My uncle asked in a recent email what my “thoughts were about the unrest in Tibet.” The simple question swung open a window into the furious tangle of impressions and ideas in my mind – the hours of articles, videos, blogs, and discussions; the facts layered upon emotion upon argument upon belief; the doubt and the fear and the surprise and the hope. It whipped itself out of control out there and (almost before I knew what was happening) in me as well. I felt as if I was being tossed about on this sea of clashing worldviews, mocked in my efforts to carve out conclusions.

Like many people in the “west,” I started out with an assumption that on March 14 the holy people of Tibet were finally crying out against the injustice of decades of political and cultural oppression by the Chinese government. There were, of course, pieces of truth in that, but the waters of “truth” muddied just two or three days in, when the peaceful protests became violent riots. Then the accusations of a “western media bias” (which have always been there) started to grow louder, and I found myself suddenly unsure of everything I thought I knew.

I was shocked at the reports of women and children being beaten by angry mobs, and I was shocked at my shock, at the growing realization that my culturally-based prejudices had indeed biased my assumptions. I began to see with slightly-Chinese eyes the way that stories in the Western news were as carefully pieced together (if in much subtler ways) as those coming out of the state-run news sources here, leaning toward their own bias. I began to wonder how I was going to go about defending China.

So it was a relief of sorts when the large majority of Chinese activists careened out of control too, when they themselves abandoned reason and compassion and by doing so compromised their moral argument. I stopped asking myself how I was going to speak for them, and started asking myself why I have to keep relearning that truth is not black and white, that good and bad are not out there but in all of us.

There has been, and still is, a strong anti-China bias coming out of the west, and it is scary. It’s scary that I still find it in myself, even after seeing with my own eyes all the good that Chinese culture and people (and yes, even the government) have to offer to the world. It’s scary that I catch myself looking for bad news (and feeling glad, self-satisfied when I find it?). It’s scary that it sometimes takes a leap of faith to trust in the abilities and intentions not just of the Chinese government, but of my coworkers.

There is also a strong nationalism in China, and it is scary. It’s scary that “being Chinese” can trump a whole lot of other things, including your knowledge of the gray area in your own government’s claims of goodness. It’s scary that people who know me well make broad sweeping statements that condemn “the west”.

It’s even more scary when any group decides its message, whether it is “Free Tibet!” or “I Love China!”, is so important, so RIGHT, that any means - exaggeration of the facts, condemnation and belittling of the other side, hate, or even physical violence - are justified. The more extreme they talk, though, the easier it is for me to dismiss them, and the messages they bring. Good for my mental health, not so good for getting anywhere in dialogue.