Life after expulsion: The human cost of US action

It started like any other Friday afternoon. As usual I was editing stories and publishing them on the website of China Daily. Suddenly, my team leader asked me into a meeting room and said he had something to tell me.

I thought it was an assignment, but it turned out to be an expulsion. I had to go back to China in two weeks.

It was like a cliché movie plot. I was shocked and stared at him with tears in my eyes and struggled to stop them from falling. I couldn't hear anything he said to me, because I was still processing the news.

This was just six months after I came to the US branch of China Daily, which is located in New York City. I would have stayed there another one and a half years if the Trump administration had not announced it would reduce the number of Chinese nationals working at five Chinese media outlets in the US from 160 to 100. This in effect means 60 Chinese employees had to leave, or were forced back to China.

There were signs of this escalation earlier, when the administration designated the same five media outlets as "foreign missions", but I never thought I would be expelled, and not in a such a short time.

I report on or edit stories by and about other people every day. But on that day I was part of the story, one of the 60 being sent away.

My right to report stories was being suppressed in the so-called "land of the free", without having done anything wrong.

I was upset not just for me, but also for my Chinese co-workers, who faced the same situation I did.

When I came back home and fell into bed, digesting the whole thing while browsing my phone, a video caught my eye. It was made by Judy Zhu, one of my colleagues who had to leave the office she had occupied for four years. She used video to document her experience.

In the first scene, she climbs on an empty desk under the large logo of China Daily USA, waving her hands to say goodbye with a usual big smile. But in close-up, we see her red eyes, and she says she was "confused, doubtful, sad and helpless."

Her video ended with a song called Don't Worry, sung by her and another co-worker who was in the same situation.

As I listened, I worried what would happen when the voices of others like Judy, who have valuable perspectives to share with the world, are threatened just because of their nationality.

I am afraid in these circumstances existing misunderstandings between China and the US, two very different countries, would intensify. The restrictions on Chinese media and journalists narrow the channels in which the two countries can learn about each other and find common areas for cooperation.

My worries haven't faded two months after my return to China. May 8 was a repeat of the "unforgettable" Friday, as the US Department of Homeland Security said Chinese journalists working for non-American news outlets would be limited to 90-day work visas.

As we see, more journalists have become involved. I have no way to improve the deteriorating situation for Chinese media workers in the US, other than hoping we will be able to do our jobs.

On the day before I and my colleague left for Beijing, we strolled on the road near the cute house we should have lived in for another one and a half years, talking with frustration and laughter about the past six months, the expectations we'd had and the sudden change.

Sad, right? But the worst part was with COVID-19 spreading in New York, all staff in our office were advised to work from home beginning next week, which meant I had no chance to say goodbye to many colleagues in person.

Thinking back on my story, I have something to say to my team leader: "After COVID-19 passes and you can work at the office again, please take care of the things on my desk. I hope I could come back to use them again."