Visualizing Prejudice: Australian Cartoon Focused on Attacking Chinese Men and White Women’s Relationship, c.1870–1888

By Harry Jiandang Tan (谈建党)

Abstract

This article analyses a significant series of cartoons published in Australia since the 1870s that targeted relationships between Chinese men and White women, frequently casting Chinese men as morally corrupt figures. Iconic works such as Thomas Selby Cousins’s Christian Mothers Selling Their Daughters to the Chinese, Phil May’s Mr. & Mrs. Sin Fat and The Mongolian Octopus became central to anti-Chinese visual rhetoric, employing exaggerated themes of immorality to incite public fear and deepen racial prejudice. Through systematically crafted symbols and visual narratives, these cartoons portrayed Chinese individuals as a societal menace, fostering racial hostility and embedding anti-Chinese sentiment within Australian society. The symbols employed in these works functioned as powerful tools of visual propaganda, inciting prejudice and framing exclusionary policies against Chinese laborers as moral imperatives. This study situates these cartoons and their creators within the broader context of Australian political history, examining the evolution of anti-Chinese visual icons, the narratives that supported them, and the ideological foundations they established for subsequent anti-Chinese political discourse. The analysis highlights how these cartoons contributed to a foundational racist ideology, shaping public attitudes and legitimizing policy measures aimed at excluding Chinese communities in nineteenth-century Australia.

Keywords

Nineteenth-Century Western anti-Chinese cartoons, the relationship between Chinese men and White women, racism and nationalism, Chinese portrayal, and the most scandalous and racist cartoon ever to grace the Australian media.

Introduction

The study of nineteenth-century Western anti-Chinese cartoons has often centered on themes of British colonialism, the Opium Wars, and Western nations’ relationships with Qing-China, as explored in recent works by Amy Matthewson (2022), Joe Sample (2022), and others. In Australian and American contexts, researchers like Ian Welch (2003) and Michele Walfred (2014) have examined anti-Chinese attitudes in these cartoons connected to Chinese labor in Australia and the political debates over Chinese immigration in the United States. These studies provide a crucial backdrop, yet they rarely consider the distinct, targeted visual and narrative strategies used in Australian anti-Chinese cartoons, particularly those aimed at the relationships between Chinese men and White women–a focal point almost exclusive to Western or Australia’s anti-Chinese cartoon discourse. This article aims to explore this underexamined aspect, showing how Australian cartoons evolved from satire to outright hostility, creating a unique visual lexicon of racial and gendered aggression.

The scholarly foundation on nineteenth-century anti-Chinese cartoons was laid by early researchers like Jonathan King (1976), Suzanne Fabian (1982), and Mark Bryant (2008), whose works opened up the field. More recent contributions by Sylvia Lawson (2006), Rudolf Wagner (2011), Michele Walfred (2014), Zhang Wenxian (张文献, 2018), Amy Matthewson (2022) and Harry Jiandang Tan (谈建党, 2022) have enriched our understanding by analyzing these cartoons’ social contexts, visual features, and their broader impact on Western perceptions of Chinese culture. While this research has laid essential theoretical groundwork, much of it treats anti-Chinese cartoons as a homogeneous whole, overlooking nation-specific nuances and evolving visual symbols. This article thus contributes to this field by focusing on a particular series of Australian cartoons that uniquely addresses the Chinese male–White female relationship, marking a significant development stage in Australian anti-Chinese visual propaganda.

Pinto and Mustaffa (2022) argue that the visual rhetoric of metaphor, symbolism, and exaggeration is central to shaping public perceptions. Applying this framework, the exaggerated depiction of Chinese figures in anti-Chinese cartoons serves multiple rhetorical purposes. Physical distortions, such as obesity and grotesque facial features, are deliberate choices that amplify existing stereotypes to evoke ridicule and disdain. These techniques simultaneously critique and dehumanize the Chinese community while reinforcing xenophobic narratives. Pinto and Mustaffa emphasize that understanding these rhetorical components enhances the persuasiveness of visual arguments. They note, “Each cartoon is created by its portrayal of the country’s social, economic, and political institutions. It symbolizes both the seen and the unseen, and it offers insights and meanings that go beyond the literal, producing meaning based on real-life conditions and allowing for different interpretations” (Pinto and Mustaffa 267). By intentionally selecting visual elements such as scenes, characters, costumes, and environments, cartoonists construct narratives that evoke specific emotions and critique societal issues. These rhetorical tools make cartoons a powerful medium for shaping public opinion and reinforcing cultural norms.

Applying Pinto and Mustaffa’s framework, Harry Jiandang Tan’s 2022 study provides the first comprehensive analysis of Chinese portrayals nineteenth-century Western anti-Chinese cartoons, positioning these depictions as central to the evolution of Western political satire. Tan asserts that these portrayals were not passive images but deliberately crafted visual tools, employing metaphors and symbolism to portray the Chinese as alien and to publicly deny them equal rights. These Chinese portrayals, he argues, were integral to the political weaponization of satire, contributing to a broader culture of discrimination and exclusion in Western societies. Tan underscores that a nuanced understanding of these cartoons requires examining their broader social, cultural, and political contexts, alongside the human traits, cultural attributes, and clothing used by Western cartoonists to depict the Chinese.

Tan’s study aligns closely with Pinto and Mustaffa’s observations, illustrating how visual rhetoric in anti-Chinese cartoons relied heavily on metaphorical and symbolic elements. He identifies two primary categories of Chinese portrayals: those rooted in authentic cultural markers—such as braids, traditional hats, and clothing—and those distorted by Western cartoonists, who often depicted Chinese individuals as obese, opium addicts, backward, and ignorant. These visual exaggerations reinforced the metaphor of the Chinese as “the other,” amplifying stereotypes that justified exclusionary policies. By intentionally crafting these dual portrayals, cartoonists employed symbolism and exaggeration to visually construct a narrative of inferiority, reinforcing Western perceptions of cultural and racial superiority. Tan further argues that these Chinese portrayals were not ornamental or secondary elements but fundamental components of nineteenth-century anti-Chinese visual discourse. By employing rhetorical techniques rooted in metaphor and exaggeration, Western cartoonists created a visual vocabulary that simultaneously critiqued societal issues and perpetuated public biases against Chinese communities. The deliberate use of cultural and symbolic elements in these portrayals was integral to shaping societal attitudes, serving as tools of political critique and legitimizing exclusionary practices.

This integration of Pinto and Mustaffa’s concept into Tan’s argument underscores the dual role of political cartoons as instruments of critique and bias. Cartoons, such as those published in Australia, focusing on the relationship of Chinese men and White women exemplify how visual rhetoric operated to influence public opinion and reinforce cultural hierarchies. Through a blend of symbolism, historical distortion, and exaggeration, these cartoons reflected and actively aided/constructed societal prejudices, revealing the enduring power of visual rhetoric in shaping political and cultural discourse.

In Australia, scholars like Suzanne Fabian, Ian Welch, Kate Bagnall, Sophie Loy-Wilson, and Sylvia Lawson have examined the relationships between Chinese men and White women, noting the strong societal resistance and moral condemnation directed at such relationships. Fabian (1982) highlights the moral outrage against Chinese men associating with White women, noting that these associations were considered socially unacceptable even decades later. However, Fabian does not identify these cartoons as a distinct series targeting this theme. Lawson (2006), in her seminal analysis of Phil May’s iconic The Mongolian Octopus—His Grip on Australia (1886)—“the most scandalous and racist cartoon ever to grace the Australian media” (The Canberra Times, 27 August 1986, 17), underscores the virulent anti-Chinese sentiment embedded in Australian culture, describing it as one of Australia’s most inflammatory racist cartoons. Yet, while Lawson analyses May’s work in depth, she does not note that The Bulletin published another cartoon on the same day similarly attacking Chinese-White relationships. This article thus aims to bridge this gap, examining a broader range of cartoons, their creators, and the socio-political contexts they depict, providing a more nuanced understanding of how these cartoons shaped public perceptions and racial attitudes in nineteenth-century Australia.

