I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook one day when one post caught my eye. It was written by my friend — “The greatest tragedy of the university [the University of Hong Kong] was that its admission officers were simply very good at their job promoting the university.”

It’s been three years since I’ve graduated from the University of Hong Kong (HKU). Having been schooled in rural Oklahoma in the States, coming to HKU, advertised as one of the most international universities in the world, sounded like a ticket to a rocketship out of my finite universe. I eagerly jumped onboard.

Upon my arrival, I soon realized that HKU barely resembles anything that I’ve had been sold by the admission office. From a language barrier in classes and clubs, toxic hall culture to palpable xenophobia on campus, the institution had made it clear that it’s not ready nor willing to fully accept and integrate non-local students.

Language Barrier

When I entered the university in 2012, HKU ranked 23th in the world — in line with UC Berkeley and the University of Edinburgh. It ranked number one in Asia. Thus, it wasn’t difficult for me to reject acceptance letters from the U.S. universities, even with a promise of scholarships. HKU seemed to promise something bigger — diverse student body, and top-notch English language education in Asia’s World City.

On the surface, it was true. In 2012, HKU admitted about 2,500 students from 57 countries in its undergraduate and postgraduate programs. However, what the university failed to highlight was that I, as a non-local student, would face a serious language barrier in almost every aspect of my social and academic settings.

The official lingua franca at the university is English, and all classes are required to be conducted in English. Learning takes place not just in lectures but through meaningful interactions with fellow students. In HKU, the latter couldn’t be established for non-Cantonese speakers like me.

I once wrote an email to a professor seeking his advice on how to deal with my group mates who mostly communicate in Cantonese. Due to the intense competition at the university, tutors put a mark on everything — from the number of times a student has raised their hand for comment to their contribution in group discussions. I politely stated my concern for my limited role and potential disadvantage to my grade.

The professor replied sympathetically, thanking me for my feedback. But he gave me no real solution. His only suggestion — “embrace whatever comes — that is part of life and its richness.”

Despite the initial promise on a school brochure, stories of professors and tutors casually peppering in Cantonese words and expressions during classes were common. During one Politics tutorial, many of my questions were met with awkward pause or “I don’t quite understand” by a tutor who struggled to communicate in English. Still, I was fortunate that professors from my faculty — Journalism and Media Studies Centre — were fully English-proficient.

If HKU had at least given me a heads up about an apparent language barrier, I would have lowered my expectation or even made a different choice when picking the university. But this was not communicated at all, and it’s still not being communicated to many hopefuls wanting to join HKU around the world.

Unwelcomed

Immersing into HKU community proved to be more difficult than my studies. I joined Campus TV, the only student-run television station, in my freshman year with a few of my journalism classmates. We were told that we’re one of the first non-local batch to be accepted to the club.

We went through days of ‘jong’ training, sort of an initiation process for new members. Within a month, my non-local friends started leaving one by one as we sat through all-Cantonese meetings that lasted until 3am. Some local students sympathized with us, and together, we asked if the meetings can be held in English in the future. We put it to a vote, and won. However, ‘sheung jong,’ or the senior members of the club, simply annulled the result stating that everyone should stick to the “tradition.” I quit shortly afterwards.

I am joined by numerous non-local students who made brave but mostly vain attempts to integrate themselves to the unwelcoming school community. Almost all club posters are in Chinese, ostracizing most non-locals from joining their club. Some non-locals created their own clubs like International Society. Some retreated back to their own ethnic circle by creating their own exclusive gatherings — creating a vicious cycle of students interacting only within their own confined universe.

Fight or Flight

Non-locals in HKU face difficulties even in their own residence.

Due to Hong Kong’s lack of space and skyrocketing rent, securing a place in hall is incredibly competitive. Local and non-local students alike are forced to fight for a spot, but the demands always outnumber the supplies.

And that means the fall-out rate was, and is, especially severe among international students. Most halls are only required to accommodate one third of the vacancies with non-local students. Almost one fourth of undergraduate students were international students during last school year (2017–2018). Including undergraduate and postgraduate students, almost four out of ten students were international students.

It’s vital for non-local students to put in an extra effort in order to stay in university halls because they would have to pay a hefty rent to live outside.

Hong Kong is one of the most expensive cities in the world. The average monthly rent for one small bedroom near HKU ranges from $4000~ 6000 HKD ($509~763 USD) per month even with financial assistance from the school. Despite accepting thousands of international students, the only warning for lacking room supply by the university can be found on the official booklet in small letters — “Competition for hall places is keen.”

Even after securing a room, surviving in HKU halls is another challenge itself especially for non-local students. What is not communicated by the university prior to the entrance is that students have to climb the meritocracy ladder even for a small dorm room. For re-admission every year, students are evaluated based on their grade, participation in mandatory hall activities, and contribution to the hall, mainly in academic and athletic achievements. Despite a stellar achievement, a student might be denied a place due to limited quota.

Note various criteria such as GPA, teams, functions, leadership, etc.

Also, non-local students are frequently subjected to exclusion and discrimination while participating in required hall activities.

Non-locals were excluded, both unintentionally and intentionally. One of the mandatory activities at Lady Ho Tung hall, the residential hall that I stayed for three years, was a monthly 3-hour forum. All hall residents were required to sit through mind numbingly boring forums where student hall leaders talk everything and anything about the hall — from the recent sports competition results to getting new mattresses.

Me and my friends on our phone during the forum

However, these forums were fully saturated in Cantonese even though one third of the residents were non-local students. There was usually a couple of local students sitting in front of a computer attempting to translate flying Cantonese words into English, which often transformed into be a jumble of disconnected English words.

A jumble

When I joined the hall’s basketball team, the coach who was also a HKU student simply refused to talk to me and my other Korean teammate in English although he was entirely capable. He would talk in Cantonese to a local teammate next to me who would translate his messages. I dreaded going to the bi-weekly practice due to the fear of not understanding and the stress of feeling isolated and embarrassed.

Discriminatory and nonsensical hall practices are sugarcoated as “strong hall spirit” and “unique characteristics” on HKU booklet.

Xenophobia

In 2015, Lushan Ye, a HKU student from Mainland China, tried to run for a position in the Students’ Union. She soon became famous when the Campus TV (yes, the same club that basically pushed me out) “outed” her as an agent of Beijing. Ye was accused because she was a former Communist Youth League member. But what the campus media failed to highlight, or perhaps overlooked, is that almost all Mainland Chinese children join the Party affiliated organizations. Her candidacy was heavily criticized, and her quotes were taken out of context and got amplified by left-wing local media as an example of Beijing’s encroachment in Hong Kong. Ye’s cabinet lost the election.

Although as not as severe as what Ye had faced, I also encountered subtle versions of xenophobia on campus. For example, when I visited my friends at Lee Hysan Hall, I was shocked by an open memo at the pantry, crookedly written in Korean, warning not to steal food. The intended target audience was so obvious. When I expressed my outrage, my friend shrugged. “I don’t know why they would only write that in Korean but what can I do.”