Last weekend, Shanghai's Fudan University hosted China's first ever International Gender Studies Conference. Due to the historical significance of this event, the participant list was really quite impressive, including great scholars of gender studies from the United States, China, Japan, Canada (and I'm sure others, those are just the ones I saw). While much of the discussion centered around China, I learned quite a bit about gender studies issues in other countries as well, including Canada, America, and even Iran and India (thanks to the "jingcai" keynote speaker).
Besides all of the information I absorbed from this conference, it also affected me in a very personal way. Before this year, I had really never been "gender conscious" so-to-speak. Of course I know there has never been a female president of the United States, or other statistics that indicate female equality, but I really believed growing up (perhaps in part thanks to our education system) that men and women were really equal. And from my small experience in the world, why shouldn't I? In my gifted program in school, women outnumbered men (in high school anyways) women got better grades, most of my teachers were women. My mom even had a higher position in her work than my dad.
It wasn't really until this year, when I started to notice these small inequalities in China, did I start to notice them in my own country, culture, and even in my own mind. This opened up a whole new way of looking at the world; the way that small things, like stereotypes, can affect a person, a group, a culture. It is for this reason that I wanted so much to attend this conference (well that, and shamelessly networking). I wanted a more in depth understanding of who I was, and how I fit into the world I lived in.
But before I talk to much about the personal, I would like to summarize some of the most interesting presentations I attended (Disclaimer: this is by no means a list of the ONLY interesting presentations I attended, just the ones that really stuck out in my head). On the first day, I attended a session on male studies (the conference was heavily female-centric, which I think is fair due to historiography's male bias...still, we should talk about men...) The first presentation was about Aluba (what? you say) an all male ritual in Taiwan which in Hong Kong is called "Happy Corner." This particular game which adolescent males play involve many men seizing another man, some grab his legs, others grab his arm, and they spread his legs and jam him into a pole, standing blackboard, other similar types of objects. I had actually witnessed this in Hong Kong; this was one of many cultural activities that us foreigners witnessed and would afterwards get together and say "what the hell was that?" Another such example would be Senior Photo Day. However, this presentation was really interesting, as the presenter explained that this type of game was not the same as "hazing" which we do in America, but instead, the most populat guy is the actual victim, and it is all out of fun, inclusive even, instead of exclusive. It is also a way to be ostentatious in front of girls. Another presentation from that session was about male prostitutes in Shenzhen. The presenter argued that even though we commonly think that the power politics in the customer-client relationship would trump the power politics in traditional gender relationships, oftentimes male prostitutes and female clients would not switch power positions, but instead the gender roles would be maintained, and men would often tell women what to do, or even reject them. I found this particularly fascinating, that in sexual relationships, nothing really changes the power relationship. I wonder if this is true in America as well (certain Law and Order episodes would imply otherwise).
The second day I went to many, many presentations. One panel that stuck out in my head that was really interesting was a panel on women during World War Two in Asia (or the Greater East Asian War). When I think of women during WWII, my mind immediately is reminded of Rosie the Riveter, women working in factories, selling their jewelry, etc. However, the first presentation by Susan Glosser addressed this particular ideological trope we have in our heads about women during the war and argued that, due to the immense amount of strain put on people of Shanghai, it is almost impossible to think that women even had TIME to think about the war effort. Women could barely afford to feed their families, often sleeping in just to avoid having to eat breakfast (and, by the way, sleeping in in houses with often 20 or more people). I found this break from discourse really incredible, as this was probably true not only in Shanghai, but also Britain, or even Japan. We know Japan was incredibly strapped for resources during the war, yet we still have this image of everyone in Japan, including women, throwing all of their energy towards the war effort. It would be fascinating to find out if that were really true. Other presenters on that panel including Cong Xiaoping (fellow Fulbrighter!) who talked about divorce laws in the border region under communism. She talked about the way that oftentimes, women would use the new divorce laws to their economic advantage, and would marry men and then immediately divorce them for finanical gain. She claimed that normal discourse paints the reforms to the divorce law in 1942 as the Communists compromising with patriarchy (as it put certain restrictions on divorce, including a waiting period for wives of soldiers) when really it was dealing with these problems that May 4th ideology never prepared them for.
Another interesting panel was (once again) on male sexuality. While a couple of the presentations were way over my head (about Tang dynasty poetry! Yikes!) one presentation I found really fascinating was about Chinese prostitutes in San Francisco's Chinatown in the 19th century. Zhao Xiaojian took a new perspective on this topic, and instead of focusing on how the women were treated, she focused on how the men understood their relationships with prostitutes. As her source, she looked at the diary of one Chinese immagrant who, in detail, discussed his meetings with prostitutes. What was interesting was that he didn't describe the danger, or excitement, but instead saw it as a necessary regular activity meant to keep men healthy and manly, somewhat like going to the gym. This was an entirely different way of looking at these encounters, especially since mainstream America viewed the Chinese prostitute situation with disdain and disgust, arguing that Chinese were "unfit" for America because they were so uncivilized they treated their women like slaves. While this does not take away from the way women were treated during this time, I find it important to look at the other side, as it illuminates what makes Chinese men "manly" and how that manifests when Chinese move to a different culture.
The next day, I barely made it to the first session (8:30 is early when one lives so far from Fudan) but I'm glad I did, because I managed to catch Feng Jin's presentation about Danmei fiction. Danmei fan fiction is one of many types of fan fiction that Chinese youth read online, and it is particular because it include homoerotic, male and male, love stories, oftentimes using familiar characters from such stories like the 3 Kingdoms, popular TV shows, or even Harry Potter! The interesting thing about these stories that overwhelmingly, they are written by heterosexual women FOR heterosexual women. Feng Jin postulates that perhaps one reason they are so popular is that it allows for women to explore these kind of sexualities in a more removed sense as they are not yet ready to explore their own sexuality in the same way. Similarly, while the heroes are male, they are often idealized, containing characteristics that are extremely feminine (she showed us pictures, and I couldn't have told they were male). In a sense, it was about idealized love, love that transcends genders and the harsh realities of life. It reminds me actually of many of our fairy tales, where heroes or heroines are turned into animals (swan princess?). Their love transcends these types of boundaries, just like some of the heroes in Danmei fiction. This is a fascinating cultural phenomenon, especially since we think of China as being so conservative and even homophobic.
However, the session that I think affected me the most personally was the last session called "Defying the Odds: Lessons from Women of Color in American Women's Studies." The panelists included three African American women, one Taiwainese woman, and one Puerto-Rican American woman, who discussed how feminism and race intersect in American discourse. These women talked about how feminist discourse, at least the discourse that is heard, is almost entirely written by white women. While this does not discredit their views, they are not the only views. I admit, I have certainly always thought about my own self this way, that my racial or ethnic identity and my gender identity are separate parts of my self. But in fact, these sections of our identities cannot be easily separated, and the way that Hispanic women and Black women and Native American women understand feminism varies dramatically. These women argued that all of these discourses need to be brought to the forefront, and by understanding this diversity within feminism we can better understand feminism as a whole. These views were supplemented by incredibly stories, and the journies all of these women have traveled as they watched America change in terms of racial and gender equality and inequality over the last 30 years.
I found this session incredibly eye opening. I always knew that racism has always been a problem in America, and still is. But I don't think I was ever really conscious of race until this year, until I was the racial minority, or the "other." That's not to say I never understood the racial tensions in my own country, but it is very different to live it oneself. And being a white woman in China is complex, and certainly not always easy. Ruth Zambrana, our Latina panelist, explained that one of the problems plaguing Latina females in America was the media representation as being hypersexual (i.e., Jennifer Lopez). While obviously there are many, many, many differences between Latinas in America and white women in China, I could personally emphathize with this sentiment, as I feel I am constantly battling with the "Sex and the City" portrayal of white women. Whites in China are very rarely treated poorly, or discrinimated in a negative way (I've gotten laowai discounts at coffee shops before) but it feels personally frustrating to be seen as Samantha from Sex and the City. It disintegrates our culture, or behavior, and our sense of being feminine to an exaggerated stereotype. And while I will never understand the battle that the panelists have fought in my own country, it gave me a personal connection to the way that gender and race are inextricably linked.
I also found this panel a great way to sum up the entire tenor of the conference itself. The keynote speaker argued that instead of bringing gender into a global context, we should be bringing a global context to gender. In other words, feminism is plural, it is not one separate issue. And by learning about its manifestations around the world, we can better understand our own feminity or masculinity. Of everything I got out of this conference, I believe that this would be the most important piece.
7/03/2009
6/25/2009
Summary: Self Education and Self Motivation
A few months into my grant, after I had read more textbooks than could fill my apartment, a mentor gave me the research idea to explore less traditional forms of education, namely, those who had used their own time and resources to self-study their way to expertise in certain areas, both practical and ideological.
This opened a wave of new information and ideas. I found, after a few days of searching at the archives, that not only did many people self study (especially in the early days of the Communist period) but in fact it was part of a wider government program to promote mass education. The government realized that as it was spreading education opportunities to new members of society at an unprecedented rate, it couldn't educate everyone, especially two groups of people: those who were older and did not receive an education (or received a poor one) before 1949, and those who were not able to test into higher education because of the lack of sufficient secondary schools. Therefore, the government worked hard to spread awareness about the benefits of self study, and to organize self study groups.
One of the most interesting ways the government supported and promoted self study among its population was by instituting radio broadcasts. These radio broadcasts included broadcasts on political thought, but most of the broadcasts were lessons in spoken mandarin Chinese, basic math and algebra. The government also published textbooks to supplement these lessons, and over the radio, organized self study groups with trained teachers in different areas of Shanghai. This was one of the main ways that the government involved itself in this particular sector of unorthodox education.
Self study took on a different meaning, however, during different time periods. In the early 1900s, during the height of the New Youth Movement and May 4th, self study was a way to improve and better oneself. When the term "self study" was used in these contexts, it was often used for the already educated, and was meant to be a way for people to better and reform themselves, thus contributing to the betterment of society as a whole (these movements heavily stressed education). There were manuals that those with the impetus to self study could use, and they listed different methods and ways to self study. Oftentimes, the topics were literature, science, or foreign languages. As the manuals themselves were often written in difficult Chinese, and the rational for using various methods cited foreign sources, the implication was that people who used these manuals were already well educated. This demonstrates the way that time period viewed self study: it was a method through which people could become "Renaissance men" which would ultimately improve Chinese society as a whole.
Documents are much fewer in number after 1961, but from what little I have been able to glean from informal interviews and secondary sources, the meaning of self study changed once again during the cultural revolution. Once the Cultural Revolution began, standard education was not an option anymore; furthermore, while work unit meetings and other such educational options were still available, the material taught through these options was largely impractical, focusing almost entirely on political ideology. Therefore, those who wanted some sort of future saw self study as their only option. Many people, for instance, used this time period, and the radio broadcasts (which were still performed) to learn either spoken Mandarin Chinese or English. I don't know if radio broadcasts continued in such areas as algebra or science continued after 1966 (as such documents are unavailable to me) but it would be interesting to see of those continued as well.
Exploration into this topics illuminates many themes and ideas from the 20th century. First of all, it raises the question as to the role of government. I think we often believe that in a Communist regime (especially the Maoist regime) that the government sought to control every aspect of society, including thought, activity, and culture. However, the way in which the Communist regime promoted self study implies that the government, while trying its best to control content, also believed that it was the job of the citizen to design their own future through self motivation. On a side note, I found it interesting that many of the documents from the 1950s and 1960s emphasized that children or adults who self studied could have a "future," which seemed to be the main concern of the population. I think that I believed before that once the Communists took over, they never felt the need to talk about such things since the government would take care of everything. Clearly, worries about getting a future career still seemed to permeate Chinese society.
Another question this topic raises is the meaning of knowledge and education. Before 1949, self study was a means to further better oneself once he is already educated. And while reformers from the 1920s and 1930s emphasized mass education, self study was not a big part of that. Education, and self motivation, was reserved for the elite. Furthermore, the content was not necessarily a skill set necessary for life, but instead was scholarly knowledge, useful to those in academia but little else. In a sense, the Communist period saw a shift in the meaning of education. It was not meant necessarily to enlighten, and it was not reserved for the elite. Instead, it was meant for everyone, and it was meant to give participants a skill set to be used in all lines of work; it was for basic education. This demonstrates a shifting meaning of the words knowledge and mass education.
If I were to further pursue this topic, I would need more information from a few things. First of all, I would need to get much more information from the 1920s and 1930s, and more information from the Cultural Revolution period. I have plenty of information from the 1950s and 1960s, but sources are fewer (from what I have explored) during these other periods. Furthermore, I have very little information about what was happening during the war; this is an important period to cover since a lot in terms of mass education was happening during this period. I also would like to get ahold of some of the radio broadcasts from the time periods (although for the time being, I have documents that outline their curriculum).
I think this could be a great idea, and could illuminate a whole other side of the world of knowledge and education. I hope to be able to explore more of this in the future.
This opened a wave of new information and ideas. I found, after a few days of searching at the archives, that not only did many people self study (especially in the early days of the Communist period) but in fact it was part of a wider government program to promote mass education. The government realized that as it was spreading education opportunities to new members of society at an unprecedented rate, it couldn't educate everyone, especially two groups of people: those who were older and did not receive an education (or received a poor one) before 1949, and those who were not able to test into higher education because of the lack of sufficient secondary schools. Therefore, the government worked hard to spread awareness about the benefits of self study, and to organize self study groups.
