China is an underrated paradise for rock climbing

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Here in the United States, I watched the same phenomenon unfold. I was born and raised in Beijing, where I spent most of my life until I came to New York to attend journalism school in 2018. At the end of February of this year, my thread d news on social networks began to be enriched with news of disturbing incidents. who looked like me were yelled at, spat at, even stabbed for wearing masks, standing in a subway station or shopping in pharmacies.

Part of me wasn’t surprised. One June evening in Manhattan, shortly after graduating in 2019 and several months before I even heard of the coronavirus, I was stretching after a jog along the Hudson River when I felt a violent sudden blow to the back of the head. Coupled with pain, the only word I heard from the screaming and cursing white cyclist that hit me – probably with his fist – was “Chinese.” From that point on, I mostly exercised indoors until I moved to Santa Fe for my scholarship. Outside. On my first few hikes in the mountains around Santa Fe, I could feel the cold in my spine whenever I passed a white stranger.

Yet, living in the high desert of New Mexico when the novel coronavirus arrived in the United States, I initially felt isolated from much of the growing anti-Asian racism. But on March 6, I wrote a story about the coronavirus for the New York Times. Almost immediately, several hateful emails popped up in my inbox, including messages such as, “You f-king zipper heads eat whatever moves.” I hope you all die, fucking king, ”and worse. On March 16, my first day of working from home, my landlord teased me that COVID-19 was “normal flu” and wouldn’t last long because it was “made in China.” (I managed to move in a month.)

My frustration peaked when the racists and xenophobes got the highest approval possible. That afternoon, the President of the United States, for the first time, tweeted about the “Chinese virus” and then repeated the phrase in daily briefings for a week, despite an almost immediate outcry that his comments would fuel racism against East Asians and Asian Americans. More than 2,100 anti-Asian hate incidents have been reported across the country since March, according to the Asian Pacific Policy and Planning Council, an advocacy group based in Los Angeles.

Navigating the suffocating and at times racist-laden pandemic news cycle – in a locked state with a 2% Asian population and hardly any compatriots – I have battled my fears and fury mostly on my own. Over time, reading Dobie’s social media posts and having sporadic conversations with him and Pautler have become a source of solace. Although most of the resident foreign climbers fled China in late January, they remained in Liming.

“The wet market you don’t see in North America is behind Safeway’s meat counter and cattle slaughterhouses (that’s where H1N1 comes from),” Dobie said on Facebook in mid-April. . “Create and convince [Trump’s] devotees, this hate program is downright disgusting. Dobie’s posts sparked heated discussions between him and his friends.

“People who call it a Chinese virus are racist and have been very passionately brainwashed to justify their hatred of China, which has been a theme since the Trump years,” Dobie wrote to me on WeChat. He vowed to continue promoting Liming, the peaceful, off-the-beaten-path romance he loved. He hoped that at least in his circles, seeing the beauty of these mountains could dampen bigotry against China and Asian faces. “Our articles on Liming show that China is not just a country where people are oppressed,” he added.