So much misunderstanding between China and the U.S. occurs around truth and trust. In their more candid moments, Americans will often share with me that the Chinese are "inscrutable" and "dishonest." If that's our starting point, it's predictable that we will either fail, or be miserable in whatever small successes we can gain.

Today we begin a series on truth and trust. The starting point is a something I experienced my first year in China.

It was early spring, 1992. I had been in Qiqihar, in the frozen Northeast (Heilongjiang Province), teaching English since September. Partaking of the local custom of a mid-day nap, I awoke to a knock at the door of my dorm-style “foreign expert” apartment at Qiqihar Light Industry Institute. I was annoyed that they kept knocking. I ignored them and went back to sleep. I awoke again, seemingly a minute later, to find two men in my bedroom — two men I’d never met. They spoke to me in Chinese — an oddity, since everyone I knew at the Institute spoke to me in English. My Chinese wasn’t so good yet, so it took me a while to figure out what they were saying. It turns out they were informing me that my “English Corner” class would not be held that evening because of an “activity.” I was puzzled, but mostly sleepy, and even a bit tickled that I wouldn't have to prepare.

Once fully awake, though, I went over it again. The whole thing had a sinister feel. I had been through some difficulties with the Institute's administration throughout the year. (I found out years later that some of the leaders had thought I was a spy.) I decided to show up for my class anyway and see what happened.

I got there a few minutes early. The previous class hadn’t yet let out. Before long I spied a few officials — some of whom I’d met, some of whom just looked vaguely familiar — huddling together, talking in hushed tones, looking at me out of the corners of their eyes. They seemed to be scrambling. Whatever plans they’d had — surely, my 23-year-old brain thought, some sort of "education" session about the perils of associating with foreigners — might be in jeopardy. Truth on my side, I was the picture of smugness.

My showing up early worked. The officials disbanded and left. English Corner happened as originally scheduled. I was determined to tell the whole truth to my students about what their evil leaders had perpetrated: an elaborate lie, to try to manipulate their naïve minds into…I didn’t even know. Something dark and hopeless, for certain. I expected to be treated as a hero, a liberator, as truth-tellers are meant to be treated.

What I got, rather, was chuckles, mostly — as if I were the naïve one. What’s the big deal? they asked. This kind of thing happens all the time. No problem. Just part of life. Don’t let it bother you.

I thought: How could they? How could they brush off my pure-hearted attempt to save them from abuse at the hands of their leaders? They had lied to me. Did that count for nothing?

My story is extreme. At the same time, something akin to it — dismay at what Americans would call "lying" — happens frequently with Americans in China. We'll spend the next few posts looking into this.