I am your Chinese spy. Show me your cat.
Is this a brave new world for China-U.S. people-to-people exchanges?
Just yesterday, I woke up as an ordinary Xiaohongshu (RedNote) user—an innocent scroll through the app to catch up on China and the broader Chinese-speaking world. What I didn't expect was the sudden flood of "TikTok refugees," with their posts saying "Nihao," making their way to the shores of this genuinely Chinese app. The U.S. TikTokers, spooked by the impending TikTok ban over accusations of the app sharing their data with China, have found a new home in Xiaohongshu.
And what a scene it is! According to Reuters, over half a million TikTok exiles have already set up camp in Xiaohongshu, or literally, "Little Red Book"—an app whose name alone suggests a revolution in social media. What followed was nothing short of art—these fresh-faced American users, struggling with their translation software, producing Chinese translations that are less "fluent" and more "well-meaning but lost in translation."
I watched, mesmerised, as these new arrivals made valiant attempts to connect with the local Chinese community. The results were… priceless. What began as "Fellow TikTok refugees, let's do a follow-for-follow to find community" soon morphed into "I'm an American, ask me anything" and my personal favourite, "I have come to reunite with my Chinese spy. Please send me the popular memes in China."
It's like watching an international comedy show where the punchlines get lost in translation but everyone is still laughing, except they're not entirely sure why. Welcome to the new era of digital diplomacy, where everyone is trying to be at home in a place they don't quite understand, but hey, at least they brought cat memes.
Cat tax/dog tax/pet tax
It is a truth universally acknowledged that any American landing on the Plymouth Rock of a Chinese social media platform must, without fail, pay their dues. And by "dues," we mean their finest cat pictures—or dog pictures—or rabbits, birds, lizards, horses—even a picture of your plants could work as currency. These are the taxes of entering a new land, my friend.
And so, the typical exchange unfolds:
• "Hi, I am an American. I hope I can find my Chinese spy friend here."
• "Hi, I am your Chinese spy. Show me your cat." (Cue obligatory meme).
Like many online trends, one quite knows the origin of this cat tax, but the genius of it is that with this simple yet profound invention, the hesitant first steps of cultural interaction, the looming fear of offending one another, and even the fortress of security concerns, all crumble away—poof!—like dust swept by a playful breeze. Enter the TikTok refugee saga, a relentless barrage of absurdly hilarious images, quirky memes, and an avalanche of Chinese slang humour. Yes, the Americans are slowly diving into Mandarin—and thankfully, not beginning with curse words, but with NB (amazing), 666 (cool), 2333 (hahaha), and XSWL (lmao). Everybody is bouncing off the walls to join the frenzy, to be seen and heard in this symphony of the internet age.
Getting to like you; getting to hope you like me
Regulation concerns aside, if this current trajectory continues, I've got a hunch we're heading towards the greatest cultural exchange in decades.
So far, the glorious absurdity of these TikTok refugees has already accomplished something remarkable: it has made ordinary citizens in China and the U.S. actually talk to each other. Talk! Not just governments or diplomats in their sterile chambers, but real, living, breathing humans, who, despite their different languages, are saying the same thing: the timeless, primal desire for a better life. And isn't that what it's all about? Isn't that the shared humanity we all secretly yearn for? Beneath the layers of geopolitical noise and global theatre, that's the simple truth we all hold in common.
As I type these very words, it seems there's already an upgrade underway in the cultural exchange and mutual understanding between ordinary Chinese and Americans—and astonishingly, it's working both ways. The Chinese are asking: What do Americans have for breakfast? Wait—do you really wear your shoes to bed? Do you also struggle to buy a house? Meanwhile, Americans are wondering: Is there really only one time zone in China? How do Chinese girls get over breakups? Where do you go shopping? Hold on—you guys have Walmart? And please tell us how you make fun of us.
It's a lively spectacle that somehow manages to stir a feeling of… I don't know… tenderness? An improbable connection, yet it awakens something deep within, like witnessing two kindred souls stumbling upon a rare, beautiful moment of mutual understanding and wondering: what was it that kept them apart for so long?
Oh brave new world that has such people in’t
Gen Z and Gen X were raised during the "global village" era, a time when ideals held that skin colour, race, and nationality were mere footnotes in the vast, interconnected world. Everyone, it seemed, was a citizen of the same planet, breathing in the same optimistic air, with the belief that world peace was just a handshake away. The dream of "global unity" wasn't just some fanciful utopia—it was almost believable.
But, as fate would have it, they grew up to find themselves not in a harmonious world, but in the very heart of a fragmented battlefield. Unilateralism, hegemonic politics, ethnic strife, biological warfare, financial exploitation, racial prejudice, rampant conspiracy theories, a widening income gap—The list is endless, and growing by the second. In this grand, often savage, narrative of history, the common folk are but tiny specks in a roaring storm—whipped about by forces they can scarcely grasp.
Of course, I've been thoroughly excited these past couple of days, and I must apologise if my enthusiasm occasionally colours my observations. But, honestly, watching people from China and the U.S.—regardless of profession or hobbies—connect, form friendships, build communities, and all of it happening without any barriers, as we share the same boundless internet… It's enough to make you feel something profound. As I reflect on it all, I can't help but ask: Is this what the world is always meant to be like? Or, as Miranda so aptly exclaims in The Tempest:
‘Oh wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! Oh brave new world,
That has such people in’t.’The Tempest - Act 5, scene 1