This analysis builds on extensive archival work, examining over 200 cartoons published between the 1850s and 1900s in Australian illustration media and identifying three developmental stages in Australian anti-Chinese cartoons. The first stage, from 1855 to 1860, was marked by Melbourne Punch’s depictions of Chinese people as ignorant and backward, with Nicholas Chevalier’s works creating the earliest Westernized caricatures of Chinese individuals. The second stage, spanning the 1870s to the 1880s, saw publications like Illustrated Sydney News (1853–1894), Police News (1859–1929), Touchstone (1869–1884), and The Boomerang (1887–1892) publish over 25 cartoons targeting Chinese men’s relationships with White women. The third stage began with May’s The Mongolian Octopus, a period of 1880s to 1890s defined by explicitly vicious anti-Chinese cartoons. This developmental progression indicates a deliberate, escalating narrative from ridicule to direct hostility.

Research by Kate Bagnall (2002) offers valuable insight into the racial anxieties underpinning White Australians’ reactions to Chinese men’s relationships with White women, as she notes that intermarriage was largely dismissed due to entrenched prejudices. Sophie Loy-Wilson (2009) further highlights how economic rivalry compounded these racial fears, presenting a notable case of media sensationalism surrounding a Chinese merchant’s relationship with a young White girl, which led to a campaign to embargo Chinese peanuts in Queensland. Loy-Wilson’s work sheds light on how economic factors reinforced anti-Chinese sentiment and, crucially, how economic competition became a lens for viewing race relations in Australia. However, her analysis does not explicitly link the economic narratives of 1927 back to the foundational visual iconography developed in the cartoons of the 1870s and 1880s. This article argues that these cartoons exemplify early economic competition and racialized social anxieties surrounding Chinese men, which by the late nineteenth century had become woven into Australian nationalist discourse as a sustained fear that Chinese economic success might undermine white male dominance—socially, economically, and even sexually.

Ultimately, this article seeks to establish a dedicated scholarly framework for understanding Australian anti-Chinese cartoons centered on Chinese men’s relationships with White women as a distinct thematic series. This series developed unique visual rhetoric, narrative stereotypes, and even theoretical approaches that merit a standalone scholarly focus. By tracing the genesis, evolution, and key creators of these cartoons, this study addresses an urgent gap in the literature, contextualizing these works within the broader spectrum of Australia’s racialized visual culture and the socio-economic forces shaping public attitudes during this period.

The Origin of Attacking the Chinese Men with Women in The Western Cartoons

In her study, Amy Matthewson (2022) highlights how Western cartoonists and politicians in the nineteenth-century often exploited anxieties about Chinese men’s relationships with women to further their own agendas, a practice with roots tracing back to the 1840s. In John Leech’s (1817–1864) cartoon The Presentation of the Chinese Ambassador (1842), the implication that Chinese officials practiced polygamy reflects how Victorian society viewed the Chinese with suspicion, often equating their customs with moral deficiencies. According to Joe Sample (2022), this cartoon, which portrays Chinese women accompanying a Chinese ambassador in London, subtly underscores polygamy as a “backward” practice—a stark contrast to Victorian ideals of monogamy and family structure. The presence of multiple Chinese women with the ambassador likely struck a nerve within Victorian values, which deemed polygamy barbaric and morally suspect. The portrayal aligned with British anxieties about the perceived dangers of foreign influence on English values and gender relations, reinforcing the otherness of the Chinese in British society.

Another example is a cartoon by John Leech from 1857, which features Mr. Punch alongside Lord Palmerston (Henry John Temple, 1784–1865), the British Prime Minister frequently symbolized as “Pam” in Punch cartoons. In this illustration, Pam wields a cat-o’-nine-tails, poised to strike a Chinese figure labelled “The Destroyer of Women and Children” (Fig. 1). As Amy Matthewson suggests, Leech’s portrayal set a significant precedent by framing Chinese men as morally corrupt and dangerous to women, thereby fueling public fears and positioning the Chinese presence as a direct threat to British social order (97).

Matthewson’s research primarily examines how British politicians and cartoonist leveraged anti-Chinese sentiment to gain public support, using “The Destroyer of Women and Children” trope to heighten opposition to Chinese culture in their political maneuvers. However, her focus on Britain leaves an unexplored connection: this visual icon and narrative motif would later evolve in Australia, where similar themes reappeared in anti-Chinese cartoons. The Australian context extended Leech’s approach by systematizing the depiction of Chinese men as threats to White women, a motif that became a central theme in Australian anti-Chinese propaganda from the 1870s onward. Matthewson’s insights provide a critical foundation for understanding how British political cartoons set the stage for similar Australian portrayals. Still, her analysis stops short of detailing how these ideas transformed in Australia, where they developed into a distinctive anti-Chinese genre that consistently targeted relationships between Chinese men and White women. This evolution exemplifies how nineteenth-century Western visual culture used fearmongering about Chinese men to build a pervasive ideological narrative that aligned with nationalist and exclusionary policies.

Matthewson further explains that Leech’s work went beyond diplomatic critiques to directly vilify Chinese men in a broader social context. In another cartoon, What Can You Say for Your Friends Now, Richard (1857), Leech depicts Chinese men as violent criminals, exaggerating accusations of “baby slaughtering, robbery, kidnapping, murdering, [and] poisoning” (97). This image, featuring a Chinese man cruelly snatching a child from its mother and throwing it into a fire, added to the fearmongering narrative that painted Chinese individuals as ruthless threats, especially to women and children. Here, Leech introduces a new layer of accusation: ordinary Chinese men themselves become representatives of societal “evils.” By aligning Chinese practices with barbarity, Leech’s cartoons provided both a justification for British colonial expansion and a moral imperative to resist Chinese influence. These cartoons became not just political satire but also ideological tools, reflecting and shaping public perception of the Chinese as morally corrupt and culturally threatening to Victorian values. Matthewson and Sample’s analysis underscores how these visual narratives laid a foundation for later anti-Chinese iconography, particularly in Australia, where similar images would serve to stigmatize relationships between Chinese men and White women. This recurring visual rhetoric established a lasting and dangerous stereotype, intertwining moral judgment with xenophobic and racialized fears.

In colonial Australia, the first official document accusing Chinese men of issues with White women was recorded in May 1855 by The Argus (Hansard) during Victoria Legislative Council regarding the introduction of the first anti-Chinese immigration legislation. John O’Shanassy (MLC, 1851–1856) put forth two claims to rally support for the legislation: he warned that Chinese men would introduce polygamy to the colony and that their presence threatened the stability of White male-female relationships, suggesting they would “take White women away from White men” (The Argus newspaper, 23 May 1855). His claims, though rebuffed in the debate, added a charged racial and moral dimension to the anti-Chinese sentiment circulating in colonial Australia at the time. John Pascoe Fawkner (MLC, 1851–1868) followed up with even more alarming rhetoric, invoking a historical reference to the Roman abduction of the Sabine women to underscore his warning. Fawkner cautioned that the Chinese would disrupt colonial society if they “seduced” White women, presenting this as a potential catastrophe comparable to the Roman incident. This assertion was met with laughter, yet Fawkner’s intent remained clear as he added, “What happened once might happen again,” evoking a sense of moral and cultural jeopardy if Chinese immigration continued unchecked (The Argus, 1855, 3). Later, O’Shanassy reinforced his stance by referencing a vessel carrying Chinese women to Victoria, which he claimed worsened the issue. He argued that if the Chinese did indeed practice polygamy, the colony lacked sufficient legal means to curb or punish such practices, positioning the Chinese presence as an uncontrollable moral threat (The Argus, 31 May 1855). These statements illustrate how Victorian politicians used racial and moral fears to bolster support for restrictive policies, framing the Chinese as inherently problematic regardless of their actions or intentions. This rhetoric not only reflected but also intensified the racial and social anxieties that would drive anti-Chinese legislation in Australia for decades to come.