One of the most interesting ways the government supported and promoted self study among its population was by instituting radio broadcasts. These radio broadcasts included broadcasts on political thought, but most of the broadcasts were lessons in spoken mandarin Chinese, basic math and algebra. The government also published textbooks to supplement these lessons, and over the radio, organized self study groups with trained teachers in different areas of Shanghai. This was one of the main ways that the government involved itself in this particular sector of unorthodox education.
Self study took on a different meaning, however, during different time periods. In the early 1900s, during the height of the New Youth Movement and May 4th, self study was a way to improve and better oneself. When the term "self study" was used in these contexts, it was often used for the already educated, and was meant to be a way for people to better and reform themselves, thus contributing to the betterment of society as a whole (these movements heavily stressed education). There were manuals that those with the impetus to self study could use, and they listed different methods and ways to self study. Oftentimes, the topics were literature, science, or foreign languages. As the manuals themselves were often written in difficult Chinese, and the rational for using various methods cited foreign sources, the implication was that people who used these manuals were already well educated. This demonstrates the way that time period viewed self study: it was a method through which people could become "Renaissance men" which would ultimately improve Chinese society as a whole.
Documents are much fewer in number after 1961, but from what little I have been able to glean from informal interviews and secondary sources, the meaning of self study changed once again during the cultural revolution. Once the Cultural Revolution began, standard education was not an option anymore; furthermore, while work unit meetings and other such educational options were still available, the material taught through these options was largely impractical, focusing almost entirely on political ideology. Therefore, those who wanted some sort of future saw self study as their only option. Many people, for instance, used this time period, and the radio broadcasts (which were still performed) to learn either spoken Mandarin Chinese or English. I don't know if radio broadcasts continued in such areas as algebra or science continued after 1966 (as such documents are unavailable to me) but it would be interesting to see of those continued as well.
Exploration into this topics illuminates many themes and ideas from the 20th century. First of all, it raises the question as to the role of government. I think we often believe that in a Communist regime (especially the Maoist regime) that the government sought to control every aspect of society, including thought, activity, and culture. However, the way in which the Communist regime promoted self study implies that the government, while trying its best to control content, also believed that it was the job of the citizen to design their own future through self motivation. On a side note, I found it interesting that many of the documents from the 1950s and 1960s emphasized that children or adults who self studied could have a "future," which seemed to be the main concern of the population. I think that I believed before that once the Communists took over, they never felt the need to talk about such things since the government would take care of everything. Clearly, worries about getting a future career still seemed to permeate Chinese society.
Another question this topic raises is the meaning of knowledge and education. Before 1949, self study was a means to further better oneself once he is already educated. And while reformers from the 1920s and 1930s emphasized mass education, self study was not a big part of that. Education, and self motivation, was reserved for the elite. Furthermore, the content was not necessarily a skill set necessary for life, but instead was scholarly knowledge, useful to those in academia but little else. In a sense, the Communist period saw a shift in the meaning of education. It was not meant necessarily to enlighten, and it was not reserved for the elite. Instead, it was meant for everyone, and it was meant to give participants a skill set to be used in all lines of work; it was for basic education. This demonstrates a shifting meaning of the words knowledge and mass education.
If I were to further pursue this topic, I would need more information from a few things. First of all, I would need to get much more information from the 1920s and 1930s, and more information from the Cultural Revolution period. I have plenty of information from the 1950s and 1960s, but sources are fewer (from what I have explored) during these other periods. Furthermore, I have very little information about what was happening during the war; this is an important period to cover since a lot in terms of mass education was happening during this period. I also would like to get ahold of some of the radio broadcasts from the time periods (although for the time being, I have documents that outline their curriculum).
I think this could be a great idea, and could illuminate a whole other side of the world of knowledge and education. I hope to be able to explore more of this in the future.
6/21/2009
Summary: Everyday knowledge
As my Fulbright year is coming to a close, I decided to go ahead and create a few blogs that sum up a lot of the topics I have been exploring this year, and possible offshoot questions from those topics.
The first is about "everyday knowledge" textbooks, or changshi. I've written a lot about this topic because it connects to a lot of issues. First, it raises questions about education curriculum. By reading the "changshi" textbooks, we are able to look at what children were learning in their early years of education, and for many, especially before 1949, their only years of education. It also demonstrates government priority of knowledge. What made the cut into everyday knowledge? If we educate our public, what are the most important things for them to know.
In a broader sense, it also helps to define what is meant by knowledge, especially in the "modern" sense. In fact, the term "changshi" is specific to modern China (late 19th century onward) as is the whole concept of knowledge as being every day. Historians of nationalism and the modern state often cite Gellner's theory of the spread of knowledge to the entire population as a hallmark of modernity. Before this, knowledge was a privilage for the upper few; there was no concept of knowledge as belonging to everyone, and especially no desire for the government to ensure a basic level of knowledge among the population. Therefore, when we start to see these "changshi" sections in magazines, newspapers, textbooks, radio broadcasts, etc., we see a new dedication to a public with a basic level of knowledge, a population that can exist in a modern world. In that sense, we can look at changshi as a definition of the concept of knowledge: knowledge is available and necessary for everyone who wants to exist in a new society.
But what is considered "everyday knowledge" varies from situation to situation. There are often qualifiers to "changshi" both inside and outside of the education world. There is "economic changshi" "political changshi" "technology changshi" "science changshi" and on and on. But in elementary education, there is often no qualifier; instead, it is as basic and vague as possible, essentially, what every 7-12 year old needs to know.
So by looking at these textbooks, we are not only given a glimpse into what children learned in school, but the definition of knowledge altogether. And what constituted necessary knowledge in the 1930s was very different than what constituted knowledge in the 1950s. I've in previous posts given examples as to why that is. One of the main differences is emphasis on politics vs. other subjects. How much should politics take precendence when a government decides the basic knowledge its population should know? As we see the shift from the 1930s to the 1950s, obviously the information about political systems changed (from the nationalist to the communist systems). But more than that, what is interesting is that through this "everyday knowledge" of political systems, in the 1950s we see more of an emphasis on the importance of civic engagement through politics. To explain this through a counter example, in America I think most would agree that the way our democratic republic works should be considered "basic knowledge" for all of our citizens because we expect all of our citizens to take civic engagement seriously and participate in the democratic system. Similarly, in the 1950s, the communist government, while obviously not expecting citizens to vote, did expect all citizens to actively participate in politics by "continuing the revolution" and contributing economically in production. For this reason, the textbooks included "basic knowledge" about being a good cadre, about participating in the military, and even about being a class leader.
Beyond politics, another change we see that represents how each government understood knowledge was information about technology. What this indicated was how both governments wanted its people to contribute to infrastructue and development through better technology. I even learned through these books more about how planes worked.
But probably the most heavily emphasized topic was health and hygiene, which some could argue indicates that the most important element about being a good Chinese citizen all throughout the 20th century was being healthy and hygienic. This had a very practical purpose; if all citizens participate in public health practices, they become more effective members of society (one is not productive if they are sick). But it also had a symbolic purpose. Many of the developmental theories floating around in the beginning of the 20th century equated health and cleanliness with a higher place on the "development ladder" (cleanliness is close to godliness, no?) As China struggled to put itself on the world map, and prove to the world that it was a developed country, it had to improve its health systems and the behavior of this people. And for those who think this is a practice of the past, think again: as China prepares itself for the Olympics and World's Fair, much of the preparation includes preparing the people of Beijing and Shanghai to "look good for foreigners," which means eradicating the unhygienic practices of spitting in public, smoking like chimneys, or using squat toilets. And this isn't just in the minds of the Chinese, many foreigners come to China and immediately put them lower on the "civilized" scale once a local begins to hawk a loogie.
So what does this all mean in a broader sense, and where do we go from here? I think that a generalized look at the term "changshi" and how it is used in education and other mass media (magazines, books, lectures, newspapers) could give a lot of insight into a.) what is meant by knowledge at this time and b.) what did the ideal citizen look like? Both of these are important topics. Knowledge, and its use in terms of power and culture, tells us a great deal about what a society looked like, what its values were, etc. And the creation of citizenship gives us new kinds of insight, for instance it could help shed light on the eternal debate of the creation of the public sphere. Similarly, the connection between knowledge and politics (how political systems use or control knowledge to shape a society) would be another important topic to explore. A lot of research is currently being done on the Chinese concept of "community" and how that either succeeds or fails because of the political decisions of the party. Perhaps the root of what is happening today could be answered by exploration into the past.
The first is about "everyday knowledge" textbooks, or changshi. I've written a lot about this topic because it connects to a lot of issues. First, it raises questions about education curriculum. By reading the "changshi" textbooks, we are able to look at what children were learning in their early years of education, and for many, especially before 1949, their only years of education. It also demonstrates government priority of knowledge. What made the cut into everyday knowledge? If we educate our public, what are the most important things for them to know.
In a broader sense, it also helps to define what is meant by knowledge, especially in the "modern" sense. In fact, the term "changshi" is specific to modern China (late 19th century onward) as is the whole concept of knowledge as being every day. Historians of nationalism and the modern state often cite Gellner's theory of the spread of knowledge to the entire population as a hallmark of modernity. Before this, knowledge was a privilage for the upper few; there was no concept of knowledge as belonging to everyone, and especially no desire for the government to ensure a basic level of knowledge among the population. Therefore, when we start to see these "changshi" sections in magazines, newspapers, textbooks, radio broadcasts, etc., we see a new dedication to a public with a basic level of knowledge, a population that can exist in a modern world. In that sense, we can look at changshi as a definition of the concept of knowledge: knowledge is available and necessary for everyone who wants to exist in a new society.
But what is considered "everyday knowledge" varies from situation to situation. There are often qualifiers to "changshi" both inside and outside of the education world. There is "economic changshi" "political changshi" "technology changshi" "science changshi" and on and on. But in elementary education, there is often no qualifier; instead, it is as basic and vague as possible, essentially, what every 7-12 year old needs to know.
So by looking at these textbooks, we are not only given a glimpse into what children learned in school, but the definition of knowledge altogether. And what constituted necessary knowledge in the 1930s was very different than what constituted knowledge in the 1950s. I've in previous posts given examples as to why that is. One of the main differences is emphasis on politics vs. other subjects. How much should politics take precendence when a government decides the basic knowledge its population should know? As we see the shift from the 1930s to the 1950s, obviously the information about political systems changed (from the nationalist to the communist systems). But more than that, what is interesting is that through this "everyday knowledge" of political systems, in the 1950s we see more of an emphasis on the importance of civic engagement through politics. To explain this through a counter example, in America I think most would agree that the way our democratic republic works should be considered "basic knowledge" for all of our citizens because we expect all of our citizens to take civic engagement seriously and participate in the democratic system. Similarly, in the 1950s, the communist government, while obviously not expecting citizens to vote, did expect all citizens to actively participate in politics by "continuing the revolution" and contributing economically in production. For this reason, the textbooks included "basic knowledge" about being a good cadre, about participating in the military, and even about being a class leader.
Beyond politics, another change we see that represents how each government understood knowledge was information about technology. What this indicated was how both governments wanted its people to contribute to infrastructue and development through better technology. I even learned through these books more about how planes worked.
But probably the most heavily emphasized topic was health and hygiene, which some could argue indicates that the most important element about being a good Chinese citizen all throughout the 20th century was being healthy and hygienic. This had a very practical purpose; if all citizens participate in public health practices, they become more effective members of society (one is not productive if they are sick). But it also had a symbolic purpose. Many of the developmental theories floating around in the beginning of the 20th century equated health and cleanliness with a higher place on the "development ladder" (cleanliness is close to godliness, no?) As China struggled to put itself on the world map, and prove to the world that it was a developed country, it had to improve its health systems and the behavior of this people. And for those who think this is a practice of the past, think again: as China prepares itself for the Olympics and World's Fair, much of the preparation includes preparing the people of Beijing and Shanghai to "look good for foreigners," which means eradicating the unhygienic practices of spitting in public, smoking like chimneys, or using squat toilets. And this isn't just in the minds of the Chinese, many foreigners come to China and immediately put them lower on the "civilized" scale once a local begins to hawk a loogie.
So what does this all mean in a broader sense, and where do we go from here? I think that a generalized look at the term "changshi" and how it is used in education and other mass media (magazines, books, lectures, newspapers) could give a lot of insight into a.) what is meant by knowledge at this time and b.) what did the ideal citizen look like? Both of these are important topics. Knowledge, and its use in terms of power and culture, tells us a great deal about what a society looked like, what its values were, etc. And the creation of citizenship gives us new kinds of insight, for instance it could help shed light on the eternal debate of the creation of the public sphere. Similarly, the connection between knowledge and politics (how political systems use or control knowledge to shape a society) would be another important topic to explore. A lot of research is currently being done on the Chinese concept of "community" and how that either succeeds or fails because of the political decisions of the party. Perhaps the root of what is happening today could be answered by exploration into the past.
5/28/2009
Central Asia
When I first bought my copy of Lonely Planet China, I was immediately taken in by its pictures of the province of Xinjiang. Part Taklamakan desert, part towering snowcapped peaks standing at over 7000 meters, the landscape and the people of this province are incredibly diverse and unique. So after a year of dreaming, and several months of planning that added and subtracted areas to visit (in fact, if we were to go to all the places we had talked about, it would have been a two month trip!)we finally settled on a week and a half exploring the province and a quick detour into Kyrgyzstan, a small, unimposing ex-Soviet country that borders Xinjiang.
