China has one of the world’s oldest and richest culinary traditions, dating back thousands of years. Even today, food remains central to Chinese culture and society. Festivities such as the Chinese New Year are defined by symbolic dishes, meals with friends or colleagues are deeply social experiences, and even when pressed for time, China’s vibrant street food scene offers countless ways to satisfy one's appetite. For food lovers, China is nothing short of paradise. But just as China’s food culture is incredibly diverse and rich, so too is its academic landscape. And just as sharing a meal fosters connection, so does collaboration in research.
Over the past decade China has also garnered a bad reputation, making academic collaboration increasingly difficult, as my colleague Martin de Jong has already discussed in his blogpost “Fear of China”. We have been in the fortunate situation that over the past four years we have been actively engaged in a collaboration with several Chinese universities (Peking University, Hong Kong City University, Tongji University), and while we have not been able to visit them during the first part of the project due to lockdowns we finally made our first trip in May 2024, followed by a second trip in February 2025. It was during these trips that I developed what I can only describe as a hunger for China.
Even before joining the project, I had a keen interest in Chinese tea culture and was eager to experience Gong Fu Cha (the Chinese tea ceremony) firsthand. But I hadn’t yet realized just how vast and varied China’s food culture truly is. Traveling from north to south, I encountered the spicy Sichuan hotpot, the freshness of Cantonese cuisine, the subtle sweetness of Jiangsu dishes, and even the hearty flavors of Tibetan fare. Each region offers its own interpretation of what makes a great meal—different ingredients, techniques, and traditions coming together to create something unique.
The same can be said for research. Just as no single dish or regional tradition can define Chinese cuisine, no single perspective can define academic progress. The richness of knowledge comes from exchange—combining different ideas, disciplines, and cultures to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Yet, we find ourselves in an era where collaboration is increasingly restricted, and opportunities for intellectual exchange are being cut off.
During our meetings with Chinese colleagues, it became evident that they, too, are hungry—not just for food, but for partnerships, for the chance to exchange knowledge across borders and to contribute to a brighter future. We spoke with researchers eager to collaborate, to build bridges not only with the West but also with the Middle East and Africa. They are seeking ways to contribute to global conversations about urban policy, climate change, and technological ethics, yet their efforts are often met with hesitation, shaped by fear and political barriers.
These concerns are not baseless—China’s surveillance state and the treatment of the Uyghur minority are serious issues. And there have been cases of unwanted knowledge transfer and security breaches, we cannot and should not ignore. However, on the individual level, we encountered academics and researchers who are deeply aware of global challenges—environmental crises, ethical dilemmas, and human rights—and who are actively working to find solutions. They are eager to collaborate, to share knowledge, and to learn from others.
One striking example is a young researcher we met who works at the Harbin Institute of Technology in Shenzhen. Despite earning her PhD in the Netherlands, she now faces an almost insurmountable barrier: her university is blacklisted by nearly all European institutions, making it impossible for her to submit a joint Sino-Dutch grant proposal on urban policy—her area of expertise. Dutch universities, following unofficial guidelines, have cut off the possibility of collaboration, not based on her work or merit, but because of political decisions beyond her control.
This is as if, out of fear of contamination, we refuse to sit at the same table. We judge individual scholars by the actions of their governments, yet we seldom reflect on how such judgments might apply to us. Fear is leading the Western world to miss out on valuable intellectual nourishment. While there are legitimate reasons to be cautious of the Chinese government, should we not also scrutinize our own? The recent political shift to the right across Europe and the United States is deeply concerning. If this trend continues, we may find ourselves in a future where Chinese institutions question whether we are desirable partners at all.
Rather than allowing fear to dictate our choices, we should embrace our hunger—for knowledge, for exchange, and for solutions. Let us acknowledge the problems that exist on both sides and seek ways to address them together. During my time in China, I became particularly fond of the way meals are shared: a round table, a Lazy Susan at the center, filled with a variety of dishes for everyone to take as they please. This is how research should be: open, reciprocal, and inclusive. We may come to the table with different flavors, different ingredients, and different perspectives, but the meal is richer when everyone has a seat.