Chinese Men Auction White Girls as the Slave

This article examines the ways in which Australian cartoons of the colonial period vilified relationships between Chinese men and White women, emphasizing the themes of racial purity and economic power. Elizabeth Malcolm and Diane Hall’s (2016) study highlights how Australian illustration media extended anti-Irish sentiment to include racial fears surrounding Chinese men, portraying them as morally corrupt influences on White women. Similarly, Eric Rolls (1992) noted that many Chinese men’s wives were Irish women who faced limited marriage options due to economic hardship. These marriages, according to Rolls, raised suspicions among Anglo-Australians about the growing presence and economic success of Chinese men, indirectly threatening White hegemony.

The illustration analyzed here, figure 2, by Thomas Selby Cousins (1870), titled The Slave Trade in Victoria—Christian mothers selling their daughters to the Chinese, is a pivotal example of how these cartoons crystallized negative racial stereotypes through visual rhetoric. This two-page illustration, published in Touchstone, depicts an “auction” of White women presided over by an elderly woman while Chinese men participate as bidders. Two White girls, seated in the middle of the frame, were presented for the auction. The Chinese man in front of the house is a buyer portrayed as a successful and obese Chinese businessman. This layout highlights the explicit portrayal of Chinese men as morally bankrupt figures who exploit their newfound wealth after participated in gold rush, symbolized here by an obese, well-dressed Chinese man smoking a long cigarette holder, signifying prosperity and decadence. Cousins’s decision to make this a two-page spread underscores the significance attached to the message, suggesting that fears over Chinese men “buying” White women for marriage were pressing enough to merit such visual prominence. As Cousins’s cartoon reimagines the Chinese immigrants as an economically powerful figure, it veers away from previous depictions of Chinese men as impoverished, disenfranchised laborers, aligning instead with Fawkner’s fear of “Chinese robbing White women” and substantiating O’Shanassy’s concerns about polygamy.

Drawing from Bagnall’s (2002) demographic study, marriages between White women and Chinese men increased steadily in colonial New South Wales, reaching 397 by 1888. Duyker’s (1995) work further evidences these transactions, documenting cases where White fathers “sold” their daughters to Chinese men. Additionally, and three other stories involve White daughters being sold to Chinese men for wedding dowries, ranging from £40 to £100 (Duyker 82), suggesting that such unions were not mere accidents but economically motivated arrangements. This exaggeration in Cousins’s cartoon mirrors Chinese customs around dowries, a practice deeply embedded in Qing dynasty marital traditions where arranged marriages were the norm. Here, however, the familiar cultural practice is recast as a transaction that corrupts White society, a rhetorical device intended to cast doubt on the legitimacy of Chinese economic success and cultural influence. In discussing Australia’s fear of interracial marriage and concerns about White/Chinese mixed blood, Fabian’s following statement raises questions.

Because many came only temporarily, intending to send their earnings home to their families in China, they attracted severe criticism. Any relationship with White women was frowned upon as disgusting and outlawed. Even as late as the 1930s, “associating” with Chinese men was enough to land a girl into a state custody case (77).

Malcolm and Hall’s arguments align with Fabian’s assertion that temporary Chinese migration, motivated by remittances to families in China, attracted further criticism. The cartoon’s imagery reflects this ambiguity: Chinese men’s relationships with White women are framed as both economically manipulative and inherently corrupt. The cartoon’s portrayal of a White woman overseeing the “sale” adds another layer, questioning how race and gender intersect in colonial Australian attitudes toward interracial marriage.

By integrating Bagnall’s statistics and Fabian’s critiques into the analysis, it becomes evident that these portrayals were less about individual Chinese men and more about the broader societal anxieties regarding race, economic competition, and Anglo-Australian authority. The exaggerated imagery, suggesting White complicity in these “auctions,” complicates the notion of Chinese men as sole perpetrators, instead pointing toward a deeper societal fixation on maintaining racial purity. This raises critical questions about Australian cartoonists’ motives: Were these illustrations aimed merely at deterring such relationships, or did they reflect an underlying fear of losing cultural dominance? In framing Chinese men as both “foreign threats” and morally problematic figures, Australian cartoonists constructed a visual narrative that reinforced societal boundaries and intensified racial discrimination.

The Primordial Sins of Chinese Men: Seducing White Women to Opium

Opium smoking features prominently in nineteenth-century anti-Chinese cartoons, beginning with Leech’s The end of opium smoking (1848). This theme quickly spread across Western nations, leading to a proliferation of cartoons depicting the Chinese as morally corrupt opium addicts. Matthewson contends that the ‘Yellow Peril’ discourse demonized the Chinese as opium addicts and sexual deviants, with repetitive tropes evoking fears of a menacing China that could outnumber and enslave Western populations and fueling anxieties over economic competition from Chinese laborers on Western soil.

Catherine Driscoll (2015) similarly points out, “[t]here were proposals for quarantining all boats from infected Asian ports. The Bulletin reported on cases of leprosy which were attributed to disgusting co-habitation with the rice-eating, fantan-besodden, opium-soaked, pig-tailed heathen who represent the ‘yellow’ agony in Australia” (54). Australian anti-Chinese cartoons used these narratives to amplify the idea of Chinese influence as both physically and morally contaminating. Fig. 3 in this article illustrates this theme explicitly, portraying a Chinese man wielding control over a White woman through the lure of opium. Notably, the full-page cartoon—anonymously drawn, which was rare for the period—marks a departure from the typical portrayal of Chinese men as impoverished and diminutive. Here, the figure appears as a powerful giant, a significant shift from prior depictions and one that underscores the intensifying anxieties surrounding Chinese influence in Australia.

The Illustrated Sydney News, a significant monthly newspaper in Sydney, began publication on October 8, 1853, and continued under this name until 1872. From 1872 to 1881, it was rebranded as The Illustrated Sydney News and New South Wales Agriculturist and Grazier, before reverting to its original title until its final issue on February 10, 1894.

In a striking illustration from the publication, a menacing, oversized figure with braids—a clear marker of Chinese identity—is depicted forcibly pulling a young White woman into his arms (figure 3). This portrayal represents a dramatic shift from prior depictions of Chinese men, who were typically rendered as impoverished and diminutive figures. In reality, Chinese men, especially those from Guangdong and Fujian, were known to have comparatively shorter and slighter builds than Anglo-Saxon men. The abrupt transformation of the Chinese male figure into a powerful giant in this illustration therefore invites analysis beyond physical attributes. This exaggerated portrayal can be understood as a reflection of the heightened anxieties surrounding Chinese influence in Australia, especially in the context of opium. Central to the illustration is the act of Chinese men smoking opium, a detail that amplifies the menacing effect of the giant figure. Opium was often associated with dream-like sensations and altered states, suggesting that this colossal figure embodies a fantastical, nightmarish distortion of Chinese men as perceived through the lens of racialized fears. Here, the image of the giant Chinese man serves not only as a symbol of imagined power but also as a projection of Australian anxieties about Chinese presence, culture, and influence.

To reinforce the notion that Chinese men were using opium to lure White women, seven months later, Police News published a cartoon Delightful Dissipation—The Ladies’ Opium-smoking Club, in the illustration, five beautiful young White girls are depicted in various unseemly poses while smoking opium. This is vividly portrayed through two long opium rods, which became symbols of Chinese men in the colonial-era engaging in opium smoking.

 

These cartoons collectively construct a recurring theme: Chinese men are depicted as luring young White women into opium use, with the women portrayed as innocent victims. Although Chinese figures are absent in some illustrations, the intent to vilify the Chinese community is apparent, framing opium consumption as a distinctly “Chinese vice” within the framework of Western “phenomenological sociology of knowledge” (Berger and Luckmann 34).

