Blocked by the Great Firewall

“Could I have your passenger number for this flight?” asked a polite airline check-in assistant at a busy international airport in China. Typically a passport would suffice, yet because I booked the ticket through the U.S.-based travel site Kayak.com, the airline claimed my passport wasn’t connected to my ticket.

I pulled out my iPhone and tapped on the Gmail app to find my flight confirmation email, but the words “Could not reach server” greeted me instead. Whoops, I forgot I was in China, where all Google products are banned. The woman directed me to a long line, and as I waited, I hastily called my mother on Skype (which is not blocked in China) for the passenger number. I reached the desk with number in hand—only for the agent to tell my friend and me we were too late. We needed to check in 45 minutes before takeoff, and we missed the deadline by a few minutes.

That day, China’s “Great Firewall” proved costly: After a frustrating hourlong phone call to the airline company, we booked a new flight for $50 each and had to stay an extra night in Shanghai without compensation.

While China’s internet censorship aims to shield its citizens’ eyes from “dangerous” Western ideals, it’s also a headache for foreigners traveling in China. In 2015, more than 2 million Americans visited China to climb the literal Great Wall and scarf down fragrant roasted Peking duck. Yet it’s difficult to enter into the everyday world of the Chinese—one that revolves around the all-in-one app WeChat. The Chinese government has accomplished the impossible: isolate a country of 1.35 billion in an era of globalization and connectivity.

It’s difficult to enter into the everyday world of the Chinese—one that revolves around the all-in-one app WeChat.

Whenever I enter China, my most-used apps are instantly useless. I can’t make Google searches, check my Gmail, find the right street on Google Maps, or decipher Chinese on Google Translate. While waiting for the subway train, I have no Facebook to scroll through, no Instagram to tap, no Twitter to reply to. YouTube, Snapchat, and news sites such as The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal also won’t load. A silver lining to the restrictions is that I’m not staring at my ever-present screen before bed.

But most Chinese people don’t notice what they’re missing. Chinese companies have created their own copycat websites. Instead of Twitter, there’s Weibo. Instead of Google, Baidu. Instead of YouTube, Youku. And then there’s WeChat, the undisputed king of apps.

When meeting new friends in China, no one gives me his email address or even his phone number anymore. Instead they ask to scan my WeChat QR code, which adds me to their contacts so we can message, make calls, or video chat. Contacts can view your public posts—links to articles, videos of smiling babies, selfies—just like a Facebook feed. WeChat has decimated the need for any other messaging app with its more than 1 billion accounts and 700 million active users.

More than a social networking space, WeChat includes an e-wallet that lets users pay for physical goods (with the scan of the QR code), pay electric bills, donate to charities, and shop online. I found the app helpful in my own travels through China: After visiting with a friend in the outskirts of one town, I fretted over how I would find my way home. My friend opened his WeChat app, pressed a button, and within five minutes a cab arrived at the curb. The cab automatically deducted the fare using WeChat Payment, and I handed my friend the corresponding cash.

Another time, I told a friend I had run out of minutes on my prepaid phone card. Typically, adding minutes required finding a China Mobile storefront, taking a number, and waiting in a long line before finally adding the money. Yet my friend merely clicked a button on his WeChat app, entered my phone number, and within seconds added $10 worth of minutes to my phone.

Although I downloaded WeChat on my phone, the English version lacks many features of the original. I can still message, subscribe to public accounts (like an RSS feed), and view my friends’ posts; but I can’t access the e-wallet, send money, buy plane tickets, or add minutes to my phone.

The result is a feeling of FOMO (“fear of missing out”). In China, I’m locked out of much of the Chinese world, an outsider looking in. Once outside China, it takes a conscious effort to open the WeChat app to chat or keep up with friends’ posts, since they’re not on any of my typical social media channels. Over time, without any overlap in our digital presence, communication fades.

Which, I suppose, is the whole purpose of the Great Firewall: to keep its people in and unwanted foreigners, like me, out.