As I said before, Xinjiang is one of China's largest provinces; in fact, it almost stands as a country of its own. First, the population is not majority Han Chinese, but is largely composed of a Turkic ethnic group called Uigher (pronounced Wee-ger). Uighers not only have their own language (of Turkic origin) but also their own distinct culture (largely derived from being so central to Silk Road history) and religion (they are Muslims). Due to this quite distinct culture and lifestyle, they have never really integrated with the Chinese, who they see as invaders in a territory that rightfully should be their own country. And while they are often not mentioned in Western newspapers (Americans care about Tibetan Buddhists, not Uigher Muslims), they are quite central to Chinese policy because of the few separatist groups that have popped up (Beijing has convinced many Americans that they are jihadists, which means that the US has given China its support with the Uigher problem). But China is not about to let Xinjiang go, considering its wide territory and strategic position as a gateway to the rest of Central Asia (Xinjiang borders Russia, Mongolia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan).
This isn't necessarily a travel blog, or an itinerary. They are more disconnected thoughts about my impression of these places, interspersed with strange stories, observations, or anecdotes. I hope you enjoy this sort of inner monologue-esque discussion of my trip to central Asia.
First stop: Bishkek and Lake Issy-kol, Kyrgystan.
We flew into Bishkek very early in the morning; because of the time difference, even after spending 30 minutes while officials at the airport found a very clearly hungover official to issue us visas on arrival, we left the airport before 10 with a driver who had picked us up; fortunately, I had studied the Cyrillic alphabet on the plane, because when they picked us up they had our names written on a paper not in English, but Cyrillic. We had many places we wanted to go, so we immediately went to a travel agency and arranged a car to the town of Karakol, around the giant Lake Issy kol. Issy kol is the world's second largest alpine lake, and flying over it from China it essentially looked like an ocean. It took us nearly 3 hours to drive around it, but before we even got to the lake, we drove along the border of Kazakhstan. Our driver pointed to the left side of the road, and said "over river, Kasakhstan." We found it pretty neat we were so close, so when we passed by the border crossing we walked up and took pictures in front of it. We then pushed our luck even further and asked the guards if we could walk across the bridge. They did not understand us, so they just pointed to my camera and said "Foto, nyet" (too little too late...) Then we made the signal of walking, and pointed to the bridge. The guard smiled, but then crossed his arms and once again, "Nyet." Nevertheless, we got a great taste of Kazakhstan just driving by, with giant green rolling hills covered in red poppies and cattle. However, the Kazakh landscape did not compare to Kyrgyzstan on the other side, with vived green pastures pressed up right next to towering, snow capped peaks of the Tian Shan range.
We continued on to lake Issy kol, and around lunch time we stopped at our driver's mother's house for bread and tea. She made us delicious milk tea and gave us bread with homemade apricot jam (which came to be a staple on our trip). We also stopped by the lake to take pictures. It was gigantic, and bright blue, a blue not even matched by the waters of the clearest beaches and oceans. It could have passed for an ocean were it not for the now capped mountains barely visible on the other shore.
Next Stop: Karakol and Altyn Arashan
In the afternoon, we arrived in Karakol. We had already arranged a homestay when we booked our driver that morning, and we couldn't have picked better. Jamilya, a charming plump old woman, greeted us at the driveway and led us into her house that could have passed for a Vermont bread and breakfast. Each room had a theme color, and we were placed in the lime green room. She then led us down to the kitchen, where she made us tea and, once again, bread with apricot jam (the best jam we had the whole trip).
The next morning, we wanted to go to some of the beautiful valleys near Karakol, and we thought that the best spot to aim for would be Altyn Arashan. On a tip from friends, we headed to Yak Tours, run by the eccentric Ukrainian Valentin. He drove us up to Altyn Arashan, a valley at nearly 3000 meters where he ran a satelite location, in his "50 year old jeep in a constant state of repair" (states Lonely Planet). When we arrived, we were able to see just how beautiful Kyrgyzstan was. The valleys were green and lush, surrounded by towering snow covered mountains. To me, this was the whole reason for coming here; hang out with sheep hearders in spectacular scenery.
While we were here, we went horseback riding, we soaked in natural hotsprings, and we had a vodka shashlyk party with Valentin. It truly felt like we were on top of the earth, a place completely untouched by the modern world. We also took some time to have a picnic in another nearby valley; the colors seemed so incredibly vivid (especially as compared to Shanghai, where everything has a gray tint).
Next stop: Back to Bishkek
We didn't have a lot of time in the capitol, but from an afternoon or so wandering the streets of Kyrgyzstan's extremely small capital (we walked almost the whole city in an afternoon), we learned a lot of things about this former soviet states. One of the things that struck us about Bishkek especially was the multi-ethnic feel of the city. For the first time in months, we didn't stick out. It also seemed, from our discussions with people, that everyone was able to freely choose an identity with which to associate: Kyrgyz, Russian, Ukranian, regardless of birthplace or passport. While this is probably not true for the entirety of the former USSR (certainly Kyrgyzstan is currently one of the most stable of the central Asian countries) it is such a different feel than the ethnic tensions we found in Xinjiang.
Nevertheless, this was still a very poor part of the world. The modern conveniences we so desparately need were not common here; for instance, indoor plumbing and good quality roads. We pointed out that if this were China, their major arteries (like the road from Bishkek to Karakol) would have been fixed within a day. Things are certainly moving slow in China, which we enjoyed.
It almost felt as if the country had not changed since 1991. The national museum is still a shrine to Lenin, and Soviet style tanks, toilet paper, foodgoods, etc., are still common. It will be fascinating to see what happens to this part of the world as the world becomes more globalized and connected (however, it seems that of all these countries, the world is much more focused on Uzbekistan).
Next stop: Kashgar China
The moment we arrived in Kashgar, we were completely confused as to how we could still be in China. No longer were we the strange people with different colored hair standing out against a sea of Han. Gone were the garish Chinese lights, and the Ming Dynasty architecture were replaced by carpet shops. Fried dumplings replaced with rice stuffed intestines, and Chinese tea replaced with sour mare's milk. Instead of buying silk scarves, we looked at silk carpets. And gone were the chic high heels of Shanghai; they were replaced by head scarves and colorful full length dresses. A great example of the strange new culture we had happened upon was the Sunday Livestock market, where men came (yes, only men) from all over the city to sell their sheep (all tied up in a row) cows, donkeys and horses. Standing in this field bustling with people and animals and men yelled at each other to settle a price while kicking a donkey in the butt to make sure it had good reflexes was quite a sight to see.
We spent a day wandering the old town, observing every day life. It felt more central Asian than Kyrgyzstan by far, with carpet salesmen, and winding brick allyways that looked straight out of Kite Runner (actually, I think parts of Kite Runner were actually filmed here). We also learned a lot about the plight of the Uigher people. The walls were stamped with constant reminders of religious restrictions (such as going to Mecca). And while there were no Han people in sight, the explanations of all the tourist sights included insiduous statements about racial harmony and anti-religious extremism (obviously spurred on by the recent spurts of violence from separatist groups).
We also learned, right before we arrived, that the Chinese government is planning on tearing down old town to "save it." Essentially, the government argues that because the foundation underneath Kashgar is quite unstable (many of the houses are up on platforms, and it is hollow underneath), they need to tear it all down and rebuild it for safety reasons, in case there is an earthquake. They plan to rebuild the old town in a traditional Islamic style, thus maintaining its original ambiance.
A few interesting things about this current decision. The earthquake argument is understandable to some, and confusing to others. It seems to me that the reason for giving this justification for tearing down the old town would sit well with many Chinese and the international community because of the recent disaster in Sichuan. The Uighers of old town, however, while probably not surprised, find this justification confusing or humorous (according to the Uighers around the old town I talked to). They have lived there for over 1000 years, and the old town has survived many earthquakes and has never fallen down. According to one woman I spoke with, she explained that they saw it as a tragedy to their history that they could do nothing about, and they all strongly feel that they were not given accurate justification for why their homes were taken away from them. They also, at least those I talked to, saw this as a direct attack on their culture, a way for the Chinese to further demonstrate their power over the region in light of growing tension and animosity.
But destroying things in the name of progress is certainly not new for China. It was a common practice of the 1960s and 1970s, of course, but the Beijing Olympics and the coming Shanghai Expo saw similar situations: peoples’ houses torn down with little compensation. Many of Beijing’s old hutongs are still inscribed with the kiss of death, the character “chai.” But this destruction in the name of progress differs from these other situations in its direct relation to cultural autonomy and ethnic tensions. Furthermore, if the Id Kah mosque is any indication of how the new Kashgar Old Town will look, it is likely that it will turn into a Lijiang-type tourist old town with little resemblance to anything except another stop for Chinese shoppers and photographers.
As far as this relates to ethnic tension, the Uighers I spoke with about this situation feel relatively hopeless. But it will be interesting to find out how this will affect a city that already feels more Central Asian than Central Asia itself. Perhaps it will spur on new problems, or it will exacerbate the failure an already dying cause.
Next stop: Pakistan
Disclaimer: For people worried about 1.) my personal safety; 2.) Fulbright rules, we actually only stepped our foot into the border; we more just wanted to see the highway. Please relax and continue reading.
Probably the highlight of our trip to Xinjiang (aside from donkey-buying) was a road trip up to the border of Pakistan on the Karakorum highway. Built 40 years ago, this was meant to be the "friendship highway" between the 2 nations. It passes through the immense Karakorum mountain ranges, passing by deserts, rivers, and towering snow mountains at nearly 7200 meters above sea level. The border itself is on the Khunjerab pass at a harrowing 5000 meters.
Somehow or another, between a violent 24 hour flu that passed among our group, a car that would only start if we got out and pushed it, and a midnight joyride that ended in a dead donkey, we made it to the border and back. The views were astounding, and we were able to witness many of China's fringe groups living in what felt like the end of the earth. We visited some Kyrgyz goat herders and a young Tajik girl with her mother. All of their houses use solar panels, and they are actually given a lot by the state. Not that they would ever forget; propaganda is heavily stamped on every flat surface, sometimes interspersed with China Mobile advertisements.
What was amazing to me is that our driver, who was Han Chinese from Xi'an, seemed to really treat all of the peoples of the silk road with respect and admiration; except for the Uighers. He often made derogatory comments about them, and telling us why they had such a bad stereotype among the Han of Xinjiang (that they are often in jail, they often steal, they get into violent fights, etc.) Similarly, when we had other conversations with Uighers, they (in very low voices) expressed their problems with the Han Chinese. Whatever else we may have discovered, it is clear that probably more than anywhere else in China (except perhaps Tibet) tensions here are incredibly high.
We spent, well, no time in Pakistan. I think the only story we have about Pakistan is the road; it was a fantastically renovated, smooth, safe highway up to the border; in fact, the border was made clear by the line between the renovated and non-renovated road. Also, the direction of traffic switched from right to left (apparently Pakistani's drive on the left side of the road too).
On our last night, we spent the night at Karakol lake with some friends of our driver's, the personal home of a Kyrgyz family. We were finally tucked in under mountains of blankets when at 1 in the morning, we were raided by local police who demanded that we stay in a state approved hotel. Apparently what caught the attention of the police was our driver, who on a midnight cigarette run, hit a donkey and killed it. While the situation certainly scared us at the time and made us laugh afterward, what it indicated to me was the amazing amount of control the government in China had in keeping tabs on everyone. I never gave much thought to showing my passport at internet cafes and hotels, but looking back, I realized that the government really does know where I am almost all of the time. I don't live permenently in China, so this will (hopefully) never affect me, but it is disconcerting to think about. It is easy in China, I think, to forget that we live in a single party Communist state, until you begin to realize these small symbols of complete control all around (for more on this, look at the government's new Green Dam project for new computers).
Final stop: Turpan
This was probably the more relaxing and definitely most touristy part of our trip. We only took a day to see the major sights around Turpan, including the Emin minaret (China's largest) the Flaming mountains, Turoq (a cute Uigher village) and some Han dynasty ruins that looked like Utah. While it felt somewhat anti-climactic, the scenery was really beautiful. It was also unbelievably hot; this should not have been surprising considering it is actually China's hottest spot, with record temperatures of 47 degrees farenheit.
This trip was an enormous learning experience for me. I never really knew anything about post-soviet central Asia (or Soviet central Asia, for that matter). And I believe my trip to Xinjiang opened up to me a part of China people very rarely see, a part of China I never really knew anything about. China is a growing, impressive power, but there are underlying problems and tensions. My guess is that eventually, these will slowly be snuffed out rather than escalate into a full scale struggle, but who knows? And while it is sad to see essentially the death of a culture, this situation is certainly not exclusive to China (I think our Native Americans serve as an appropriate, albeit anachronistic, comparison). All that being said, I hope that the knowledge of these peoples, and how they have influenced history, won't be lost as they face the modern world.
And as a side note, I would highly recommend all or any of this trip to travelers with even a slight sense of adventure. The scenery is among the most beautiful I have ever seen in my life, and for sure in China, and the culture is incredibly unique, even in central Asia.