This portrayal also merits examination from an economic perspective. As an imported and heavily regulated commodity in the colonial era, opium was considered a luxury item. If young White women were indeed using opium, they would need the means to purchase it. The notion that Chinese men provided opium freely to entice women into addiction lacks financial rationale. Chinese laborers, who often worked for lower wages and faced economic hardships, would have struggled to afford opium themselves, making it unlikely that they would have spare resources to furnish opium to others. Furthermore, if these laborers were already opium users, they would have likely used their earnings for personal consumption. Alternatively, if they were not users themselves but instead purchased opium solely to induce dependency among White women, this would present a clear economic contradiction. Thus, the narrative that Chinese men intentionally enticed White women into opium dependency as a form of control is economically implausible, further highlighting the role of these cartoons as unfounded racial propaganda.

A similar depiction appears in American anti-Chinese cartoons. For instance, Opium Dens in Pell and Mott Streets. The illustration centers on two Chinese men—distinguishable by their attire and the surrounding environment, not the Chinese braids—forcing a White woman, identifiable by her clothing, to consume opium. One man tightly grips the woman’s arm, while the other pours opium into her mouth from a large container. This imagery exemplifies how anti-Chinese cartoons in the United States mirrored similar themes of racialized fear and moral corruption, further perpetuating xenophobic stereotypes through exaggerated and unfounded visual narratives.

White Women Become Chinaman’s Sex Slaves

In his analysis of The New South Wales Royal Commission on Alleged Chinese Immorality Report of 1892, Ian Welch (2003) highlights a critical finding: despite persistent efforts to prompt women into attributing their “immoral” lifestyle to entrapment by Chinese-supplied opium, most interviewees firmly rejected this notion. Welch observes,

This and other cartoons provided powerful emotional triggers to anti-Chinese vilification, adding sexual envy or fear to the other ‘demons’ being aroused by the anti-Chinese advocates. The use of virginal young European women as symbols of Chinese concupiscence added to the deliberate ugliness of imagery and the denigration of the Chinese as a community (Welch 265).

The Chow and His Charmers created by Phil May, epitomizes this rhetoric, accompanying the article named: “The Chinese in Australia: their vices and victims.” In this cartoon, two White women, partially unclothed with exposed breasts, are depicted smoking opium in the company of the Chinese figure “Chow.” The woman on the left appears as Chow’s servant, offering him her services, while another, positioned behind him, is portrayed as having finished smoking and in a state of blissful euphoria. To enhance the sinister effect, the cartoonist casts Chow’s dark, oversized shadow across the wall, further demonizing the Chinese figure. This image represents an unprecedented escalation in Western visual propaganda, portraying White women as the sex slaves of Chinese men—a starkly defamatory portrayal that went beyond mere caricature of Chinese men and became a calculated affront to Anglo-Saxon women’s dignity. Such cartoons aimed to undermine the self-worth of Anglo-Saxon women while provoking significant public reaction. This deliberate framing contributed to deepening public disdain, embedding racialized anxieties into Australia’s cultural and social discourse.

On the same day, the Bulletin also featured another notable anti-Chinese political cartoon by May, The Mongolian Octopus. Alongside May’s two cartoons, Bulletin also published two articles titled “The Chinese in Australia—Their Vices and Their Victims,” totaling about 10,000 words, and “The Chinese Must Go,” with approximately 665 words. The inclusion of large cartoons alongside extensive articles suggests a coordinated and organized political campaign by The Bulletin.

In this cartoon, the octopus has a claw labelled “immorality,” which ensnares two White women—a symbolic expression of the belief that Chinese men corrupt or “steal” White women. The recurring depiction of White women smoking opium in these cartoons may be read as a symbolic violation or defilement of White womanhood. What is particularly striking is the apparent willingness of these cartoons to target Anglo-Saxon women—despite their central role in upholding the racial ideals of the settler-colonial order—suggesting that anxieties about Chinese influence were seen as threatening enough to override traditional norms of protecting White female respectability.

In many scholarly studies, the cartoon The Chow and His Charmers has not garnered the same attention and criticism as The Mongolian Octopus. In fact, in the works of Bagnall, Welch, and Lawson, this cartoon is not even examined alongside the latter. However, when viewed within the broader context of Western anti-Chinese cartoons, this article emphasizes that The Chow and His Charmers is a significant piece in the campaign against relationships between Chinese men and White women. This cartoon exhibits several key characteristics: First, it marks the first instance where opium, polygamy, and the immoral relationships between Chinese men and White women—the three main themes of Australian racist attacks on the Chinese at that time—are depicted together as visual icons in a single cartoon. Second, it portrays White women with the utmost disrespect, using young White women with exposed breasts to underscore the alleged immorality of Chinese men. This, in turn, reveals the cartoonist and magazine’s disregard for the dignity of White women. If The Mongolian Octopus is the most scandalous and racist cartoon, then The Chow and His Charmers can be considered the political cartoon that most disrespects White women. Third, this work abandons the wit and satirical nuance typically associated with political cartoons, instead relying on fabricated and grotesque imagery to launch a cruel political attack on a perceived racial threat. It exposes the darker side of cartooning by sacrificing the dignity of White women in order to vilify Chinese men.

This raises questions about why White cartoonists and magazine did not appear to protect their own women or defend their honor. It could signify a form of White male machismo, reflecting a deep-seated conflict with women and a desire to protect them, indicative of the gender norms of the period, with elements of misogyny and the perception of White women as possessions of White men. Alternatively, there is a secondary implication in these cartoons: an attack on White women for associating with supposedly sinful, unattractive, and economically disadvantaged Chinese men instead of perceived superior Anglo-Saxon men. This perspective reflects the underlying societal norms and biases of the time, questioning the choices of these women and implying a lack of basic judgment on their part.

Without protecting its own women, Australian cartoonists continue maintained the idea of Chinese men seducing White girls to opium once again in Celestially: or Truth Stranger Than Fiction. This cartoon shows three White women becoming sex slaves to Chinese men, one more than May’s cartoon, and the Chinese portrayal, once again in fashion, obese with a long opium rod. Clearly, the Chinese find themselves in a no-win situation in this argument. The Bulletin states:

Opium was portrayed as the active agent through the use of which the ‘sensual’ Chinese men corrupted ‘innocent’ [White] girls. This is one of many examples from Bulletin’s pages of the Bulletin. One day, he put a new pipe before me and made it ready, and after the first whiff from it, he or any other man [. . .] I was a good girl before that. (21 August 1886, 14)

The Boomerang, based in Brisbane, operated from November 19, 1887, until April 9, 1892. Established by William Lane, the publication served as a platform for labor-oriented and progressive views, with key contributors like James Drake and Alfred Stephens.

Chinese Man’s Sexual Harassment of a White Girl in His Restaurant

Anne McClintock’s book (1995) provides a critical examination of the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality within the context of British colonialism. One of the central themes is the Victorian middle class’s preoccupation with boundaries, particularly in relation to women. McClintock argues that the Victorian middle class was deeply concerned with maintaining strict boundaries, both socially and morally. Within this framework, the regulation of women’s behavior and sexuality became a critical focus. Victorian society was anxious about the potential transgression of these boundaries, fearing that any deviation could lead to moral and social disorder. This anxiety was often projected onto the colonial context, where the interactions between European colonizers and colonized peoples posed a threat to the established social order. To add McClintock’s points, this article argues that Roberts’s Chinese Cook-Shop clearly demonstrates this Victorian middle-class concern, which was evident not only in social life, but also including in political cartoons, arts and Chinese restaurants.

In studying Victorian middle-class boundaries, Bagnall also argued that:

The fear of contagion (blood contiguity, ambiguity, and metissage) threatened White males and imperial potency. Sexual surveillance was integral to the maintenance of social order, particularly in the colonies […] In colonial Australia, both Chinese men and White women were grouping whose social space was tightly controlled by such boundaries (21).

Although these messages are often conveyed implicitly, their impact is no less insidious. The targeting of relationships between Chinese men and White women in these cartoons cannot simply be explained by the absence of Chinese women in Australia. Rather, such imagery reveals how cartoonists, in alignment with politicians like O’Shanassy and Fawkner and the interests of the Anglo-Australian middle class, weaponized racial anxieties around gender and sexuality to visualize and legitimize anti-Chinese sentiment. These cartoons transformed the imagined threat of interracial intimacy into a potent political tool—one that stoked fear, reinforced white male dominance, and helped justify exclusionary policies.

