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Jiayang Fan

Jiayang Fan

Staff Writer at The New Yorker

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Influence score
73
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Location
United States
Languages
  • English
Covering topics
  • China
  • Entertainment
  • Politics

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Recent Articles

newyorker.com

China's Struggles with Hospice Care - The New Yorker

Zhixia dutifully took the pills, but after a few months the lump was still there, so Sulin accompanied her to a hospital in Yangquan, a nearby industrial city of 1.5 million people. The doctors said that she needed immediate surgery. As is typical with dire diagnoses in China, they did not tell Zhixia that she had breast cancer, informing only her mother. Sulin, in turn, assured her daughter that the growth was benign. After the operation, a biopsy revealed that the cancer had spread. The doctor…
newyorker.com

Telling the Stories of the Protests Here and in Hong Kong

A week ago, as helicopters buzzed above my Harlem apartment and police lights glided across my window, I scrolled through image upon image that I had captured on my phone of men and women in masks facing off against police in riot gear. Nine months earlier, when I posted similar images from Hong Kong, friends and colleagues here who had known the city as a gleaming, orderly metropolis expressed their shock. What compels a city to erupt? This, of course, is the question that I was sent to answer.…
newyorker.com

China’s Arrest of a Free-Speech Icon Backfires in Hong Kong

On Monday morning, Lai, who is seventy-two, was taken into police custody at his home on Kowloon and later paraded, in handcuffs, through the newsroom of Apple Daily, where I had interviewed him a year earlier. Among the nine others arrested across the city that day were Agnes Chow, the twenty-three-year-old democracy activist, Lai’s two sons, and four executives of Lai’s media company, Next Digital, which publishes Apple Daily. The ostensible charge against Lai is “collusion with a foreign coun…
newyorker.com

Chronicles of a Bubble-Tea Addict

Boba and I spent our adolescence as scrappy, enterprising immigrants at America’s periphery. For a new generation, it’s a ubiquitous, Instagram-friendly mark of Asian identity.
newyorker.com

The Atlanta Shooting and the Dehumanizing of Asian Women

To live through this period as an Asian-American is to feel trapped in an American tragedy while being denied the legitimacy of being an American.
newyorker.com

The Gatekeepers Who Get to Decide What Food Is “Disgusting”

At the Disgusting Food Museum, in Sweden, where visitors are served dishes such as fermented shark and stinky tofu, I felt both like a tourist and like one of the exhibits.
newyorker.com

An Understanding of Millennial Asian Taste, at Hupo

The Sichuanese restaurant in Long Island City offers drink specialties including brown-sugar milk tea and an Uji-matcha latte, as well as such solid culinary standbys as Chongqing roasted fish and braised-beef noodle soup.
newyorker.com

Asian American Women Fight Back

At a self-defense class in New York after the latest anti-Asian attack, one student said, “I feel like I have an army of sisters.”
newyorker.com

How Dissent Grows in China

The protests of recent weeks carry an echo, and a warning, from the Maoist era.
newyorker.com

An Extravagant Filipino-French Menu at Justine's on Hudson - The Ne...

In a way, Justine’s—named for its proprietor, the daughter of the famous Upper East Side wine importer Neal Rosenthal—harks to a different era, when the economy was a little more flush and overt extravagance a touch less gauche. But, then again, in 2023 even an upscale bistro where bottles average around a hundred and fifty dollars feels, well, very 2023. On a recent evening, a genial if slightly harried-looking waiter apologized that there’s no longer a sommelier on staff and that the cheapest…
newyorker.com

In Search of Lost Flavors in Flushing

Of course, many people make it twice a day, five or even six days a week. I encountered one of those people after boarding the 7 at Grand Central one day in early March. It was a little after 6 P.M. and I had nabbed a seat toward the rear of what turned out to be a local train. I can never remember which shape—circle or diamond—denotes the express, and the difference wouldn’t have registered immediately if I hadn’t heard a sharp intake of breath next to me, followed by a quiet but audibly exaspe…