China's English teaching industry has been a magnet for expats looking to trade in their 9-to-5 jobs back home, but beneath the surface of this lucrative market lies a complex web of stereotypes and misconceptions. As I sat sipping baijiu with fellow expat friends at a local karaoke bar, one guy quipped, "Only losers leave their comfy lives abroad to teach English in China." His joke hung awkwardly in the air as we all knew someone who'd made that very decision.I recall meeting an old colleague from university back in New York. She was working for some big corporation and making a decent six-figure salary when I ran into her at a restaurant in Beijing. It turned out she had left behind it all to teach English at a private school, saying the pay and benefits were better here than what she'd have gotten stateside.
Some might argue that teaching English in China is an easy way out – "a fallback career option for those who can't hack it back home." But this narrative doesn't add up. Many of us I know who teach English are highly educated individuals with impressive CVs, often from Western countries where job opportunities may be scarce or overly competitive.
However, there's more to the stereotype than just a simple case of "us versus them." The idea that foreigners come here because they can’t cut it elsewhere is fueled in part by our own social media obsession – we broadcast every misstep and regretful decision online for all to see. When someone does indeed fail as an English teacher, their embarrassing experience becomes public fodder for the rest of us who seem more successful.
This perception also speaks volumes about China itself: a country where many locals still view foreigners with skepticism and distrust. Some Chinese people genuinely believe that foreign teachers are here solely on the charity or benevolence of our respective governments – not as paid professionals, but rather as representatives of their countries' goodwill. When these misconceptions collide with reality, it can lead to some pretty amusing moments, like when a local parent approached me at an open house and said in broken English, "You come teach us kids because you want help China? We thank you!"
There are also those who think that teaching English is somehow beneath their dignity. A colleague confided once: "I was initially hesitant to become an EFL teacher – I figured it would be too...pedestrian for my qualifications." This kind of elitism, though misguided and narrow-minded, underscores the broader societal stigma surrounding our profession.
And what about those who teach English because they genuinely want to make a difference? Don't their motivations count either?
For instance, some might argue that expat English teachers are all just "privileged Westerners" looking for cheap thrills in China. But there's another perspective – one where we're actually doing our part to level the playing field between East and West by spreading education, bridging cultural gaps, and contributing positively to Chinese society. Perhaps it’s time to retire these tired old labels? As I pondered this while walking through Beijing with my young students in tow, a little girl suddenly asked me if she could be president of China when she grew up – a spark of determination that made the whole debate feel rather trivial by comparison.
While many locals see our profession as less than desirable, others view us as heroes: men and women willing to adapt and thrive in this vast cultural melting pot for years on end. And let's not forget that some expat English teachers become local influencers – people who've grown roots here despite initial intentions of only being temporary residents.
My friend has written multiple bestselling books about his adventures teaching abroad, while another colleague created an award-winning podcast centered around China and its culture. While
Add a Comment
