral care for international students, or had professional or volunteer jobs that served the needs of migrant communities and new citizens. I found them in churches, university services, associations, communities, government agencies, and in families of my children’s schoolmates.

Of course, just being involved in cross-cultural contexts does not automatically make one empathetic to others experiencing or experimenting with new cultures. I’ve met those who claim to be migrant champions or international education professionals but couldn’t wholeheartedly recommend them to others. By all accounts, they did their job. But to me they lacked a personal desire to affirm your value for who you were, whether they found you familiar or strange.

A more recent discovery of a safe house is the kapa haka group at work. The welcoming nature of the group and encouragement by instructor-colleagues to sing boldly and accurately exemplified to me manaakitanga (hospitality) and kotahitanga (togetherness). What a gift and privilege to learn about, and express through performance, Māori culture – as an outsider looking in, as one welcomed to learn and belong in all my shades of difference.

Who am I again?

I come back to my picture which has emerged as a self-portrait. It hangs on the invisible walls of my dwelling which intersects with the dwelling places of migrants, Asians, colleagues and friends. The question of who I am will inevitably be answered differently by the various co-dwellers.

To answer that question today in the season of the Lunar New Year, can be simply expressed as ‘I am Chinese’. At work, together with a few Chinese colleagues, we will put together a shared morning tea celebration for all staff. (And I would ask you to think of ‘Chinese’ as diasporic rather than singular!)

Non-Chinese colleagues will look to Chinese colleagues for cultural expressions of the season and explanations of its significance. In doing so, I also hope they will find the opportunity to build safe houses for multicultural-minded conversations flourish in.

Cross-cultural / Professional Identity

Living and thriving with labels: A journey towards cultural intelligence

28 October 201910 March 2025admin3 Comments

5 years ago, I took a leap of faith to start a new life in Aotearoa New Zealand. I had a vision of being part of a uniquely multicultural society – one which honours its indigenous culture and heritage, and offers hospitality and friendship to others from different backgrounds. It sounds hyperbolic and naively idealistic when I say it out loud to a sceptical audience, (my readers included). It seems far-fetched compared to my everyday interactions that categorise me as ‘international’, ‘foreign’, ‘migrant’, ‘ethnic’ and even ‘exotic’. Yet, it is this vision that gives me hope and a purpose for my new life. It prompts me to interrogate what these labels mean to me, to others doing the labelling, and experiment with what I can do with these labels. I share my journey as an academic, a migrant service provider, and a policy advisor, and conclude at a tentative destination called cultural intelligence.

The ‘International’

I stated my new life as a PhD student, but was also several other personas: an international student, a mid-career professional, a mother of school-going children, a partner to a stay-home parent, a novice scholar, a Southeast Asian Chinese. At times, it felt like I was living out the theory of intersectionality. I was predominantly concerned with being a ‘scholar’, but my other labels seemed more pertinent. While I was intent on proving my intellectual credentials in a passive-aggressive academic environment, I was mostly treated as an ‘international’. I was ‘international’ according to student records, orientation, welcome morning teas, and support groups. And although rarely articulated, embedded in being ‘international’ was also being ‘Chinese’ – I suppose my fair skin and black hair gave me away – but also that I was from a singular place of origin. One memory of being identified as Chinese sticks firmly in my mind: After introducing myself as ‘Sherrie’, I was asked, ‘But what is your real name?’ In this instance, the question came from a genuine regard for my cultural background, but similar questions from others have had a cumulative effect of ‘othering’ to which I have an ambivalent response till today.

But one wonders if all that was achieved was mild curiosity or polite indifference about these ‘foreign bodies’ floating about on campus – scholars, students, parents, professionals, women and men of some unfamiliar culture, colour and creed.
The ‘International’

Of course, the scholar in me was railing about (in silence but sometimes in more measured tones) the irony of the university as a critic and conscience of society, that is, to question prejudice and preconception. But one wonders if all that was achieved was mild curiosity or polite indifference about these ‘foreign bodies’ floating about on campus – scholars, students, parents, professionals, women and men of some unfamiliar culture, colour and creed. I was provoked enough to set aside my actual PhD research topic, and put together a presentation about international doctoral students as diaspora academics after reading Wendy Larner’s conceptual framing of diasporic academics (Geoforum, 2015) and Taha Kukutai and Arama Rata’s chapter ‘From mainstream to Manaaki: Indigenising our approach to immigration’ in Fair borders? Migration policy in the twenty-first century (BWB, 2017). This was presented to a crowd of curious onlookers at the 2017 NZARE (New Zealand Association for Research in Education) Conference, and received words of affirmation from a couple of respected Māori scholars. I was encouraged by the response, but also walked back into the world of troubling intersectionality.