This portrayal of an “immoral” relationship was not confined to opium-smoking clubs as seen in political cartoons. Tom Roberts’ painting The Chinese Cook-shop offers a more subdued yet equally disturbing depiction of racialized sexual power. Using suggestion and visual symbolism, Roberts presents a scene in which an older Chinese man grasps a White girl’s braid, pulling her slowly toward him. Although she appears unwilling, her braids remain firmly in his grip. The girl, possibly an employee of the cook-shop, seems forced to submit to the authority of this aged, domineering figure in order to keep her job. The power imbalance is unmistakable: the White girl is isolated and helpless, unable to resist the sexual control of a lecherous Chinese employer. Through this unsettling image, Roberts conveys a racialized narrative of coercion and victimization beneath the surface of everyday labor.

This artwork tells White women to stay away from the Chinese men. While many White people enjoy dining in Chinese restaurants, the cartoon informs them that what they do not know is that in the restaurants where they eat, their fellow beautiful White girls are being sexually harassed by restaurant owners. This expanded the British cartoons of the 1850s, which depicted Chinese tea as an object of satire to sarcastically mock the Chinese people and China in Leech’s cartoon The Great Chinese Warriors Dah-Bee and Cob-Den (Punch, 7 March 1857).

This racialized portrayal of Chinese men as sexual threats extends beyond The Chinese Cook-shop to broader Australian visual culture. Chinese restaurants, like the cook-shop, were often depicted as spaces where Chinese men allegedly preyed on White girls. Similarly, the cartoon Out You Go, John, You and Your Smallpox, which shows a Chinese vegetable grower as the source of disease, reinforces the notion that Chinese presence—whether in food, health, or labor—poses a danger to Australian society. Together, these images construct a narrative that questions whether any domain touched by the Chinese community remains ‘untainted,’ and whether Chinese people should be allowed to remain in Australia (Illustrated Sydney News, 9 July 1881).

The Stunning and Haunting Painting Praises the Relationship of White Women and Chinese Men

In exploring Australian society’s varied responses to and support for the Chinese community, as well as its diverse attitudes toward racism, several scholars have made notable contributions. Sophie Couchman’s (2015) research delves into the lived experiences of Chinese Australians, illuminating the resilience of the community and instances of local support. Her work examines how Chinese Australians navigated complex race relations, establishing pathways for cultural integration and acceptance. Kate Bagnall has likewise offered substantial insights, uncovered narratives of mutual respect and understanding between Chinese and non-Chinese Australians. Her studies highlight the societal contributions of Chinese Australians and moments when Australians resisted prevailing racist attitudes. Marilyn Lake, a prominent scholar in race and citizenship in Australia, has examined individuals and groups within Australian society who opposed racial discrimination and advocated for inclusivity. Her work places the experiences of Chinese Australians within a broader history of human rights, drawing attention to those who challenged exclusionary policies.

Together, these scholars present a nuanced perspective on Chinese-Australian history, revealing themes of support, community resilience, and opposition to discrimination. Their research contributes to a more comprehensive understanding of race relations in Australia, showcasing the complexity of historical attitudes and actions. One artistic work that encapsulates this dynamic is Robert Barnes’ painting, Christmas in Melbourne, a Chinese Pedlar Making Presents to His Customers. This artwork serves as a significant visual representation of these themes, highlighting moments of goodwill and cultural exchange within Australian art.

In 1887, as anti-Chinese sentiment intensified across Australia, largely driven by political cartoons like Phil May’s infamous The Mongolian Octopus, tensions in the colonies escalated sharply, marking a difficult period for the Chinese community. Yet, amid this atmosphere of hostility, an intriguing painting emerged on Christmas Eve in The Graphic. Christmas in Melbourne, in this series of illustrations offered a rare and striking depiction that celebrated a positive relationship between Chinese men and White women, defying the dominant narratives of the time. This artwork, both beautiful and haunting, captured a scene of generosity and connection that countered prevailing prejudices, challenging viewers to consider an alternative perspective on Chinese-Australian relations.

Robert Barnes (1840–1895), an esteemed magazine illustrator, began his career at Sydney Cottage and emerged as a distinguished figure among second-tier illustrators in the 1860s. According to Allingham, Barnes excelled in rural genre subjects, with one of his notable commissions being an illustration for the first serialization of “The Mayor of Casterbridge” in The Graphic (Allingham 27). Contrary to the prevailing stereotypes of the time, Barnes portrayed a respectable, trustworthy, kind, and well-educated Chinese hawker in a positive light. In a Christmas present exchange scene, a mature Chinese man, free from the stereotypical braids often depicted in nineteenth-century Western political cartoons, is warmly welcomed by a luxuriously dressed middle-class White woman at her doorstep. His weathered face reflects a love for life and a deep affection for Melbourne, while the heavy bag on his back signifies his hardworking and responsible nature. Unlike the negative portrayals prevalent during this era, he is not depicted as an opium addict, alcoholic, or criminal. Crucially, the man’s eyes express respect for White women and genuine affection for children. This portrayal starkly contrasts with the derogatory depictions in cartoons by artists like Leech, where Chinese men were often labelled as ‘The Destroyer of Women and Children.’ Barnes’s illustration stands as a compelling testimony to the positive relationships between Chinese men and White women in colonial-era Australia, challenging the widespread racial prejudices of the period. The emergence of this work breaks the scholars’ simple criticism of racist political cartoons during the colonial-era, showing that different artists dared to publish different works and use their own artistic images to directly oppose the spread of racism.

On January 29, 1881, the Bulletin released a story titled ‘A Celestial Lothario,’ implying that “White women could not be trusted on their own or, caught up in their own fancies, they would fall prey under the spell of ‘romance’ to the Chinese man” (Bagnall 6). In this context, Barnes’ painting can be viewed as a counterattack against both this narrative and the broader trend of anti-Chinese cartoons that targeted this relationship. Examining all anti-Chinese cartoons and non-racist illustrations published in the West from that era, none seem to parallel Barnes’s work in portraying Chinese men as warm, peaceful, and treated equally in depictions with White= women during the nineteenth-century.

A similar artistic depiction of the relationship between Chinese men and White women appeared in the United States. In 1883, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper reported on Chinese Education in Brooklyn, and published an illustration titled Ladies Teaching Pupils the Alphabet. In contrast to Barnes’ portrayal, White women become the protagonists in this work, with Chinese men depicted only as secondary figures. Unlike the Chinese hawker in Barnes’ work, who is portrayed as an active participant in the scene, the Chinese men occupy a more passive role, primarily depicted as students rather than equals in the interaction. This difference in narrative reflects the varied ways in which Chinese men and White women were represented in Western art. In both works, however, the underlying message is one of mutual respect and a departure from the typical vilification of Chinese men as threats to White women. The scene is one of mutual respect, marked by goodwill and equality, further showcasing a positive interaction between the two groups.

Together, these two artworks provide a fascinating glimpse into the evolving depictions of Chinese men and White women in the nineteenth-century. Barnes’ Christmas in Melbourne challenges the common portrayal of Chinese men as dangerous and unworthy of positive relationships with White women, offering a vision of harmony and respect. In contrast, Ladies Teaching Pupils the Alphabet depicts White women in the role of educators and cultural guides, emphasizing a relationship built on benevolence and instruction. While the two works present different angles on the same theme, both resist the racial narratives of the time and offer a more nuanced and, perhaps, optimistic portrayal of intercultural interactions. These artworks offer important counter-narratives to the dominant, derogatory visual culture of the period. By presenting Chinese men in positive light—whether as hardworking and kind figures in Barnes’ painting, or as respectful students in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper—both works subvert the racial anxieties often seen in political cartoons. In doing so, they encourage viewers to reconsider the assumptions surrounding Chinese-Australian and Chinese-American relations, suggesting that art, even in such racially charged times, could offer spaces for empathy and understanding.

