A restaurant in Hong Kong posted this on Facebook: "From now on, we will only serve Hongkongers. Only Cantonese and English are allowed when placing orders. We do not serve Mandarin speakers."
An edited version of the post later said, "Update: Taiwanese people are allowed."
When I was standing in front of the restaurant with my friend, both of us from mainland China, we were anxious and a bit embarrassed.
"Let's order in Cantonese, and then we can speak Mandarin with each other," I said, in Cantonese. She agreed.
The coronavirus outbreak, which started in mainland China and has spread to Hong Kong, has become the latest fuel in the anti-mainland sentiment in the former British colony.
The government of Hong Kong, which is run separately from the rest of China and where most people speak Cantonese, has refused to heed a popular demand for a ban on all travelers from the mainland.
And as a way to protest against the decision, a number of restaurants have imposed a "no Mandarin" rule to keep out mainland Chinese patrons. (In the weeks since the widespread outbreak was reported in early January, the Hong Kong government gradually tightened its travel control and quarantine measures.)
Only Cantonese and English are allowed when placing ordersA Hong Kong restaurant
I've only lived in Hong Kong for a year. But since the protest movement started in June, I've been fighting alongside Hongkongers in street demonstrations for greater democracy in the city. At some moments, I feel I'm a Hongkonger already.
But the "Hongkongers only, no Mandarin" rule made me question if I was qualified to be a Hongkonger. I was curious what it was like for me, a native Mandarin speaker, to eat at those restaurants.
My friend speaks good Cantonese, while I tried to hide my accent by talking as little as possible. "Meal A. Iced tea," I told the waiter.
This restaurant offered typical Hong Kong fast food. And what diners were talking about was nothing out of the ordinary.
Like many other "yellow restaurants," color-coded to express their support for the pro-democracy protests that put Hong Kong on front pages last year, this place had colorful Post-it Notes on the wall, carrying protest slogans. (Blue restaurants, on the other hand, support the police's crackdown on the demonstrations.)
We shared a table with other diners, and I was too nervous to speak Mandarin. We finished the meal without talking too much.
The second place was a ramen restaurant. A piece of paper on the door says, "Forgive us for not serving mainlanders. We only want to live longer."
The passive-aggressive note made me nervous. Would they check my ID? Would they ask people to write their orders in traditional Chinese characters, which are used in Hong Kong and Taiwan but not in the mainland? Would they throw me out, take a video of me and post it on Facebook?
My anxiety subsided when I began eating. The ramen was delicious and the waiters were polite. The only scary thing about the place is the notice on the door.
The restaurant even has a WeChat social media account catering to its mainland customers. The last time it was updated was on June 9, 2019, the day when Hong Kong's mass protests began.
My dining experience was more pleasant than expected, but I wonder about the justification for the "Hongkongers-only rule."
What if I were a native Hongkonger infected with the coronavirus, or a Hongkonger who just traveled to Wuhan, or a foreigner? Can I still eat at those restaurants?
If the restaurants really care about public health, why don't they just check the body temperature of every customer?
Maybe they should be honest and say: We do not have enough empathy. We refuse to understand mainland Chinese people. The virus is just our excuse for keeping them out of Hong Kong.
Both Hongkongers and mainland Chinese people have many misunderstandings about each other.
My Hong Kong colleagues would ask me, "Do you all use counterfeit products?" My family in the mainland share conspiracy theories about Hong Kong every day. At a discussion session in Hong Kong, I said mainland immigrants could also become a pro-democracy force. Many people came to me afterward and said it was the first time they met a mainland person who supported the city's democracy fight.
This is depressing for us who live on the margin in both worlds. One mainland friend said she is a bit disappointed with Hong Kong recently. As the coronavirus spreads across the country, internet users in Hong Kong are gloating: "It's so lucky to be Chinese," "not a single Chinese person is innocent," "any place without Chinese people is a good place."
I love Hong Kong because of the complex identities among its diverse population. But the tension between Hong Kong and the mainland has become even stronger than during the protest movement. It's not reflected in physical violence, but in everyday actions and online speech. It's as if people are blinded by hatred.
Yes, Hongkongers deserve a better government. If I were a Hong Kong native, I would not want to line up overnight just to buy a few surgical masks. I would not want to see the culture and system I took pride in being eroded. I would not want to count how many days were left for me to have my limited freedoms.
But the same thing applies to mainland people. Kind, ordinary people everywhere deserve a better life. Both sides need to have more empathy, or at least some compassion during a challenging moment.
I'm not trying to blame anyone. I'm a bit upset, but not angry. I'm just asking: how could we have ended up like this?
Crystal Xu is a news editor based in Hong Kong. She cares about social issues in Hong Kong and mainland China.
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