In the Minority: Manchus, The Last Emperors
By Dominique Wong
Additional reporting by Emma Huang
Images by Holly Li
For this month’s cover story we met with individuals from Beijing’s three largest non-Han groups: Manchu, Hui and Mongol, which between them make up more than four-fifths of Beijing’s ethnic minority population. In Part I of this three-part series, we took an in-depth look at the Hui community in Xicheng district. In Part II we profile the Manchu community.
“I have a Manchu name. If you were Chinese, you’d be able to tell right away,” Fucha Danqing says matter-of-factly.
Painter, teacher, laobejing… Fucha Danqing has many titles, including, as his name clearly points out, Manchu.
A name is a calling card but holds particular significance for Manchus, the fourth-largest ethnic minority in China. The past century has seen both denial of ancestry and, more recently, reclamation of it.
Known as the last imperial rulers of China, Manchus ruled as the Qing dynasty for over 250 years, until 1912. They are descendants of the Jurchen tribe, which itself established the Jin dynasty (1115-1234). Originally from Northeast China, Manchus are now spread throughout the country with about half of the population living in Liaoning province.
There are over 10 million Manchus living in China, with Beijing home to over 100,000 of them. But it is hard to pinpoint the exact number, as many ethnic Manchus choose to officially identify as Han, due to the stigma of being associated with imperialism in post-Qing China.
Current popular opinion dictates that Manchus have effectively been assimilated into the Han population, with their language all but dead. But what do Beijing’s Manchus think of this assertion? And what does it mean to be Manchu in today’s China?
Artist Fucha Danqing paints a hutong landcape.
We meet Fucha Danqing for tea on a hot, muggy day in April. It’s a national holiday – the perfect opportunity for him to take a break from his usual solitary days painting hutong landscapes – and yet he still wants to talk shop.
But our feature is about your ethnic identity and the Manchu community in Beijing, we explain.
“I don’t see it as being that interesting. I feel like painting is a better topic,” he offers.
He eventually answers our questions, because, as Fucha explains: “Every Manchu has the responsibility to preserve our culture.”
And so Fucha tells us about his people’s history as well as his own ancestry. “My family members are all Manchu. But our genealogy book is lost, so I don’t know what clan my ancestors belonged to.”
While proud of his background, it's clear that ethnicity isn't a defining factor. Rather, Fucha strives to exist outside of his ethnic origin. He explains: “I don’t feel different because of it. Most of my friends are Han. I think that preserving ethnic identity is good because it encourages cultural diversity. But I don’t want to depend on [affirmative action] policies giving us advantage – I want to rely on my own efforts.”
When asked whether he feels the need to marry another Manchu, Fucha replies: “I used to think I would, but I realized it’s too hard. Cases like my parents are rare – most of my aunts and uncles have married non-Manchus.”
Rare, but not unheard of, as we discover when we meet Fucha Nergi (no relation to Fucha Danqing). Both Nergi and her husband are Manchu and together they are awaiting the birth of their first child. “My husband can speak a little Manchu language, but I think our child will definitely be able to,” she tells us.
The founder of an online Manchu language group, Nergi is a keen advocate of Manchu learning. One of her ancestors was a general during the reign of Nurhaci, the Jurchen chieftain who united various tribes and is generally credited with establishing the language’s written script.
Guan Junmin displays traditional Manchu-style pipes and tobacco. Also pictured: Manchu script written by Fucha Nergi.
Nergi began teaching written Manchu via QQ two years ago. “It started small, with just a few Manchu friends, but others became interested so I opened it up to more people. I thought it was necessary to help others embrace their heritage and preserve the language.”
Her students come from all around the world and are aged from 15 to over 50, she says. “The majority of my students have a strong sense of ethnic identity. They feel it would be a shame not to learn the language of their own ethnic group.”
Recent years have seen a Manchu-language revival, with regional governments endorsing classes, and small groups of enthusiasts popping up around the country. But it’s a struggle cultivating a language whose use is more academic than practical.
Nergi sees the problems as two-fold due to the lack of suitable locations and the low-quality of teachers.
“Some of the teachers aren’t professional; they make mistakes,” she laments, although this is unsurprising given how few native Manchu speakers remain – 10, according to UNESCO data. (Nergi was lucky to be taught by a man whose teachers shared tutors with the last emperor Puyi.)
Not everyone views language as the cornerstone of culture. For example, Fucha, the artist, says: “Language isn’t the most important form of cultural heritage. Even in the Qing dynasty, people didn’t speak it. It was a tool for communication, but now it’s mainly used for cultural and historical studies. Loss of language doesn’t mean the disappearance of Manchu – the blood is still there.”
Manchu culture lives on in other ways. Elements of it are present in Chinese society today – the qipao derives from Manchu gowns, for instance – while Manchu groups meet regularly in Beijing to educate those who are interested.
Culture enthusiast Fu Decheng organizes weekly events for local Manchus with his friends. Regular events include lectures about Manchu society, archery, social get-togethers and festival celebrations such as the Banjin Festival. Commemorated on the 13th day of the 10th month in the lunar calendar, the holiday celebrates the so-called “birth of Manchu.”
Yehenala Yutong wears traditional Manchu dress in his art studio
We meet Fu at a gathering held at his friend's studio. A large painting of Qianlong Emperor, a ruler of the Qing dynasty during its most prosperous era, looks down upon the group serenely as they laugh and share stories.
Fu says: “Every year we celebrate Banjin, and if there are events or exhibitions about Manchus, we will all visit them together. Sometimes we even go to Northeast China to take part in local festivals.”
The group admits that the dilution of particular traditions is inevitable, referencing the large number of Manchus who adopted Han names in the 20th century due to social stigmas, such as being seen as ‘imperialists.’ “But now many parents have changed their children’s names back to their original ones,” Fu adds.
“Many people assume that Manchu is now a part of Han but to us, there are huge differences, in terms of customs, languages and so on,” he continues.
These sentiments are echoed by all of the people we speak to. Teacher Nergi tells us: “I see our soft culture as being quite different to Han – we view things differently. We tend to be more fair and don’t like to pick on the underdog.”
Guo Yan, a passionate and earnest young man at Fu's gathering, says: “Assimilation is a natural process. But cultural heritage must be protected. This shouldn’t be hard because there are always people who are interested in it.”
As if to reiterate the point, the group cheerfully dresses up in traditional Manchu clothing for our photo shoot. Posing nobly, they are wearing their history on their sleeves, although they are careful not to let it suffocate them.
“We choose to live in the present, instead of in the glory of our ancestors,” Fu says pragmatically.
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