As I said before, Xinjiang is one of China's largest provinces; in fact, it almost stands as a country of its own. First, the population is not majority Han Chinese, but is largely composed of a Turkic ethnic group called Uigher (pronounced Wee-ger). Uighers not only have their own language (of Turkic origin) but also their own distinct culture (largely derived from being so central to Silk Road history) and religion (they are Muslims). Due to this quite distinct culture and lifestyle, they have never really integrated with the Chinese, who they see as invaders in a territory that rightfully should be their own country. And while they are often not mentioned in Western newspapers (Americans care about Tibetan Buddhists, not Uigher Muslims), they are quite central to Chinese policy because of the few separatist groups that have popped up (Beijing has convinced many Americans that they are jihadists, which means that the US has given China its support with the Uigher problem). But China is not about to let Xinjiang go, considering its wide territory and strategic position as a gateway to the rest of Central Asia (Xinjiang borders Russia, Mongolia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan).
This isn't necessarily a travel blog, or an itinerary. They are more disconnected thoughts about my impression of these places, interspersed with strange stories, observations, or anecdotes. I hope you enjoy this sort of inner monologue-esque discussion of my trip to central Asia.
First stop: Bishkek and Lake Issy-kol, Kyrgystan.
We flew into Bishkek very early in the morning; because of the time difference, even after spending 30 minutes while officials at the airport found a very clearly hungover official to issue us visas on arrival, we left the airport before 10 with a driver who had picked us up; fortunately, I had studied the Cyrillic alphabet on the plane, because when they picked us up they had our names written on a paper not in English, but Cyrillic. We had many places we wanted to go, so we immediately went to a travel agency and arranged a car to the town of Karakol, around the giant Lake Issy kol. Issy kol is the world's second largest alpine lake, and flying over it from China it essentially looked like an ocean. It took us nearly 3 hours to drive around it, but before we even got to the lake, we drove along the border of Kazakhstan. Our driver pointed to the left side of the road, and said "over river, Kasakhstan." We found it pretty neat we were so close, so when we passed by the border crossing we walked up and took pictures in front of it. We then pushed our luck even further and asked the guards if we could walk across the bridge. They did not understand us, so they just pointed to my camera and said "Foto, nyet" (too little too late...) Then we made the signal of walking, and pointed to the bridge. The guard smiled, but then crossed his arms and once again, "Nyet." Nevertheless, we got a great taste of Kazakhstan just driving by, with giant green rolling hills covered in red poppies and cattle. However, the Kazakh landscape did not compare to Kyrgyzstan on the other side, with vived green pastures pressed up right next to towering, snow capped peaks of the Tian Shan range.
We continued on to lake Issy kol, and around lunch time we stopped at our driver's mother's house for bread and tea. She made us delicious milk tea and gave us bread with homemade apricot jam (which came to be a staple on our trip). We also stopped by the lake to take pictures. It was gigantic, and bright blue, a blue not even matched by the waters of the clearest beaches and oceans. It could have passed for an ocean were it not for the now capped mountains barely visible on the other shore.
Next Stop: Karakol and Altyn Arashan
In the afternoon, we arrived in Karakol. We had already arranged a homestay when we booked our driver that morning, and we couldn't have picked better. Jamilya, a charming plump old woman, greeted us at the driveway and led us into her house that could have passed for a Vermont bread and breakfast. Each room had a theme color, and we were placed in the lime green room. She then led us down to the kitchen, where she made us tea and, once again, bread with apricot jam (the best jam we had the whole trip).
The next morning, we wanted to go to some of the beautiful valleys near Karakol, and we thought that the best spot to aim for would be Altyn Arashan. On a tip from friends, we headed to Yak Tours, run by the eccentric Ukrainian Valentin. He drove us up to Altyn Arashan, a valley at nearly 3000 meters where he ran a satelite location, in his "50 year old jeep in a constant state of repair" (states Lonely Planet). When we arrived, we were able to see just how beautiful Kyrgyzstan was. The valleys were green and lush, surrounded by towering snow covered mountains. To me, this was the whole reason for coming here; hang out with sheep hearders in spectacular scenery.
While we were here, we went horseback riding, we soaked in natural hotsprings, and we had a vodka shashlyk party with Valentin. It truly felt like we were on top of the earth, a place completely untouched by the modern world. We also took some time to have a picnic in another nearby valley; the colors seemed so incredibly vivid (especially as compared to Shanghai, where everything has a gray tint).
Next stop: Back to Bishkek
We didn't have a lot of time in the capitol, but from an afternoon or so wandering the streets of Kyrgyzstan's extremely small capital (we walked almost the whole city in an afternoon), we learned a lot of things about this former soviet states. One of the things that struck us about Bishkek especially was the multi-ethnic feel of the city. For the first time in months, we didn't stick out. It also seemed, from our discussions with people, that everyone was able to freely choose an identity with which to associate: Kyrgyz, Russian, Ukranian, regardless of birthplace or passport. While this is probably not true for the entirety of the former USSR (certainly Kyrgyzstan is currently one of the most stable of the central Asian countries) it is such a different feel than the ethnic tensions we found in Xinjiang.
Nevertheless, this was still a very poor part of the world. The modern conveniences we so desparately need were not common here; for instance, indoor plumbing and good quality roads. We pointed out that if this were China, their major arteries (like the road from Bishkek to Karakol) would have been fixed within a day. Things are certainly moving slow in China, which we enjoyed.
It almost felt as if the country had not changed since 1991. The national museum is still a shrine to Lenin, and Soviet style tanks, toilet paper, foodgoods, etc., are still common. It will be fascinating to see what happens to this part of the world as the world becomes more globalized and connected (however, it seems that of all these countries, the world is much more focused on Uzbekistan).
Next stop: Kashgar China
The moment we arrived in Kashgar, we were completely confused as to how we could still be in China. No longer were we the strange people with different colored hair standing out against a sea of Han. Gone were the garish Chinese lights, and the Ming Dynasty architecture were replaced by carpet shops. Fried dumplings replaced with rice stuffed intestines, and Chinese tea replaced with sour mare's milk. Instead of buying silk scarves, we looked at silk carpets. And gone were the chic high heels of Shanghai; they were replaced by head scarves and colorful full length dresses. A great example of the strange new culture we had happened upon was the Sunday Livestock market, where men came (yes, only men) from all over the city to sell their sheep (all tied up in a row) cows, donkeys and horses. Standing in this field bustling with people and animals and men yelled at each other to settle a price while kicking a donkey in the butt to make sure it had good reflexes was quite a sight to see.
We spent a day wandering the old town, observing every day life. It felt more central Asian than Kyrgyzstan by far, with carpet salesmen, and winding brick allyways that looked straight out of Kite Runner (actually, I think parts of Kite Runner were actually filmed here). We also learned a lot about the plight of the Uigher people. The walls were stamped with constant reminders of religious restrictions (such as going to Mecca). And while there were no Han people in sight, the explanations of all the tourist sights included insiduous statements about racial harmony and anti-religious extremism (obviously spurred on by the recent spurts of violence from separatist groups).
We also learned, right before we arrived, that the Chinese government is planning on tearing down old town to "save it." Essentially, the government argues that because the foundation underneath Kashgar is quite unstable (many of the houses are up on platforms, and it is hollow underneath), they need to tear it all down and rebuild it for safety reasons, in case there is an earthquake. They plan to rebuild the old town in a traditional Islamic style, thus maintaining its original ambiance.
A few interesting things about this current decision. The earthquake argument is understandable to some, and confusing to others. It seems to me that the reason for giving this justification for tearing down the old town would sit well with many Chinese and the international community because of the recent disaster in Sichuan. The Uighers of old town, however, while probably not surprised, find this justification confusing or humorous (according to the Uighers around the old town I talked to). They have lived there for over 1000 years, and the old town has survived many earthquakes and has never fallen down. According to one woman I spoke with, she explained that they saw it as a tragedy to their history that they could do nothing about, and they all strongly feel that they were not given accurate justification for why their homes were taken away from them. They also, at least those I talked to, saw this as a direct attack on their culture, a way for the Chinese to further demonstrate their power over the region in light of growing tension and animosity.
But destroying things in the name of progress is certainly not new for China. It was a common practice of the 1960s and 1970s, of course, but the Beijing Olympics and the coming Shanghai Expo saw similar situations: peoples’ houses torn down with little compensation. Many of Beijing’s old hutongs are still inscribed with the kiss of death, the character “chai.” But this destruction in the name of progress differs from these other situations in its direct relation to cultural autonomy and ethnic tensions. Furthermore, if the Id Kah mosque is any indication of how the new Kashgar Old Town will look, it is likely that it will turn into a Lijiang-type tourist old town with little resemblance to anything except another stop for Chinese shoppers and photographers.
As far as this relates to ethnic tension, the Uighers I spoke with about this situation feel relatively hopeless. But it will be interesting to find out how this will affect a city that already feels more Central Asian than Central Asia itself. Perhaps it will spur on new problems, or it will exacerbate the failure an already dying cause.
Next stop: Pakistan
Disclaimer: For people worried about 1.) my personal safety; 2.) Fulbright rules, we actually only stepped our foot into the border; we more just wanted to see the highway. Please relax and continue reading.
Probably the highlight of our trip to Xinjiang (aside from donkey-buying) was a road trip up to the border of Pakistan on the Karakorum highway. Built 40 years ago, this was meant to be the "friendship highway" between the 2 nations. It passes through the immense Karakorum mountain ranges, passing by deserts, rivers, and towering snow mountains at nearly 7200 meters above sea level. The border itself is on the Khunjerab pass at a harrowing 5000 meters.
Somehow or another, between a violent 24 hour flu that passed among our group, a car that would only start if we got out and pushed it, and a midnight joyride that ended in a dead donkey, we made it to the border and back. The views were astounding, and we were able to witness many of China's fringe groups living in what felt like the end of the earth. We visited some Kyrgyz goat herders and a young Tajik girl with her mother. All of their houses use solar panels, and they are actually given a lot by the state. Not that they would ever forget; propaganda is heavily stamped on every flat surface, sometimes interspersed with China Mobile advertisements.
What was amazing to me is that our driver, who was Han Chinese from Xi'an, seemed to really treat all of the peoples of the silk road with respect and admiration; except for the Uighers. He often made derogatory comments about them, and telling us why they had such a bad stereotype among the Han of Xinjiang (that they are often in jail, they often steal, they get into violent fights, etc.) Similarly, when we had other conversations with Uighers, they (in very low voices) expressed their problems with the Han Chinese. Whatever else we may have discovered, it is clear that probably more than anywhere else in China (except perhaps Tibet) tensions here are incredibly high.
We spent, well, no time in Pakistan. I think the only story we have about Pakistan is the road; it was a fantastically renovated, smooth, safe highway up to the border; in fact, the border was made clear by the line between the renovated and non-renovated road. Also, the direction of traffic switched from right to left (apparently Pakistani's drive on the left side of the road too).
On our last night, we spent the night at Karakol lake with some friends of our driver's, the personal home of a Kyrgyz family. We were finally tucked in under mountains of blankets when at 1 in the morning, we were raided by local police who demanded that we stay in a state approved hotel. Apparently what caught the attention of the police was our driver, who on a midnight cigarette run, hit a donkey and killed it. While the situation certainly scared us at the time and made us laugh afterward, what it indicated to me was the amazing amount of control the government in China had in keeping tabs on everyone. I never gave much thought to showing my passport at internet cafes and hotels, but looking back, I realized that the government really does know where I am almost all of the time. I don't live permenently in China, so this will (hopefully) never affect me, but it is disconcerting to think about. It is easy in China, I think, to forget that we live in a single party Communist state, until you begin to realize these small symbols of complete control all around (for more on this, look at the government's new Green Dam project for new computers).
Final stop: Turpan
This was probably the more relaxing and definitely most touristy part of our trip. We only took a day to see the major sights around Turpan, including the Emin minaret (China's largest) the Flaming mountains, Turoq (a cute Uigher village) and some Han dynasty ruins that looked like Utah. While it felt somewhat anti-climactic, the scenery was really beautiful. It was also unbelievably hot; this should not have been surprising considering it is actually China's hottest spot, with record temperatures of 47 degrees farenheit.
This trip was an enormous learning experience for me. I never really knew anything about post-soviet central Asia (or Soviet central Asia, for that matter). And I believe my trip to Xinjiang opened up to me a part of China people very rarely see, a part of China I never really knew anything about. China is a growing, impressive power, but there are underlying problems and tensions. My guess is that eventually, these will slowly be snuffed out rather than escalate into a full scale struggle, but who knows? And while it is sad to see essentially the death of a culture, this situation is certainly not exclusive to China (I think our Native Americans serve as an appropriate, albeit anachronistic, comparison). All that being said, I hope that the knowledge of these peoples, and how they have influenced history, won't be lost as they face the modern world.
And as a side note, I would highly recommend all or any of this trip to travelers with even a slight sense of adventure. The scenery is among the most beautiful I have ever seen in my life, and for sure in China, and the culture is incredibly unique, even in central Asia.
5/26/2009
Better City, Better Life
Recently, I had the fortune of guest writing a piece for the blog China Beat, a high profile blog about all things China (anyone who has the time to read my blog, by the way, should also take time to read theirs). Since I am really excited about the topic I wrote about, I decided to reproduce the blog here:
Shanghai has had a history of personality cults that permeate the visual landscape of the city. However, today, Mao’s presence, ubiquitous only 40 years ago, has all but faded —though you can still find some reminders that he was once omnipresent, such as the big statue of the Chairman that continues to stand on the East China Normal University and the kitsch items for sale at Shanghai souvenir stalls (though these are aimed largely at foreigners). Even the pervasive symbols of American consumerism Colonel Sanders’ and Ronald McDonald’s are not as common as they once were—though each of them have some statues as well, standing (the Colonel) or sitting (the clown) near the entrances to venues selling buckets of chicken and Big Macs, respectively. Today, the latest personality to overcome Shanghai's visual landscape is quite different, a symbol of neither Communist Revolution nor capitalist consumer culture. His name is Haibao.