Wake, Australia! Wake.— To Stopping Chinese Burglary in White Girl’s Bedroom

Modern Chinese history is often framed by the concept of “invasion,” which begins with the Opium Wars and the subsequent military interventions by Western powers in feudal China. Alongside the technological, cultural, and industrial advancements brought by the West, the spread of Western religion further penetrated Chinese society, ultimately transforming China into a semi-feudal, semi-colonial state. As such, the notion of Western invasion serves as a key term for articulating this historical trajectory. This concept was similarly applied in nineteenth-century Australia, where the influx of Chinese laborers after the 1850s was frequently depicted in terms of “invasion.” This narrative of invasion also features prominently in scholarly studies on the history of Chinese migration to Australia.

Several key works have provided detailed examinations of these invasion narratives, the rise of anti-Chinese sentiment, and the racial dynamics in Australia during the nineteenth-century. Henry Reynolds (2003) explores racial attitudes and frontier interactions, with a particular focus on Chinese migration and the fears of invasion that arose in northern Australia. Andrew Markus (1979) investigates anti-Chinese policies and the ‘yellow peril’ discourse, tracing how such sentiments shaped public opinion and legislation in both Australia and California. Markus’s Australian (1994) further expands on this, offering a comprehensive history that discusses racial policies and societal views, exploring the framing of Chinese migration as both a cultural and economic “invasion.” John Fitzgerald (2007) provides an in-depth examination of Chinese Australians, focusing on their treatment and perception within the context of policies shaped by invasion rhetoric, further contextualizes the concept of invasion by discussing how Chinese laborers were framed within both public and legislative discourse. Notably, the concept of invasion is also prominently featured in Australian anti-Chinese cartoons, where it was often used to attack relationships between Chinese men and White women. One of the most significant examples of this is the cartoon by Ebenezer H. Murray (1848–1913), Wake, Australia! Wake. This image brings together multiple elements—Chinese laborers, the gold rush, and the racialized dynamics of Chinese male and White female relationships—into a potent anti-Chinese visual and political propaganda icon, further cementing the role of invasion imagery in Australian race politics.

Wake, Australia! Wake marked a pivotal moment when anti-Chinese political cartoons in Australia reached a new peak in promoting virulent anti-Chinese sentiments. Notably, the theme of attacking this particular relationship emerged as a central and recurring motif, serving as a key bridge linking various instances of such cartoons during this period. The cartoon draws a connection between Chinese men who participated in the goldrush of the 1850s and the contemporary depiction of a robbery of the Australian treasury, portraying White girls as the symbolic ‘sleeping beauties’ of the 1880s. The notion of a sleeping girl, often sexualized in nineteenth-century art, finds precedence in Matt Morgan’s 1869 cartoon Called to Arena in The Tomahawk and Bram Stoker’s use of it in Dracula (1897).

In the cartoon Wake, Australia! Wake, the Chinese man is depicted as a violent intruder—a menacing bandit armed with a knife, climbing through a window into what is imagined as a sleeping girl’s bedroom. The message is unambiguous: the cartoon equates Chinese immigration with the threat of sexual violence and murder. The slogan “Chinese invasion” hanging from the intruder’s neck reinforces the idea that the Chinese are not only unwelcome but represent a direct and dangerous assault on the nation. To anchor this threat historically, cartoonist Murray places gold-digging tools on the girl’s bed—a visual cue linking the figure to the Chinese presence on the goldfields of the 1850s.

Some may argue that the hostility reflected in such imagery stemmed in part from the gender imbalance in Chinese migration—that if Chinese women had been permitted to migrate in greater numbers, anxieties over Chinese men forming relationships with White women might have been alleviated. However, this argument fails to account for the broader framework of institutional racism. Between 1855 and 1891, the six Australian colonies passed 27 pieces of legislation specifically designed to limit Chinese immigration. The exclusion of Chinese women was not an oversight but part of a larger, deliberate effort to restrict the growth of Chinese communities. Rather than offering any practical commentary or solution, the cartoon reflects and intensifies the era’s entrenched racial fears, particularly around the imagined violation of White femininity by Chinese men.

Indeed, the notion that Chinese men could force White women to marry contradicts the historical reality. According to Bagnall’s studies on the interracial marriages in colonial Australia, the decision to marry was a personal choice made by individuals, and if White women chose not to marry Chinese men, it was not within the Chinese community’s power to compel them despite the insinuations conveyed by these cartoons. The scarcity of women in the colonies during this period made White women a valuable social resource. White men, possessing linguistic, cultural, and traditional advantages, did not face substantial competition from the Chinese men. The shortage of available women, combined with cultural and social factors, has led to instances of interracial marriages, not only in Australia but also in America. In the United States, for example, Chinese-Irish marriages were documented, albeit rare, and were tolerated because of a lack of Chinese women in America and the scarcity of suitable Irish partners for Irish women (Walfred).

These cartoons implicitly question the judgment and agency of White women who form relationships with Chinese men, portraying them as naïve, insignificant, or easily misled compared to their White male counterparts. This reflects a gendered dimension in the imagery, revealing a patronizing and discriminatory attitude toward White women. Such portrayals not only reinforce racial hierarchies but also echo broader societal anxieties about gender roles and individual autonomy. By casting interracial relationships as both morally suspect and socially dangerous, these cartoons expose the complexity of attitudes toward interracial marriage during this period—challenging the simplistic and deeply prejudiced narratives they sought to promote.

The publication of this cartoon brought about a fundamental change in the portrayals of Chinese men in nineteenth-century Western anti-Chinese cartoons. In Leech’s cartoon, the accusation of Chinese men as “The Destroyer of Women and Children” is an empty sentiment without concrete meaning. However, following the above cartoons, the accusations became more specific: burglary, stealing, and controlling White women via smoking opium in “The Yellow Conqueror”, abetting White women to smoke opium in “Delightful Dissipation: The Ladies’ Opium-smoking Club,” “The Chow and His Charmers,” “Celestially or, Truth stranger than Fiction”, and more. In addition to depicting these political cartoons, Chinese portrayals were shaped into a new artistic image: Chinese in Australia are heinous villains and downright sinners. To add more weight, a Queensland paper published The Social Retort.

In The Social Retort, large areas of black and skulls provide a terrifying atmosphere, and the smoke coming out of the top of the picture is the devil’s dream with words of gastric, typhus, typhoid, smallpox, cholera, and killer. The White women and Chinese men at the bottom of the picture sit on the ground; obviously, they are immersed in a crazy dream after smoking opium. The Chinese in the middle, with braids as a symbol, are desperately pulling at the beautiful White woman, threatening sexual assault.  Moreover, behind him is a long line of individuals visually coded as potential criminals who will continue the same activities. The entire cartoon depicts an unsightly diabolical nightmare alluding to the sins about to be committed by Chinese men.

While the United States limited political cartoons directly attacking the relationship between Chinese men and White women as seen in Australian works, American cartoonists did use the image of Chinese men and White women to portray the theme of “invasion,” as seen in Our Foreign Relations. The Wasp was a prominent American magazine known for its anti-Chinese cartoons, with George Keller being a key creator of these works.

The cartoonist of Our Foreign Relations is Walter Francis Seaton, a prominent satirical artist associated with The Wasp, during its early years in San Francisco. Seaton was known for its sharp and often controversial political and social critiques, which aligned with The Wasp’s provocative editorial stance. His cartoons frequently addressed political corruption, immigration, and cultural conflict, and his distinctive style played a significant role in shaping the magazine’s identity. His art exemplified The Wasp’s commitment to combining humor with incisive social commentary.