The ‘Migrant’

Fast forward towards the end of my PhD journey and I was ready to start the next phase of my new life – being employed. My grand illusions about being an academic championing constructive discourses of cultural diversity were tested against the local academic job market. After a string of rejections, and numerous self-doubting reflections, my conclusion was that I simply did not have a research area in demand, nor did I have potential sponsors, and I was either not ready for academia on this side of the world, or they were not ready for me.

Just as one door closed, however, another opened. An opportunity to provide new migrants with work-ready skills came through a phone call just as I read yet another job application rejection email. I wasn’t ready to give up academia, but neither was I ready to be jobless. The offer of a fixed term role as a career development consultant with Work Connect was not just attractive as paid work, especially compared to those long hours of unpaid labour of academic writing! It was a privilege to be helping marginalised communities, and to put my cherished theories on brokering and culturally-embedded social interactions to the test.

This non-academic service-oriented world also offered its own set of labels. ‘Migrant’ was the ‘official’ word for newcomers to the country seeking employment or business opportunities. Soon, I was introduced to other labels such as ‘diverse’, ‘ethnic’ and ‘inclusive’. A few months into the job, I was physically out of academia having cleared out my office and attended graduation. But there was little hope in taking the academic out from me. Thoughts about what those words meant to me, to those they seem to refer to, and to those who used them, started to stir up my restless mind.

One of the troubling thoughts I had was related to my own career progression. My fixed term role would have an end date and I needed to move on to something more permanent. As much as I loved the work I was doing, and the people I worked with and worked for, I knew career consulting was not the path for me. After talking to several contacts working in policy and government agencies, and getting positive feedback on a small policy-related project for work, I was convinced that policy was a respectable thing for a PhD graduate to do.

The personas I owned, and those placed upon me, didn’t seem to translate into a policy person. I wasn’t white, I wasn’t schooled in Wellington, I didn’t do the hard yards in Parliament, I had no inkling of the machinery of government.
The ‘Migrant’

But as I looked through the job descriptions and looked at profiles of policy folk on LinkedIn, my labels were starting to fail me. The personas I owned, and those placed upon me, didn’t seem to translate into a policy person. I wasn’t white, I wasn’t schooled in Wellington, I didn’t do the hard yards in Parliament, I had no inkling of the machinery of government. Some of my contacts suggested I look at work relating to supporting migrants. My first reaction was one of indignation. Did my ‘migrant’ label restrict me to ‘migrant’ work? When I shared my reaction with others, they assured me it was meant as a reference to my particular expertise.

I still hold on to my suspicion that ‘migrant’ / ‘ethnic’ / ‘diverse’ labels have a whole lot of baggage attached to it. And yet, I take those labels and wear them with pride, being unabashed for intersecting layers of who I am and who people make me out to be. The biggest challenge for me was to translate who I was and curate a novel persona that was worth hiring as a policy person.

The ‘Advisor’

Fast forward to where I am right now – a senior advisor in operational policy – a long label which belies my actual work of facilitating consensus building processes among different teams, levels and personalities. It is not a role that has any ‘migrant’ labels attached to it, and the one label which apparently trumped all others in the selection process was one which I had not even thought about – ‘connector’. This was both refreshing and concerning. I was delighted not to have the typical labels plastered all over me, but I seemed to be entering a new world of new words – and new expectations.

The initial period of ‘settling in’ was a roller coaster ride of feeling a loss of identity without my usual labels, and an uncertainty of what other labels to go by. I found myself wondering if I would have been happier with a ‘migrant’ role, and wondering if those convictions of doing policy work was another grand illusion waiting to disintegrate. The turning point for me came in the form of yet another set of labels called Clifton Strengths. Taking part in the individual Strengths Finder exercise and having a team workshop to examine each others’s strengths provided me a new vocabulary to make sense of people and labels. And true to the ‘connector’ label others placed on me, my number one Clifton Strength is connectedness. Knowing my #1 and other core strengths helped me clarify my life purpose. My vision was rekindled, and the labels I both cherished and loathed were refreshed.

As an advisor, fostering productive relationships and contributing to decision-making processes are key to putting policy into practice.
The ‘Advisor’

I now feel emboldened to take whatever labels are presented to me and test them out. For now, let’s call it cultural intelligence (CQ) or the ability to relate and work effectively with people from different social and cultural backgrounds. To me, this is the heart of policy work if policy is to have any positive benefit for its intended audience. As an advisor, fostering productive relationships and contributing to decision-making processes are key to putting policy into practice.

I’m also starting to realise that I have evolved, and will continue to evolve, in what labels I use, reuse and refuse. I know I haven’t even begun to question the use of labels in the first place. And honestly, I don’t even know where to begin since I have lived with labels all my life. But instead of being frustrated at inaccurate or incomplete labels, I’ll start by testing out new and more complex labels for myself.