Haibao, a bright blue wave with a face, is in constant public view. His animated likeness looks out at you from TV screen advertisments in subways, his picture looms down on you from the walls of construction zones, his statue is an even more popular photo subject at the Yu Gardens than the Ming architecture, and he is even often seen dancing on a giant LCD screen that moves slowly up and down the Huangpu River on a barge.
His cult of personality displaces all others, including those of the Olympic Friendlies (not so last year) and Barbie (whose pink allure is celebrated in the city now that it is home to the world’s first megastore devoted to the doll), and he brings with him a simple message: the World Expo is coming to Shanghai, and with it a new chance for Shanghai to become internationally recognized as China's most progressive and global city. The important word in that last statement, the one that draws the distinction between the message of the Expo and of the Olympics (mega-events that have been linked in various ways, including similar roles for countdown clocks and promotional videos featuring Jackie Chan), is the word “city,” not “country,” and this distinction illustrates a lot of underlying issues regarding Shanghai's own self understanding.
The slogans for both events, the Olympics and the Expo, illuminate this distinction. Whereas the Olympic slogan reads “One world, one dream,” connecting China to a world of nations, the Expo slogan reads “Better city, better life,” putting Shanghai on the map of globalized cities, not countries. Creating this type of identity for Shanghai is not difficult either, as Shanghai historically has always seen itself as connected, yet separate, from the rest of China, a gateway through which China connects with the rest of the modern world.
This is similarly emphasized in academic discourse. It is no accident that many books about China’s search for modernization are almost entirely concerned with Shanghai and present the city’s modern history as unique (though other treaty-ports sometimes get a look in as well). Leo Ou-fan Lee and Yeh Wen-hsin, along with countless others, have demonstrated that Shanghai was the birthplace of the modern Chinese nation because of its unique cultural connection with the outside world at the beginning of the twentieth century.
I did my senior thesis research about the magazine Ling Long, a Shanghai women's magazine from the 1930s. The layout and message of this magazine very clearly demonstrated the way that modern people, specifically modern women, should look and act. These modern Shanghaiers lived a unique lifestyle of "East meets West," a lifestyle that could be lived in Shanghai but no other Chinese metropolis. At the same time, Shanghai’s city landscape and unique institutions gave way to this lifestyle, and also fed the belief among Shanghai people that they were the leaders of the modern world in China, and even in Asia as a whole.
The current campaigns for the Expo play upon this Shanghainese notion that it is the center of Chinese urban modernity. One particular advertisement that seems to run on constant replay on twenty meter high screens on the sides of skyscrapers depicts Haibao’s journey through China. He first stops in Yunnan where he is greeted by the Miao people, in traditional costume (the Miao costume includes a very large and distinct white and red headress), who offer him local gifts. He then moves onto Xinjiang, where Uigher girls in flowing country dresses offer him grapes (a regional specialty) and play traditional Uigher instruments around him as he smiles and dances. Then, suddenly, we see a man in a light cotton button up shirt and slacks and a girl in a Western sundress, and they run along a road lined with modern skyscrapers and they take pictures of Haibao with their digital cameras.
The distinction between the “traditional” and “modern” is accentuated by the fact that our modern Shanghairen (Shanghainese) actually watch the “traditional” scenes on a TV screen on a skyscraper (where, in real life, this whole advertisement is played), making the "traditional" elements seem like a movie, not the real and modern Chinese world (in Shanghai). This advertisement sends a clear message: Shanghai is the end of the natural progression from traditional to modern, and therefore the logical place for the world Expo—the contemporary counterpart to the World’s Fairs of old, the first of which were held in London and Paris when those cities represented state-of-the-art modernity.
Furthermore, while also making the dichotomy between a traditional lifestyle and a “modern” lifestyle, the advertisement also implies that all of China’s elements, its diversity, celebrates Shanghai’s greatness. The advertisement actually ends not in Shanghai, but in Hong Kong, as Hong Kong people wave and welcome Haibao. While this could be interpreted in many different ways, what it seems to symbolize in this context is Hong Kong recognizing Shanghai as the new urban center of China, just as all of China’s different minorities recognize it as well. In a sense, there are many forces at play here: the dichotomy of tradition and modernity, the stark contrast between China’s minorities and Shanghai’s urban elite, and even competition among China’s urban centers. But as all of these places and peoples greet Haibao, they are in fact greeting Shanghai’s coming of age. China is essentially centered around Shanghai.
However, Expo public advertisements don't just glorify Shanghai’s place in the modern world, they also strive to present Shanghai as a place where good behavior is on display. For example, on the subway one day I ran across a person dressed up as Haibao, and he was surrounded by people in vests that read “Make this city better, be a loveable Shanghaier.” Along with being cute and loveable, however, the most common adjective connected with expected “Expo” behavior is wenming I have been in Shanghai now for nine months, and within those nine months more and more small signs, specifically in very public places, have popped up, telling people how they should be behaving. For example, most escalators now read “stand on the right, walk on the left, use the escalators in a wenming way.” Or, “Don't spit on buses, be more wenming.”
Wenming is difficult to define. Most dictionaries say it means “civilized,” but this definition carries as many problematic connotations in Chinese as it does in English. Leo Lee, in his book Shanghai Modern, traces the development of this word in modern Chinese. The term was originally borrowed from the Japanese, who used the same characters (pronounced differently of course) in the late nineteenth century to define behavior that was specifically “modern” and “Western,” thus maintaining the same connotations as “civilized” in English. This was picked up by China at the beginning of the twentieth century with similar effect.. The Nationalist government in the 1930s emphasized wenming behavior; it was often used in publications promoting the New Life Movement put forth by Chiang Kai-shek, a movement which encouraged people to be more hygienic and well mannered in terms of clothes, food, behavior, and deportment.. If we look at textbooks affiliated with the drive to improve weisheng (hygiene or health)—another complex term, whose links to visions of urban modernity are the subject of an important recent book by Ruth Rogaski we see them using similar language: calling on readers to raise the level of China’s weisheng by being wenming in the way they use the bathroom, stand in line, and so on.
According to Lee, this word shifted in connotation after 1949 to mean “manners” rather than “Western defined behavior.” However, it seems to me that in today’s usage, the meaning still carries this kind of “civilized” meaning. The term tells people not to do things that are considered uncouth or uncivilized by the international community, and by “international community” the reference remains Europe and North America (with Japan or Singapore getting an occasional look-in as perhaps honorary members of the Western modernity club) In this sense, the Expo is connected with making the lives of Shanghai people better, (hence the “better life”) which is inextricably tied with a population that maintains “modern” and “civilized” behavior.
Other public advertisements emphasize Shanghai’s “coming of age” as it becomes a modern part of the Western world in 2010. At Hongqiao airport, for example, a large mural depicts Shanghai (represented by the Oriental Pearl Tower) as it is connected with the rest of the world. Representations from outside China include the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the Coliseum, and the Empire State Building. A friend from Hong Kong with whom I was traveling bitterly commented, “So I guess Africa and South America don't count?”
While this may seem a somewhat simplistic way to read these advertisements, representation of the third world are almost always absent in images of the “global community” (and you’ll look in vane in such visual representations for any sign of India, which constitutes ¼ of the global community). And a final illustration of this phenomenon brings us back to one place you see Haibao, which is on the interactive TV screens located in many Shanghai taxis. While riding in these cabs, people can watch sponsored advertisements (including ones for the new Barbie Store) or play “Expo” games, ranging from a Dance-Dance-Revolution-like one featuring a gyrating Haibao to trivia quizzes that test (and thereby try to increase?) your knowledge of the “world,” via answering questions like “What utensils are used to eat pizza?” and “What type of wine is served with fish and spaghetti?” I’ve only seen one non-Western country even mentioned in these games, and it was Japan, and it only figured in one of the many trivia games on offer in the taxis. The message that this sends is that modernity the West, and Shanghai is ready to become a major player in the modern global community. And this will happen with the Expo, the ultimate symbol of Shanghai’s crossover.
With the Expo less than a year away, Shanghai has a lot of preparation still ahead of it (the most pressing of which are the massive building planned in Pudong). But philosophically, Shanghai has been waiting for this opportunity to regain its status as the center of gravity for China’s modernity for decades. To Shanghai people, this has always been Shanghai’s legacy, and current advertisements feed this sentiment by both naming Shanghai as China’s most modern city and tying it to the Western world, creating, in a sense, a two-dimensional modern identity, both national and international. And while these messages include a certain amount of nationalistic fervor, the real star of the show is not China, but China’s most modern city, its gateway to the rest of the world.
Shanghai has had a history of personality cults that permeate the visual landscape of the city. However, today, Mao’s presence, ubiquitous only 40 years ago, has all but faded —though you can still find some reminders that he was once omnipresent, such as the big statue of the Chairman that continues to stand on the East China Normal University and the kitsch items for sale at Shanghai souvenir stalls (though these are aimed largely at foreigners). Even the pervasive symbols of American consumerism Colonel Sanders’ and Ronald McDonald’s are not as common as they once were—though each of them have some statues as well, standing (the Colonel) or sitting (the clown) near the entrances to venues selling buckets of chicken and Big Macs, respectively. Today, the latest personality to overcome Shanghai's visual landscape is quite different, a symbol of neither Communist Revolution nor capitalist consumer culture. His name is Haibao.
Haibao, a bright blue wave with a face, is in constant public view. His animated likeness looks out at you from TV screen advertisments in subways, his picture looms down on you from the walls of construction zones, his statue is an even more popular photo subject at the Yu Gardens than the Ming architecture, and he is even often seen dancing on a giant LCD screen that moves slowly up and down the Huangpu River on a barge.
His cult of personality displaces all others, including those of the Olympic Friendlies (not so last year) and Barbie (whose pink allure is celebrated in the city now that it is home to the world’s first megastore devoted to the doll), and he brings with him a simple message: the World Expo is coming to Shanghai, and with it a new chance for Shanghai to become internationally recognized as China's most progressive and global city. The important word in that last statement, the one that draws the distinction between the message of the Expo and of the Olympics (mega-events that have been linked in various ways, including similar roles for countdown clocks and promotional videos featuring Jackie Chan), is the word “city,” not “country,” and this distinction illustrates a lot of underlying issues regarding Shanghai's own self understanding.
The slogans for both events, the Olympics and the Expo, illuminate this distinction. Whereas the Olympic slogan reads “One world, one dream,” connecting China to a world of nations, the Expo slogan reads “Better city, better life,” putting Shanghai on the map of globalized cities, not countries. Creating this type of identity for Shanghai is not difficult either, as Shanghai historically has always seen itself as connected, yet separate, from the rest of China, a gateway through which China connects with the rest of the modern world.
This is similarly emphasized in academic discourse. It is no accident that many books about China’s search for modernization are almost entirely concerned with Shanghai and present the city’s modern history as unique (though other treaty-ports sometimes get a look in as well). Leo Ou-fan Lee and Yeh Wen-hsin, along with countless others, have demonstrated that Shanghai was the birthplace of the modern Chinese nation because of its unique cultural connection with the outside world at the beginning of the twentieth century.
I did my senior thesis research about the magazine Ling Long, a Shanghai women's magazine from the 1930s. The layout and message of this magazine very clearly demonstrated the way that modern people, specifically modern women, should look and act. These modern Shanghaiers lived a unique lifestyle of "East meets West," a lifestyle that could be lived in Shanghai but no other Chinese metropolis. At the same time, Shanghai’s city landscape and unique institutions gave way to this lifestyle, and also fed the belief among Shanghai people that they were the leaders of the modern world in China, and even in Asia as a whole.
The current campaigns for the Expo play upon this Shanghainese notion that it is the center of Chinese urban modernity. One particular advertisement that seems to run on constant replay on twenty meter high screens on the sides of skyscrapers depicts Haibao’s journey through China. He first stops in Yunnan where he is greeted by the Miao people, in traditional costume (the Miao costume includes a very large and distinct white and red headress), who offer him local gifts. He then moves onto Xinjiang, where Uigher girls in flowing country dresses offer him grapes (a regional specialty) and play traditional Uigher instruments around him as he smiles and dances. Then, suddenly, we see a man in a light cotton button up shirt and slacks and a girl in a Western sundress, and they run along a road lined with modern skyscrapers and they take pictures of Haibao with their digital cameras.
The distinction between the “traditional” and “modern” is accentuated by the fact that our modern Shanghairen (Shanghainese) actually watch the “traditional” scenes on a TV screen on a skyscraper (where, in real life, this whole advertisement is played), making the "traditional" elements seem like a movie, not the real and modern Chinese world (in Shanghai). This advertisement sends a clear message: Shanghai is the end of the natural progression from traditional to modern, and therefore the logical place for the world Expo—the contemporary counterpart to the World’s Fairs of old, the first of which were held in London and Paris when those cities represented state-of-the-art modernity.