This particular cartoon likely explored themes of foreign relations, including views on Chinese immigration and racial attitudes common to the period. In it, the Chinese man symbolizes a Manchu official and is portrayed as a devilish figure attempting to invade the American continent. Opposite him stands a White woman, depicted as an American goddess, who tries both to repel the Chinese intruder and shield the American baby behind her. While the cartoon employs the imagery of Chinese men and White women, its primary focus is not on interracial relationships. Instead, it offers a commentary on U.S.-Qing Chinese relations, using the visual metaphor of invasion to express anxiety over Chinese immigration to America.

Zhang Wenxian’s (张文献) monograph, China through American Eyes (2018), represents a groundbreaking contribution to cultural studies and historical analysis. Zhang meticulously compiles over 300 artworks, sketches, portraits, and cartoons from major American illustrated magazines of the 19th century, offering a comprehensive exploration of how Chinese culture and its people were portrayed in American media during this period. By systematically analyzing these depictions, he fills a significant gap in scholarship, offering nuanced insights into the construction of the Chinese image within American public discourse.

Importantly, Zhang’s analysis goes beyond visual documentation. He interrogates the cultural and political forces that shaped these representations, demonstrating how portrayals of the Chinese evolved in response to shifting socio-political attitudes in the United States—from exotic fascination with China’s imperial grandeur to fear and vilification of Chinese immigrants during periods of racial tension and labor unrest. His interdisciplinary approach, blending art history, media studies, and cultural criticism, illuminates the complex ways in which Chinese people and culture were perceived and misrepresented.

One particularly notable observation from Zhang’s study is the absence of cartoons attacking Chinese men who had married White women. Between 1857 and 1887, prominent American cartoonists such as Thomas Nast (1840–1902) and George Keller (fl. 1846–1883) produced approximately 86 cartoons addressing Chinese immigrants, Chinese Americans, and U.S.-China relations—yet none directly confronted the theme of interracial marriage. This omission is telling. While American visual satire primarily addressed labor competition, immigration policy, and political corruption, it did not weaponize images of Chinese-White intimacy as a source of public anxiety.

By contrast, Australian cartoonists frequently portrayed relationships between Chinese men and White women as threats to national purity and social order. Zhang’s findings thus highlight a critical divergence in racial discourse between the United States and Australia. Although both visual traditions depicted Chinese people as alien or morally suspect, Australian cartoons went further by infusing these portrayals with gendered and sexualized fears. The Australian context, therefore, reveals a uniquely intense preoccupation with interracial intimacy, underscoring how anti-Chinese sentiment in Australia operated not only along racial lines, but through deeply embedded anxieties around gender, sexuality, and national identity.

In contrast to the American context, Australia emerges as a central locus for political cartoons explicitly addressing interracial marriages between Chinese men and White women. Australian media frequently featured cartoons portraying the Chinese as sources of moral and social corruption, characterizing them as evil, semi-barbaric, or criminal. This raises intriguing questions about the cultural and social conditions in Australia that made such themes more prevalent. Moreover, the recurring negative portrayals of Chinese men in these cartoons invite further analysis of how White women might have resisted, ignored, or overlooked such stereotypes when entering interracial relationships. Zhang’s work encourages readers to think critically about the transnational circulation of racial ideologies and visual tropes. These contrasts also reveal the potential for future comparative studies, exploring how different colonial and national contexts informed the construction of Chinese identities in Western media.

These cartoons, while coming from different countries (Australia and the United States), share a common thematic concern: the racialized fear that Chinese men pose a sexual and social threat to White women. In the Australian context, this fear is more directly articulated through images of sexual violence, as seen in Wake, Australia! Wake and The Social Retort, where the Chinese man is depicted as a rapist or corrupter of White women. These cartoons reflect broader anxieties about the stability of the racial order in Australia, particularly in the face of increasing Chinese immigration during the gold rush period. The belief that Chinese men might seduce or force White women into marriage served as a justification for the implementation of exclusionary immigration policies.

In contrast, the American cartoon Our Foreign Relations focuses less on the racialized sexual fear and more on the idea of an invasion. While still presenting the Chinese male as a threat, the cartoon uses the metaphor of the Qing Dynasty as an external force rather than focusing on the individual Chinese immigrant. Nevertheless, the underlying concern remains the same: the perceived threat to White racial purity, embodied by the presence of Chinese men. Both Australian and American cartoons reveal a racialized understanding of gender, where White women are portrayed as vulnerable, passive, and in need of protection from the perceived predatory Chinese male. These cartoons exemplify how political satire in the nineteenth-century was used not only to critique political and social issues but also to reinforce deeply held racial and gendered anxieties.

Chinese Men’s “Polygamy” With White Women in Australia

In her study, Catherine Driscoll (2015) argues that political cartoonists used race to craft powerful and exotic images of Chinese people, marking them as the first in a long line of “othering” in Australian immigration politics.

In addition to economic considerations, Lake and Reynolds tell us that workers in both countries were opposed to the Chinese migrants, “alien customs, clannishness, pagan rituals and lack of women,” and May has captured the fears of social breakdown attributed to the Chinese. He has represented the deep fears of sexual contamination and immorality, reflected in The Bulletin’s demand that “races not be allowed to mix”. Questions of inter-racial relations cut to the core of Australian ideas regarding masculinity and racial purity (54).

The West opposed polygamy in China’s feudal period and criticized it frequently, but not many Western cartoons successfully satirized this history. One example is a political cartoon of colonial Australia called Mr. & Mrs. Sin Fat. In The Mongolian Octopus, it listed that the Chinese committed the eight crimes of “Chinese gambling,” “Customs Robbery,” “Bribery,” “Cheap Labor,” “Immorality,” “Typhoid,” “Smallpox,” and “Opium.” However, the crime of “Immorality” was not well established; therefore, in 1888, May focused on this issue and wished to create a successful attack on the abnormal relationship between White women and Chinese men via polygamy (The Bulletin, cover).

In Mr. & Mrs. Sin Fat, the Chinese man is portrayed as grotesquely obese—a visual exaggeration that mirrors the depiction of the Chinese Ambassador in John Leech’s British cartoons. He is presented as an immigrant from rural Guangdong or Fujian who struck it rich during Victoria’s 1850s gold rush and later opened a shop in Melbourne’s Chinatown. This portrayal is starkly anachronistic when compared to the lived realities of Chinese laborers, many of whom faced chronic food scarcity both in Qing-era China and in colonial Australia. The cartoon’s representation of wealth and excess is not only a distortion but a deliberate tool for satire—transforming hardship into gluttony and using visual excess to signal moral corruption.

Furthermore, Mr. & Mrs. Sin Fat mocks polygamy, depicting the Chinese man with two White women as wives. This image satirizes both traditional Chinese marital customs and interracial relationships in Australia, aligning with a broader pattern in Australian anti-Chinese cartoons that portrayed such unions as immoral and threatening to White societal norms. Scholars such as Bagnall, Couchman, and Qin Bo have examined these depictions, which stand in contrast to the historical realities of respectful interracial marriages—such as those between Mai Shiying (麦世英) and Sarah Jane Thompson-Shying in 1823, and Mei Quong Tart (梅光达) and Margaret Scarlett in 1886. These relationships serve as meaningful counterpoints to the dominant stereotypes of Chinese men as either laboring masses or morally suspect figures in colonial Australia.

Mr. & Mrs. Sin Fat exemplifies how these relationships were sensationalized to provoke public outrage. Notably, the cartoon portrayed the White woman as distinctly middle-class, indicated by her attire and demeanor, contrasting with other anti-Chinese cartoons where the class and identity of White women associated with Chinese men were deliberately vague or ambiguous. This detail—the clear portrayal of a middle-class woman—served a specific purpose. As Welch notes in his analysis of the New South Wales Royal Commission on Alleged Chinese Immorality (1892), public perception was often that only socially marginalized or impoverished White women associated with Chinese men. May’s deliberate portrayal of a middle-class woman thus heightened the social stakes, suggesting that Chinese men were “seducing” women from respectable White society, which would have further fueled public outrage.

