By Mimi Yao
A symphony of celebratory clinks fill the restaurant. Meanwhile, alone in the office, Ma Meng Chen sits hunched over a plastic container of takeout noodles.
This was not the first time she had turned down her colleagues’ dinner invitations, nor would it be the last. As a member of the Hui（回族）, a predominantly Muslim ethnic minority in China, Ma follows the religious practice of abstaining from pork. Her life is a careful balancing act between adhering to the religious customs of Hui culture and conforming to mainstream social norms, which makes the question of whether to attend work meals a daily dilemma.
“During these situations, you need to make a decision,” Ma said. “For example, for meals where a negotiation might happen, I have no choice but to attend. But for more casual events, I usually choose not to go, because others feel pressured to accommodate my dietary needs.”
Ma was born and raised in the Hui community of Yuxi（玉溪）, a small city in rural Yunnan known for having an ethnic minority population of over thirty percent. Throughout Chinese history, many ethnic minorities have been forced to forfeit their traditions to conform to Han（汉） culture.
“At work, it’s almost impossible to differentiate the Han from the Hui or the Hanni (哈尼：another ethnic minority in China) unless someone tells you: ‘She’s Hui, she’s Hanni’,” Ma said.
Consequently, Ma’s identity is a product of a compromise between ethnic and mainstream culture: while distinct from those of her Han colleagues, Ma’s personal beliefs are just as different from those of her parents.
Ma’s parents grew up during the Gaige Kaifang（改革开放）, or Reform and Opening—a series of reforms led by Chairman Deng Xiaoping（邓小平） in the 1980s that opened China to not only the Western market but also the possibilities of new lifestyles. Individuals took advantage of these opportunities to turn away from farming and migrate to China’s coastal regions in search of higher income and modern lifestyles—and many found what they were looking for.
But with only a middle school education, Ma’s parents lacked the skills or vision to utilize the resources of China’s reform period. Instead, they silently accepted their arranged marriage (seen as a promise of stability) and spent their entire lives in their hometown.
“[My mom] did whatever her parents told her to do. She didn’t have independent judgment. Maybe as she entered middle age, she suddenly realized what she wanted in life. But at this time, you have a family, and you no longer have the freedom to achieve a lot of your goals.” Ma lamented.
Even during middle school, Ma was aware that in order to become independent, she needed to prove her competency in school. She recalled that while at boarding school, she bought an entire year’s worth of high school entrance examination questions to boost her scores.
Ma wanted to continue her education in college and beyond Yuxi. However, her parents expected her to eventually return home to help with the family business instead of pursuing a career. They were shocked that, upon returning to Yuxi, Ma applied for a job at LeYun, a local AI development firm. Workers at Leyun train AI for their clients by vetting mistakes in its algorithms.
“My parents missed their opportunity when China first opened up to the world,” Ma said. “I don’t want to repeat their path. AI is the face of a new revolution, and I think it’s important to get your foot in the door of this industry. Especially as a Hui woman, we aren’t given that many options for our future.”
Ma’s dedication to her job has fulfilled what used to be a pipedream for a young Hui girl. At 26, she is now a manager at LeYun.
“Whether it’s my parents or elders around me, many of them confine a woman’s purpose in life to marrying a good Hui man. Nobody ever tells you to work hard for the kind of life you want to live. Leyun… [is] a way to a different kind of life.” Ma said.