Furthermore, while also making the dichotomy between a traditional lifestyle and a “modern” lifestyle, the advertisement also implies that all of China’s elements, its diversity, celebrates Shanghai’s greatness. The advertisement actually ends not in Shanghai, but in Hong Kong, as Hong Kong people wave and welcome Haibao. While this could be interpreted in many different ways, what it seems to symbolize in this context is Hong Kong recognizing Shanghai as the new urban center of China, just as all of China’s different minorities recognize it as well. In a sense, there are many forces at play here: the dichotomy of tradition and modernity, the stark contrast between China’s minorities and Shanghai’s urban elite, and even competition among China’s urban centers. But as all of these places and peoples greet Haibao, they are in fact greeting Shanghai’s coming of age. China is essentially centered around Shanghai.
However, Expo public advertisements don't just glorify Shanghai’s place in the modern world, they also strive to present Shanghai as a place where good behavior is on display. For example, on the subway one day I ran across a person dressed up as Haibao, and he was surrounded by people in vests that read “Make this city better, be a loveable Shanghaier.” Along with being cute and loveable, however, the most common adjective connected with expected “Expo” behavior is wenming I have been in Shanghai now for nine months, and within those nine months more and more small signs, specifically in very public places, have popped up, telling people how they should be behaving. For example, most escalators now read “stand on the right, walk on the left, use the escalators in a wenming way.” Or, “Don't spit on buses, be more wenming.”
Wenming is difficult to define. Most dictionaries say it means “civilized,” but this definition carries as many problematic connotations in Chinese as it does in English. Leo Lee, in his book Shanghai Modern, traces the development of this word in modern Chinese. The term was originally borrowed from the Japanese, who used the same characters (pronounced differently of course) in the late nineteenth century to define behavior that was specifically “modern” and “Western,” thus maintaining the same connotations as “civilized” in English. This was picked up by China at the beginning of the twentieth century with similar effect.. The Nationalist government in the 1930s emphasized wenming behavior; it was often used in publications promoting the New Life Movement put forth by Chiang Kai-shek, a movement which encouraged people to be more hygienic and well mannered in terms of clothes, food, behavior, and deportment.. If we look at textbooks affiliated with the drive to improve weisheng (hygiene or health)—another complex term, whose links to visions of urban modernity are the subject of an important recent book by Ruth Rogaski we see them using similar language: calling on readers to raise the level of China’s weisheng by being wenming in the way they use the bathroom, stand in line, and so on.
According to Lee, this word shifted in connotation after 1949 to mean “manners” rather than “Western defined behavior.” However, it seems to me that in today’s usage, the meaning still carries this kind of “civilized” meaning. The term tells people not to do things that are considered uncouth or uncivilized by the international community, and by “international community” the reference remains Europe and North America (with Japan or Singapore getting an occasional look-in as perhaps honorary members of the Western modernity club) In this sense, the Expo is connected with making the lives of Shanghai people better, (hence the “better life”) which is inextricably tied with a population that maintains “modern” and “civilized” behavior.
Other public advertisements emphasize Shanghai’s “coming of age” as it becomes a modern part of the Western world in 2010. At Hongqiao airport, for example, a large mural depicts Shanghai (represented by the Oriental Pearl Tower) as it is connected with the rest of the world. Representations from outside China include the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the Coliseum, and the Empire State Building. A friend from Hong Kong with whom I was traveling bitterly commented, “So I guess Africa and South America don't count?”
While this may seem a somewhat simplistic way to read these advertisements, representation of the third world are almost always absent in images of the “global community” (and you’ll look in vane in such visual representations for any sign of India, which constitutes ¼ of the global community). And a final illustration of this phenomenon brings us back to one place you see Haibao, which is on the interactive TV screens located in many Shanghai taxis. While riding in these cabs, people can watch sponsored advertisements (including ones for the new Barbie Store) or play “Expo” games, ranging from a Dance-Dance-Revolution-like one featuring a gyrating Haibao to trivia quizzes that test (and thereby try to increase?) your knowledge of the “world,” via answering questions like “What utensils are used to eat pizza?” and “What type of wine is served with fish and spaghetti?” I’ve only seen one non-Western country even mentioned in these games, and it was Japan, and it only figured in one of the many trivia games on offer in the taxis. The message that this sends is that modernity the West, and Shanghai is ready to become a major player in the modern global community. And this will happen with the Expo, the ultimate symbol of Shanghai’s crossover.
With the Expo less than a year away, Shanghai has a lot of preparation still ahead of it (the most pressing of which are the massive building planned in Pudong). But philosophically, Shanghai has been waiting for this opportunity to regain its status as the center of gravity for China’s modernity for decades. To Shanghai people, this has always been Shanghai’s legacy, and current advertisements feed this sentiment by both naming Shanghai as China’s most modern city and tying it to the Western world, creating, in a sense, a two-dimensional modern identity, both national and international. And while these messages include a certain amount of nationalistic fervor, the real star of the show is not China, but China’s most modern city, its gateway to the rest of the world.
Joint Conference with Nanjing-Hopkins center: Sino-US cooperation and the environment
Recently, Fulbright and the Hopkins-Nanjing center for American studies held a conference celebrating 30 years since the opening of Sino-US relations. The topics discussed varied widely: from security issues, America's ability to equip a growing China, Sino-American cultural exchange, and (one of my favorite topics) Chinese online nationalism and its influence on Sino-US relations.
But by far, the topic that included the most discussion and exchange of ideas, was the issue of environment and our current energy crisis as it relates to Sino-US relations. The discussion on the environment began with a presentation by a young Chinese girl who essentially argued that while we all need to worry about climate control and the energy, all the finger pointing at China is unfair and unfounded. Her main points included: first, per capita, China has cummulatively contributed less towards climate change and environmental problems than most developed countries. Furthermore, China is a developing country, and Western countries, already enjoying high development, should allow China to catch up. Another argument included the fact that in many ways, the West essentially started this problem as they were developing over the past century.
After her presentation, many others began discussion about this point, claiming that finger pointing was not conducive to an international resolution to solve our problems. Then an elderly professor loudly claimed that we could sit here and talk about cooperation and the importance of balancing environmental concerns with China's development, but all of that wouldn't matter in 30 years when Shanghai and Beijing were both under water. His blunt pronouncement spurred a very lively disucssion about steps that need to be taken to solve our crisis, and what roles the US and China should take in the solution. Another professor supported this opinion, and said, in a more leveled tone, that much of the apologist attitudes meant to counter the finger pointing in essence drive discussion into just discussion with no action. In other words, this problem needs to be moved to the front burner.
I'm no scientist. I admit that I know very little about the problems associated with climate change, especially the environmental science behind the problems. But in Tom Friedman's book Hot Flat and Crowded, he quoted a few Montana farmers that claimed they didn't need any statistics or Ph.D. scientists to tell them climate change is happening; they see it around them every day. Similarly, I don't need anyone to tell me the damage China is doing to their air; just flying in and out of China gives a very clear picture of the pollution hazing over the country. Another participant at the conference echoed similar sentiments; she said that when Chinese people tell her that pollution in China is not serious, she only has to site her degrading health as proof of the problematic air she breathes (having been sick more times this year than in the last 4 years combined, I can empathize).
That being said, it does seem that the more we, or China, apologize or make excuses about China's current environmental practices, the more that talks disintegrate into inaction. Cultural sensitivity is important, as is accomodating China's need for development, but that does not excuse lazy/subpar practices. China has a surplus of money to invest in cleaner air and efficiency, and as evidenced by the Beijing Olympics, when China wants to get things done, it certainly gets things done. The problem is convincing China to not take shortcuts that would spur quick economic development while neglecting the environment (i.e. poor quality cars, overuse of air conditioner by neglecting central heating, subsidized gasoline, etc.)
At the same token, Americans need to start setting and example. It is frustrating to the average Chinese (and the environmentally conscious American) to see our wateful and ignorant habits while we tell the Chinese to be more conscious. At the same time, the Chinese can't live like Americans for 20 years before they begin to turn around their policy.
So the conclusion that we came to at the conference (which I agree with) it is more than cooperation at this point. We need to put aside finger pointing and excuses, and we need to worry less about economic growth (we don't all need 3 story houses with 15 TVs) and more about being environmentally conscious. This isn't meant to understate the gravity of economic hardship, especially among poorer people in both countries, but we need to begin to think of greener practices as a long term investment and not just focus on quick fixes.
But by far, the topic that included the most discussion and exchange of ideas, was the issue of environment and our current energy crisis as it relates to Sino-US relations. The discussion on the environment began with a presentation by a young Chinese girl who essentially argued that while we all need to worry about climate control and the energy, all the finger pointing at China is unfair and unfounded. Her main points included: first, per capita, China has cummulatively contributed less towards climate change and environmental problems than most developed countries. Furthermore, China is a developing country, and Western countries, already enjoying high development, should allow China to catch up. Another argument included the fact that in many ways, the West essentially started this problem as they were developing over the past century.
After her presentation, many others began discussion about this point, claiming that finger pointing was not conducive to an international resolution to solve our problems. Then an elderly professor loudly claimed that we could sit here and talk about cooperation and the importance of balancing environmental concerns with China's development, but all of that wouldn't matter in 30 years when Shanghai and Beijing were both under water. His blunt pronouncement spurred a very lively disucssion about steps that need to be taken to solve our crisis, and what roles the US and China should take in the solution. Another professor supported this opinion, and said, in a more leveled tone, that much of the apologist attitudes meant to counter the finger pointing in essence drive discussion into just discussion with no action. In other words, this problem needs to be moved to the front burner.
I'm no scientist. I admit that I know very little about the problems associated with climate change, especially the environmental science behind the problems. But in Tom Friedman's book Hot Flat and Crowded, he quoted a few Montana farmers that claimed they didn't need any statistics or Ph.D. scientists to tell them climate change is happening; they see it around them every day. Similarly, I don't need anyone to tell me the damage China is doing to their air; just flying in and out of China gives a very clear picture of the pollution hazing over the country. Another participant at the conference echoed similar sentiments; she said that when Chinese people tell her that pollution in China is not serious, she only has to site her degrading health as proof of the problematic air she breathes (having been sick more times this year than in the last 4 years combined, I can empathize).
That being said, it does seem that the more we, or China, apologize or make excuses about China's current environmental practices, the more that talks disintegrate into inaction. Cultural sensitivity is important, as is accomodating China's need for development, but that does not excuse lazy/subpar practices. China has a surplus of money to invest in cleaner air and efficiency, and as evidenced by the Beijing Olympics, when China wants to get things done, it certainly gets things done. The problem is convincing China to not take shortcuts that would spur quick economic development while neglecting the environment (i.e. poor quality cars, overuse of air conditioner by neglecting central heating, subsidized gasoline, etc.)
At the same token, Americans need to start setting and example. It is frustrating to the average Chinese (and the environmentally conscious American) to see our wateful and ignorant habits while we tell the Chinese to be more conscious. At the same time, the Chinese can't live like Americans for 20 years before they begin to turn around their policy.
So the conclusion that we came to at the conference (which I agree with) it is more than cooperation at this point. We need to put aside finger pointing and excuses, and we need to worry less about economic growth (we don't all need 3 story houses with 15 TVs) and more about being environmentally conscious. This isn't meant to understate the gravity of economic hardship, especially among poorer people in both countries, but we need to begin to think of greener practices as a long term investment and not just focus on quick fixes.
5/08/2009
Flat Pinyin
I am currently reading Thomas Friedman's Hot Flat and Crowded. Among many of his arguments, one of them is that the world is flat. By this, he means that, internationally, people's livlihood internationally are beginning to level out, and the playing field for international competition is much more equalized than it ever has been before. This phenomenon is occurring because more and more people are connected through technology, allowing more flowing ideas, more opportunity, and more global competition. Basically, historically, one needed to have the right birthrite to be wealthy and prosperous (or be insanely lucky). These days, with a basic level of comfort and the right technology, the American dream is becoming more of an international reality, and more and more people are hopping up to a global middle class.
A friend of mine and I recently were talking about pinyin, or the romanized version of Chinese. Today, more and more Chinese people are becoming literate; but these days, literate in Chinese characters is not enough, as literacy in pinyin and the Roman alphabet are becoming more and more necessary in today's world. She pointed out to me that nearly everyone in China owns a cell phone (which is true) and that nearly everyone sends text messages. In order to send text messages, one needs to use pinyin, thus necessitating the use of a romanized alphabet just to connect in the Chinese world.
What does this have to do with the flattening of the world? The harsh truth is that, in a global context, in order to compete globally, a basic knowledge of English is required, as English is a highly imperialistic language. (And China knows this. As a small side note, the Chinese government actually wants to outlaw some of China's minority language, such as Uigher, because its use of Romanized alphabet actually makes it easier for minorities to learn English than Han Chinese). And the ability to pronounce words written in a Roman script puts someone on a much higher global playing field than one who cannot. And these days in China, everything from seeing a movie at the theater to going shopping at a department store assumes that people can use a Roman script (for instance, subtitles for English movies often include English words that cannot translate well).
Proponents of pinyin in the 1950s had argued this, claiming that pinyin would essentially help Chinese to be competitive in an increasingly global world. And while characters aren't going anywhere anytime soon, most Chinese who want competitive jobs need to be fluent in the Roman alphabet, not only to communicate but also to effectively use technology.
So even if you don't agree with Friedman's other arguments, this small phenomenon shows how technology is starting to flatten the world.
A friend of mine and I recently were talking about pinyin, or the romanized version of Chinese. Today, more and more Chinese people are becoming literate; but these days, literate in Chinese characters is not enough, as literacy in pinyin and the Roman alphabet are becoming more and more necessary in today's world. She pointed out to me that nearly everyone in China owns a cell phone (which is true) and that nearly everyone sends text messages. In order to send text messages, one needs to use pinyin, thus necessitating the use of a romanized alphabet just to connect in the Chinese world.