The cartoon’s title, Mr. and Mrs. Sin Fat, used the term “Sin” in a dual context. It simultaneously referenced “Sin” as a fictional Chinese surname and as a Western moral term to underscore perceived moral transgressions. This dual meaning was a device to symbolically link Chinese men with “sins” that were feared to undermine colonial morality. May’s depiction echoed Barnes’ illustration, Christmas in Melbourne, a Chinese Pedlary Making Presents to His Customers, which also portrayed a middle-class White woman in a commercial interaction with a Chinese man. This artistic choice reflected the nuanced anxieties within Australian society, as cartoons became an avenue for not only ridiculing but also intensifying scrutiny of Chinese male interactions with White women. By focusing on a middle-class White woman, May’s cartoon diverged from the prevalent official narrative—which suggested that economic hardship was the primary reason White women associated with Chinese men—and instead implied that these relationships held deeper, more troubling social implications.

In Ouyang Yu’s studies, he identified that Australia created many nicknames as part racism attack for Chinese portrayals in fiction and poetry. (12–15) The nicknames such as ‘Chow’ and ‘Sin’ on Chinese representation in Australian literary, were also used in May’s anti-Chinese cartoons. This article emphasizes that the history of Australian political cartoons is intricately connected with its fiction and poetry. The Chinese portrayal and their nicknames in both mediums not only reflect societal attitudes but also reinforces stereotype narratives, showing a clear overlap between literary and visual representations of anti-Chinese sentiment in Australia. Depictions of Chinese men practicing polygamy in Australia have already appeared in other cartoons. May’s cartoon is consistent with the accusations made in these earlier depictions, despite the lack of historical evidence regarding the practice of polygamy among Chinese men and White women in Australia.

Pacific Railroad Complete is one of the famous anti-Chinese cartoons in the United States. It once again attacks the relationship between Chinese men and White women, how? The cartoon depicts a Chinese laborer and a White woman, who is implied to be the Chinese man’s wife. This picture is a metaphor for the completion of the Pacific Railroad. It not only comments on gender relations, but also satirizes economic, political and social tensions. The Chinese man depicted in this cartoon exhibits minimal characteristics traditionally associated with Chinese identity. His facial features and attire bear a striking resemblance to those of a Westerner. While his clothing includes traditional Chinese-style buttons, the collar of his shirt resembles that of a Western suit. The only distinctly Chinese attribute is his braid. However, the associations tied to the braid were far from benign. During the migration of thousands of Chinese laborers to California, Australia, Canada, and New Zealand, depictions of Chinese men with braids became symbols of broader societal anxieties. As Rachel K. Bright observes, “in Australia and the United States in particular, the visual imagery often played on the idea of the braid as a rope, either for the Chinese to ensnare colonials or for colonials to control the Chinese” (566).

The inclusion of a White woman as the wife of a Chinese man in the cartoon reactivates racial anxieties surrounding Chinese immigration, particularly the perceived threat of miscegenation through marriages between Chinese men and White women. This imagery reflects broader societal fears about the “infiltration” of Chinese workers into American society, especially their visible role in constructing the Pacific Railroad. While the cartoon acknowledges the essential contribution of Chinese laborers to this monumental infrastructure project, it simultaneously casts them as a cultural and social “threat” to White American norms and racial boundaries.

During the construction of the Pacific Railroad, competition between Chinese and White laborers was particularly intense. The Pacific Railway Company, responsible for the eastern section, primarily employed Irish workers, while the western section relied heavily on Chinese labor. To heighten this rivalry, a track-laying contest was organized on 28 April 1869, just before the two sections of the railway were set to meet. In this contest, Chinese workers laid an extraordinary 10 miles of 56-foot track within 12 hours—surpassing their Irish counterparts, who managed only 6 miles. This feat set a world record for human-powered track-laying at the time and highlighted the physical endurance and discipline of Chinese workers.

However, the significance of this contest extended beyond the railway itself. It symbolized a broader social and racial rivalry—one not limited to labor but extending into anxieties about status, masculinity, and racial boundaries. In the eyes of many White Americans, Chinese men’s superior performance in labor posed a symbolic threat to White male dominance, particularly in relation to their perceived entitlement to White women. Thus, cartoons that depicted Chinese men marrying or courting White women reflected deeper fears that Chinese men were not only economic competitors, but also challengers to the racial and gender hierarchies underpinning White American identity.

William D. Pawn (1855–1923) was an influential American cartoonist, he was particularly active during the period of increasing anti-Chinese sentiment in the United States, and his cartoons reflect this cultural climate. Pawn’s political cartoons are typically engaged with social issues such as immigration, labor, and race, often using exaggerated caricatures to comment on these topics. His cartoons were featured in various newspapers and magazines, and he became known for his striking visual commentary on American society, particularly in relation to the Chinese Exclusion Act, which was passed in 1882. This act, which aimed to curb Chinese immigration to the US, was a major source of controversy and the subject of much satire during this period. Pawn’s contribution to political cartoons was significant in that he used satire to reinforce existing prejudices, while also challenging societal norms. His depictions of Chinese portrayals often adhered to the stereotypes common in the era, portraying them as foreign, inscrutable, or menacing figures.

The Chinese man in these cartoons represents the “other,” intruding into a social order that was seen as exclusive to White society. The White woman, as a symbol of cultural and racial boundaries, represents the perceived ideal of Whiteness and domesticity, which is being “tainted” or threatened by the presence of Chinese immigrants. These cartoons indirectly acknowledge the economic role of Chinese workers, especially in major projects like the Pacific Railroad in America or the gold fields in Australia, but use their depiction of Chinese men with White women to criticize the broader societal implications of Chinese immigration.

Pawn’s cartoon is more straightforward, using the image of the Chinese laborer with the White woman to emphasize the racial divide, whereas May’s cartoon uses humor and caricature to mock the idea of interracial marriage. May’s depiction of Sin Fat as an exaggerated and comical figure contrasts with Pawn’s more serious and subtle approach. Pawn’s cartoon is set within the context of the Pacific Railroad in the United States, focusing on the economic competition between Chinese and White laborers. In contrast, May’s cartoon addresses the growing anti-Chinese sentiment in Australia during the 1880s, specifically targeting the White Australian fear of Chinese economic dominance and cultural infiltration.

Conclusion

This article has traced the evolution of anti-Chinese cartoons in Australia that targeted relationships between Chinese men and White women, revealing how this theme developed into a distinctive visual framework by the late 19th century. Through chronological analysis, the article demonstrated how cartoonists increasingly relied on visual narratives, rhetoric, and propaganda to construct Chinese men as threats to White society, particularly through the lens of interracial intimacy.

While the focus was on key examples due to word constraints, the selected works illustrate how artists collectively reinforced recurring tropes—from Cousins’ depiction of wealth used to “purchase” Western girls, to May’s portrayal of Chinese men “seducing” White women with opium, and Murray’s sinister image of a Chinese gold miner “invading” a White woman’s bedroom. These cartoons operated as visual propaganda, shaped by and shaping public anxieties. They borrowed from one another, intensifying their messaging through shared icons, exaggerated caricature, and emotionally charged imagery.

Importantly, not all depictions were uniformly hostile. Some representations, such as those involving respectable Chinese-White marriages, complicate the broader narrative and suggest the need for a more nuanced reading of Chinese portrayals. Nonetheless, the dominant trend remained one of racialized fear and vilification, with visual satire often serving nationalist and exclusionary aims.

This article argues that these cartoons did more than mirror societal prejudice—they actively contributed to anti-Chinese movements by stoking fears around miscegenation, economic rivalry, and moral decay. Drawing on techniques such as dramatization, condensation, and repetition, cartoonists weaponized humor to dehumanize and discredit a marginalized community. While Western political cartoons have traditionally aimed their critique at the powerful, this body of work reveals a shift toward targeting an ethnic minority, thus marking a uniquely aggressive chapter in the global history of anti-Chinese imagery. Australia’s visual culture, in this context, not only reflected local anxieties but played a pivotal role in shaping transnational narratives of racial exclusion.

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