What does this have to do with the flattening of the world? The harsh truth is that, in a global context, in order to compete globally, a basic knowledge of English is required, as English is a highly imperialistic language. (And China knows this. As a small side note, the Chinese government actually wants to outlaw some of China's minority language, such as Uigher, because its use of Romanized alphabet actually makes it easier for minorities to learn English than Han Chinese). And the ability to pronounce words written in a Roman script puts someone on a much higher global playing field than one who cannot. And these days in China, everything from seeing a movie at the theater to going shopping at a department store assumes that people can use a Roman script (for instance, subtitles for English movies often include English words that cannot translate well).
Proponents of pinyin in the 1950s had argued this, claiming that pinyin would essentially help Chinese to be competitive in an increasingly global world. And while characters aren't going anywhere anytime soon, most Chinese who want competitive jobs need to be fluent in the Roman alphabet, not only to communicate but also to effectively use technology.
So even if you don't agree with Friedman's other arguments, this small phenomenon shows how technology is starting to flatten the world.
5/06/2009
Funny, Interesting, and totally unrelated
As I was flipping through the People’s Daily from the 1950s recently, something completely unrelated to my research caught my attention (as often happens...): political cartoons regarding foreign policy. The first one that caught my attention actually regarded American domestic politics: As the cartoon shows below, one man wears a sandwich board, and on the front his advertisement reads "Please choose the Republican party" and on his back the advertisement reads "Please choose the Democratic party." The caption below reads "2 advertisements, 1 boss."
This cartoon literally made me laugh out loud in the archives (drawing more attention to myself than usual) not only because the cartoon is quite funny, but also because it is incredibly perceptive, even though it may not mean to be. I believe the People's Daily was trying to point out that our "free" society was really ruled by one overarching archaic institution, but in fact also makes the point that our parties' platforms are incredibly similar. And when we compare our political climate to the rest of the world, that was true and still is to this day.
If I look at all of these cartoons, all of them show a certain awareness about what was going on around the world. While the People's Daily certainly had an agenda, the points that they make about the West's actions don't seem as biased as they seem astute. I find this refreshing, perhaps because a lot of what I find in the Chinese news today is much less clever in its portrayal of the West's actions around the world.
I’ve reproduced a few of my favorites below. About half of them are from 1956, where the main international news was Israel and the Suez Canal crisis. The other half are from 1966, where the main news was Vietnam.
This cartoon, from November 9th, 1955, the signs all over Japan read things such as "Japanese people cannot do _____here" such as live, work, drive, etc.
This cartoon, entitled "Passing the torch" was from November 6th, 1956. The torch reads "invasion" and as the small British man steals it, he heads towards "Egypt." While obviously the comparison to Hitler is a bit much, I find it interesting that China smartly picked up the hypocrisy in our actions. However, related to the Suez canal crisis, I find the following cartoon even more interesting:
In this cartoon, (November 1st, 1956) the strange looking man with the British flag hat is meant to represent France and England, and they spur on a bull labeled Israel as they cross the fence into Egypt. I really like the way the causality is represented here.
I find a lot of relevance in this cartoon and the next one to today's problems. In this cartoon, labeled "charity" shows an American man with a barrel labaled "Money from Arab/US Oil companies." He rides a carpet labeled "Special Saudi/American relationship" and throws a little money towards we can assume the Arab world, and it is labeled "charity fee." Even in the 1950s, China was aware of America's relationship with the Arab world and our use of policy to maintain a privaledged position in obtaining oil.
In this cartoon, the barrel reads oil, and America steals the foundation holding England up (with an evil grin). I admit I don't know a lot about the American/British/Saudi relationship at this time, but nonetheless, it is a creative cartoon.
In this cartoon, from February 10, 1966, the small support about to break underneath the bridge reads "America's domestic problems" and the tank reads "America invading Vietnam." To me, this could be read in 2 ways: As America becomes more embroiled in Vietnam, the domestic situation will inevitably crumble; OR that America used its domestic woes to support a war in Vietnam. Both are interesting arguments.
This cartoon I find quite funny. The captain, sitting and looking disheveled, looks at the other soldier, daydreaming about his girlfriend, and scolds him, telling him to focus. At the same time, however, he dreams of returning home to America. I find it fascinating that China picked up on the loss of morale in our troops as early as 1966 (or perhaps they assumed it, and it just happened to be true).
This cartoon is from February 19, 1966. The sickly looking horse is labeled as "South Vietnam." I showed this cartoon to a few friends, and one of them (not an American) looked at me and said "well...that's what you guys did." And essentially, he's right.
This cartoon literally made me laugh out loud in the archives (drawing more attention to myself than usual) not only because the cartoon is quite funny, but also because it is incredibly perceptive, even though it may not mean to be. I believe the People's Daily was trying to point out that our "free" society was really ruled by one overarching archaic institution, but in fact also makes the point that our parties' platforms are incredibly similar. And when we compare our political climate to the rest of the world, that was true and still is to this day.
If I look at all of these cartoons, all of them show a certain awareness about what was going on around the world. While the People's Daily certainly had an agenda, the points that they make about the West's actions don't seem as biased as they seem astute. I find this refreshing, perhaps because a lot of what I find in the Chinese news today is much less clever in its portrayal of the West's actions around the world.
I’ve reproduced a few of my favorites below. About half of them are from 1956, where the main international news was Israel and the Suez Canal crisis. The other half are from 1966, where the main news was Vietnam.
This cartoon, from November 9th, 1955, the signs all over Japan read things such as "Japanese people cannot do _____here" such as live, work, drive, etc.
This cartoon, entitled "Passing the torch" was from November 6th, 1956. The torch reads "invasion" and as the small British man steals it, he heads towards "Egypt." While obviously the comparison to Hitler is a bit much, I find it interesting that China smartly picked up the hypocrisy in our actions. However, related to the Suez canal crisis, I find the following cartoon even more interesting:
In this cartoon, (November 1st, 1956) the strange looking man with the British flag hat is meant to represent France and England, and they spur on a bull labeled Israel as they cross the fence into Egypt. I really like the way the causality is represented here.
I find a lot of relevance in this cartoon and the next one to today's problems. In this cartoon, labeled "charity" shows an American man with a barrel labaled "Money from Arab/US Oil companies." He rides a carpet labeled "Special Saudi/American relationship" and throws a little money towards we can assume the Arab world, and it is labeled "charity fee." Even in the 1950s, China was aware of America's relationship with the Arab world and our use of policy to maintain a privaledged position in obtaining oil.
In this cartoon, the barrel reads oil, and America steals the foundation holding England up (with an evil grin). I admit I don't know a lot about the American/British/Saudi relationship at this time, but nonetheless, it is a creative cartoon.
In this cartoon, from February 10, 1966, the small support about to break underneath the bridge reads "America's domestic problems" and the tank reads "America invading Vietnam." To me, this could be read in 2 ways: As America becomes more embroiled in Vietnam, the domestic situation will inevitably crumble; OR that America used its domestic woes to support a war in Vietnam. Both are interesting arguments.
This cartoon I find quite funny. The captain, sitting and looking disheveled, looks at the other soldier, daydreaming about his girlfriend, and scolds him, telling him to focus. At the same time, however, he dreams of returning home to America. I find it fascinating that China picked up on the loss of morale in our troops as early as 1966 (or perhaps they assumed it, and it just happened to be true).
This cartoon is from February 19, 1966. The sickly looking horse is labeled as "South Vietnam." I showed this cartoon to a few friends, and one of them (not an American) looked at me and said "well...that's what you guys did." And essentially, he's right.
4/08/2009
Research Notes: Self study and the urban-rural divide
Today's world is almost obsessively concerned with distribution of wealth, and in the case of China, that discussion is often held in conjunction with discussions of the urban/rural inequality of wealth. Throughout Chinese history, there has been a drastic divide between city and countryside residence, and is evident in everything from prices of food and average quality of living to prejudices one holds against the other.
Concerns about the urban/rural divide are imbued in just about every one of China's concerns, including (perhaps even especially) education. While land and wage reform in the early 1950s and 60s began to even that divide, it is deepening once more. And these undulations in wealth inequality were, and still are, paralleled by education inequality.
While there is much to be said on this subject when it comes to institutionalized education, I have found some interesting information concerning this topic when it comes to self study options. While at the publishing house, looking through self study manuals, I began to chat with one of the librarians about his experiences with different kinds of self study. He told me that radio broadcasts were an extremely popular among people of his generation, and he told me the most popular broadcast was actually English lessons. He explained to me that he, like many people his age, was not able to graduate middle school or high school because of the cultural revolution, and by the time traditional education was reinstated, they had a few options, and radio schooling seemed like the best. In fact, potential self studiers could buy textbooks that followed along with the lessons on the radio, thus giving them both written and oral practice. And while he didn't take college or high school exams in these subjects based entirely on radio schooling, he knew plenty of people who did.
I then asked him (since he is from Shanghai) whether this was popular in small towns as well, and he told me of course! In places like Shanghai, people had options for alternative education; they could go to night school, they could go to school after retiring, etc. But in rural places, where could they go to school? There was barely enough institution to house traditional school aged children, let alone adults. Therefore, radio schooling was about the only option. I then asked him if this was true before 1949, and while he didn't know about radio schooling, he did tell me that "free time schools" and nigh schools were enormously popular in Shanghai in the 1930s. This librarian told me that his father actually utilized night schools to learn a variety of languages, including French, English, and Japanese, the first of which was especially helpful since they lived in the French Concession. But, he said gravely, these were options only open to Shanghai residents, and Shanghai at that time was enormously more developed than the rest of China. Furthermore, all of these alternative education options cost money, money that Shanghai residents often have that those in the countryside would not.
Now obviously this is one narrative, and doesn't tell the whole story. For instance, government documents reveal heavy efforts put into rural schooling opportunities for those in factories and those in the countryside. Furthermore, the government encouraged those in cities who did not go on in their schooling to help out in the rural countryside, and in return attempted to give them self study options. But numbers related to these efforts are hard to come by, and it is even harder to know their accuracy. This is why the radio was so important; it truly was the only resource that could be equally spread to all members of China.
This also brings up some interesting new questions. First of all, how did these opportunities for alternative education shift and change from before and after 1949, not only in the countryside but also in the city itself? Secondly, from the little information I gathered, it seems as though material for alternative education was different in the rural and urban settings since knowledge needed for farming and knowledge needed for factory work was drastically different, and it would be interesting to look at the curriculum for both settings. Finally, and this would be the most difficult to answer, how did these policies strengthen, weaken, or maintain the difference between the rural and urban education levels?
This also shows how important oral history is to these kinds of studies. I hope to have more opportunities to find out information from people themselves, rather than simply just from archival sources.
Concerns about the urban/rural divide are imbued in just about every one of China's concerns, including (perhaps even especially) education. While land and wage reform in the early 1950s and 60s began to even that divide, it is deepening once more. And these undulations in wealth inequality were, and still are, paralleled by education inequality.
While there is much to be said on this subject when it comes to institutionalized education, I have found some interesting information concerning this topic when it comes to self study options. While at the publishing house, looking through self study manuals, I began to chat with one of the librarians about his experiences with different kinds of self study. He told me that radio broadcasts were an extremely popular among people of his generation, and he told me the most popular broadcast was actually English lessons. He explained to me that he, like many people his age, was not able to graduate middle school or high school because of the cultural revolution, and by the time traditional education was reinstated, they had a few options, and radio schooling seemed like the best. In fact, potential self studiers could buy textbooks that followed along with the lessons on the radio, thus giving them both written and oral practice. And while he didn't take college or high school exams in these subjects based entirely on radio schooling, he knew plenty of people who did.
I then asked him (since he is from Shanghai) whether this was popular in small towns as well, and he told me of course! In places like Shanghai, people had options for alternative education; they could go to night school, they could go to school after retiring, etc. But in rural places, where could they go to school? There was barely enough institution to house traditional school aged children, let alone adults. Therefore, radio schooling was about the only option. I then asked him if this was true before 1949, and while he didn't know about radio schooling, he did tell me that "free time schools" and nigh schools were enormously popular in Shanghai in the 1930s. This librarian told me that his father actually utilized night schools to learn a variety of languages, including French, English, and Japanese, the first of which was especially helpful since they lived in the French Concession. But, he said gravely, these were options only open to Shanghai residents, and Shanghai at that time was enormously more developed than the rest of China. Furthermore, all of these alternative education options cost money, money that Shanghai residents often have that those in the countryside would not.
Now obviously this is one narrative, and doesn't tell the whole story. For instance, government documents reveal heavy efforts put into rural schooling opportunities for those in factories and those in the countryside. Furthermore, the government encouraged those in cities who did not go on in their schooling to help out in the rural countryside, and in return attempted to give them self study options. But numbers related to these efforts are hard to come by, and it is even harder to know their accuracy. This is why the radio was so important; it truly was the only resource that could be equally spread to all members of China.
This also brings up some interesting new questions. First of all, how did these opportunities for alternative education shift and change from before and after 1949, not only in the countryside but also in the city itself? Secondly, from the little information I gathered, it seems as though material for alternative education was different in the rural and urban settings since knowledge needed for farming and knowledge needed for factory work was drastically different, and it would be interesting to look at the curriculum for both settings. Finally, and this would be the most difficult to answer, how did these policies strengthen, weaken, or maintain the difference between the rural and urban education levels?
This also shows how important oral history is to these kinds of studies. I hope to have more opportunities to find out information from people themselves, rather than simply just from archival sources.
4/06/2009
Research Notes: the push for an alphabet
By 1956, intellectuals and government officials in China has been arguing about language reforms for decades, but it was that year that we began to see real plans propogated among the general public. As Peter Seyblot and Gregory Chiang have point out, language reform meant three things in China during the PRC: simplification and standardization of characters, a standard pronunciation, and a standard phonetic system for that pronunciation. 1956 was the year we began to see the first and second goals have any real affect. Beginning in 1956, newspapers and major publications used simplified characters (although only about half the amount there are today, this process would not be complete until 1972). Also beginning in 1956, the government held nation wide conferences to teach school teachers and government officials putonghua, or what we call mandarin Chinese. And beginning in 1958, all school children were required to learn, and to function, in mandarin.
Therefore, when I opened up the People's Daily at the beginning of 1956, I expected to see news about character simplification. There was indeed a lot of news about language reform in 1956, but nearly all of it focused on the use and structure of pinyin (the romanization of Chinese). While this at first surprised me, it made sense considering that for many in the Communist government, the ultimate goal for language reform was a phonetic character system, either through the Roman alphabet or some other form (like the Japanese hiragana). This was still under debate, and because of that (and other reasons) the government decided to take these reforms step by step, first introducing simplified characters and then moving to only a phonetic script later on.
These debates are interesting, as through debates about language we can see debates about the future of the country as a whole, and which elements of a country's development take precedent over others. Those who argue for an entirely phonetic system focused on how cumbersome Chinese characters are. Wu Yuzhang, for instance, argued at the National Writing conference in 1957, that Chinese characters are by far more difficult to learn than a phonetic script, as one must learn to write the characters, their meaning, and their pronunciation, neither of which are apparent when first looking at the characters. Because of this, Chinese children are much slower at achieving literacy than students in Western countries because it takes them that much longer to learn. They are also complex to write, making taking notes and other things quite time consuming. And in an age before computers, printing Chinese characters was a long and cumbersome process, unlike the ease with which Western countries could type using a typewriter. And finally, spread of pinyin would effectively reinforce mandarin Chinese as a national language. While characters can be read with different pronunciations depending on dialect, an alphabetic system would have only one pronunciation, thus making the propagation of mandarin that much easier. And finally, as Zhou Enlai pointed out, it promotes international exchange, since many countries throughout the world use a roman alphabet.
Arguments against the pinyin system are a bit more varied. Historians and scholars of literature would mourn the loss of a character system because that form of writing was central to China's 2000 plus years of history. Without knowledge of characters, Chinese people would fail to understand their heritage. This is especially true because of the art of calligraphy, which puts additional meaning behind very simple phrases, often composed of no more than 8 characters. Without understanding the art of character writing, and the complexity of meanings behind them, this entire cultural background would be lost on future generations. Other arguments are more nationalistic, claiming that just because the "foreign devils" told us our character system was bad does not mean we should immediately adopt their system (although Mao rejected this idea, claiming that if we are using their knowledge to better our own country, there is no conflict of interest).
Others posed linguistic arguments, claiming that a pinyin system would not necessarily aid literacy or convenience. There are hundreds upon hundreds of homonyms in Chinese, some of which are often confused in spoken Chinese as well. For instance, there are over a hundred characters pronounced "shi" although much confusion is eradicated as these words form compounds. But even the compounds often have homonyms, such as "ziji" meaning "self" and "ziji" meaning "napkin." Tones would solve these problems, as would context, but confusion is still bound to happen, as it does in spoken Chinese today.
Some of these arguments also apply to simplification of characters themselves, as some were simplified beyond the point of recognition. Once again, the diverse nature of Chinese characters is lost when a series of characters are all written the same way. Similarly, those who can already read traditional characters must relearn the simplified ones.
One argument that was not brought out by documents I read, but I believe is nonetheless important as China moves forward, is the loss of a richness of language. The eradication of characters makes the dwindling of dialects that much more likely, and as different languages disappear, so do certain cultural understandings. The more ways we have to express an idea, the more knowledge we have. Furthermore, dialects are often associated with a certain amount of local identity, which would begin to disappear as well. Furthermore, as historians pointed out, as characters are simplified, condensed, and even removed from use, the ability to effectively read ancient scripts goes away as well. This would happen with a phonetic system not only because of not using characters, but I believe that vocabulary itself would also dwindle. As an essay by Cao Bohan pointed out, homonyms become a problem in Chinese; for instance "baowei" can mean to protect 保卫 or to surround 包围. One way to get rid of this problem would be to use "baohu" instead for protect, which carries essentially the same meaning. But if this were to continue to happen with many homonyms, these words which cause confusion would eventually be forgotten, or not in ready vocabulary. Already, the average amount of characters Chinese people know is about 6000-7000, which is not even close to the amount that there actually are.
To me, in a very crude sense, these debates represent a balance between immediate practicality and preservation of diversity. Pinyin would be most practical, but is it worth that would be lost, that might never come back? (similar to environmental problems). I have my own opinions, but my opinions, as much as it pains me, do not matter to the Communist party; however I will say this: John DeFrancis was forever saddened and disappointed that the Chinese government never made the full switch to Pinyin, but I would feel the opposite if that were to happen.
I don't know the future will be for language, but for now, characters aren't going away. However, pinyin is becoming more and more important. Beginning in 2003, officials and teachers must pass a pinyin exam in Shanghai. More importantly, the Chinese love affair with cell phones and texting has made pinyin a necessary tool for any technology-savvy teenager (texting Chinese without pinyin is quite difficult, as Hong Kongers have found). At the same time, though, it has by no means replaced characters as a writing system, but instead is just a tool through which people can better take advantage of technology. Time will only tell, however, whether the communists were the kiss of death to Chinese characters, making one more language dead in favor of a larger system of communication.
Therefore, when I opened up the People's Daily at the beginning of 1956, I expected to see news about character simplification. There was indeed a lot of news about language reform in 1956, but nearly all of it focused on the use and structure of pinyin (the romanization of Chinese). While this at first surprised me, it made sense considering that for many in the Communist government, the ultimate goal for language reform was a phonetic character system, either through the Roman alphabet or some other form (like the Japanese hiragana). This was still under debate, and because of that (and other reasons) the government decided to take these reforms step by step, first introducing simplified characters and then moving to only a phonetic script later on.
These debates are interesting, as through debates about language we can see debates about the future of the country as a whole, and which elements of a country's development take precedent over others. Those who argue for an entirely phonetic system focused on how cumbersome Chinese characters are. Wu Yuzhang, for instance, argued at the National Writing conference in 1957, that Chinese characters are by far more difficult to learn than a phonetic script, as one must learn to write the characters, their meaning, and their pronunciation, neither of which are apparent when first looking at the characters. Because of this, Chinese children are much slower at achieving literacy than students in Western countries because it takes them that much longer to learn. They are also complex to write, making taking notes and other things quite time consuming. And in an age before computers, printing Chinese characters was a long and cumbersome process, unlike the ease with which Western countries could type using a typewriter. And finally, spread of pinyin would effectively reinforce mandarin Chinese as a national language. While characters can be read with different pronunciations depending on dialect, an alphabetic system would have only one pronunciation, thus making the propagation of mandarin that much easier. And finally, as Zhou Enlai pointed out, it promotes international exchange, since many countries throughout the world use a roman alphabet.
Arguments against the pinyin system are a bit more varied. Historians and scholars of literature would mourn the loss of a character system because that form of writing was central to China's 2000 plus years of history. Without knowledge of characters, Chinese people would fail to understand their heritage. This is especially true because of the art of calligraphy, which puts additional meaning behind very simple phrases, often composed of no more than 8 characters. Without understanding the art of character writing, and the complexity of meanings behind them, this entire cultural background would be lost on future generations. Other arguments are more nationalistic, claiming that just because the "foreign devils" told us our character system was bad does not mean we should immediately adopt their system (although Mao rejected this idea, claiming that if we are using their knowledge to better our own country, there is no conflict of interest).
Others posed linguistic arguments, claiming that a pinyin system would not necessarily aid literacy or convenience. There are hundreds upon hundreds of homonyms in Chinese, some of which are often confused in spoken Chinese as well. For instance, there are over a hundred characters pronounced "shi" although much confusion is eradicated as these words form compounds. But even the compounds often have homonyms, such as "ziji" meaning "self" and "ziji" meaning "napkin." Tones would solve these problems, as would context, but confusion is still bound to happen, as it does in spoken Chinese today.
Some of these arguments also apply to simplification of characters themselves, as some were simplified beyond the point of recognition. Once again, the diverse nature of Chinese characters is lost when a series of characters are all written the same way. Similarly, those who can already read traditional characters must relearn the simplified ones.
One argument that was not brought out by documents I read, but I believe is nonetheless important as China moves forward, is the loss of a richness of language. The eradication of characters makes the dwindling of dialects that much more likely, and as different languages disappear, so do certain cultural understandings. The more ways we have to express an idea, the more knowledge we have. Furthermore, dialects are often associated with a certain amount of local identity, which would begin to disappear as well. Furthermore, as historians pointed out, as characters are simplified, condensed, and even removed from use, the ability to effectively read ancient scripts goes away as well. This would happen with a phonetic system not only because of not using characters, but I believe that vocabulary itself would also dwindle. As an essay by Cao Bohan pointed out, homonyms become a problem in Chinese; for instance "baowei" can mean to protect 保卫 or to surround 包围. One way to get rid of this problem would be to use "baohu" instead for protect, which carries essentially the same meaning. But if this were to continue to happen with many homonyms, these words which cause confusion would eventually be forgotten, or not in ready vocabulary. Already, the average amount of characters Chinese people know is about 6000-7000, which is not even close to the amount that there actually are.
To me, in a very crude sense, these debates represent a balance between immediate practicality and preservation of diversity. Pinyin would be most practical, but is it worth that would be lost, that might never come back? (similar to environmental problems). I have my own opinions, but my opinions, as much as it pains me, do not matter to the Communist party; however I will say this: John DeFrancis was forever saddened and disappointed that the Chinese government never made the full switch to Pinyin, but I would feel the opposite if that were to happen.
I don't know the future will be for language, but for now, characters aren't going away. However, pinyin is becoming more and more important. Beginning in 2003, officials and teachers must pass a pinyin exam in Shanghai. More importantly, the Chinese love affair with cell phones and texting has made pinyin a necessary tool for any technology-savvy teenager (texting Chinese without pinyin is quite difficult, as Hong Kongers have found). At the same time, though, it has by no means replaced characters as a writing system, but instead is just a tool through which people can better take advantage of technology. Time will only tell, however, whether the communists were the kiss of death to Chinese characters, making one more language dead in favor of a larger system of communication.
3/31/2009
Research notes: the extent of hopelessness
As I have been reading documents about self-study practices, more often than not the subject comes up in the context of not being able to continue schooling after elementary, middle, or high school (that subject is a very succinct phrase in Chinese, 未升学的初中毕业生). This problem is very grave in the 1950s, often to the point where students in this situation in Shanghai feel they have no choice but to go to "Huangpu River University" which, according to later clarifications, is a fancy way of saying suicide. Especially among heads of households, a lack of higher education to them equals socioeconomic suicide. However, by the 1950s, the government had not yet been able to expand public education to the point of guaranteeing everyone a place in high school and college, and therefore had to find alternatives for these students to "keep them off the street" (see my earlier post).
One of these options is to join the work force. Obviously, one would not need a high level of education to work in a factory, and as the government worked towards higher and higher productivity, laborers were needed. This posed a problem, however. As the government consolidated factories and brought them under state control, there was a surplus of factory workers who found themselves unemployed. Ironically, a lot of these laborers ended up working as teachers, as Eddie U pointed out in his book, as of all the jobs in the PRC, teachers were in the highest demand. It would be interesting to find out if a lot of these 不能升学 students ended up being recycled right back into schools.
A very long article published in the People's Daily sought to solve this problem. They claimed that, indeed, factories in cities were being overrun with people, but the countryside could always use help 种地. The article explained that all of the attitudes towards a future in agriculture in the countryside were false: it was an honorable future with a lot of potential (as the main complaint was that such jobs had no future). In fact, those with some schooling from the cities could bring their knowledge to the countryside, thus making the entire country better.
Another option for these students is to self study, a subject I have brought up quite a bit in these last few posts. There are quite a few government documents and newspaper articles about this, and that a person can actually have a very bright future in the world of self study. Another article in the People's Daily pointed out that many experts in many fields never went to college and still made a difference to the field and to the country. For more on this topic, see the post below.
Along with self study, and self made experts, the government put together a series of supplemental learning options together, called either "work education" or "free time education." Another document includes nearly 200 pages of schedules for workers of different companies, demonstrating when they could partake in this freetime education and what kinds of classes they can take. These will usually be "skill" classes related to their work, but others also included culture classes. According to the People's Daily, culture classes (文化）are crucial because it contributes to the improvement of the socialist country and contributes to the betterment of production.
Even with all these options, this problem is a huge problem. It also raises the question of government responsibility. Of all the newspaper articles that address this subject (and there are quite a few) almost all of them begin with: "the education system after liberation has improved quite a bit, but there is still work to be done. In the meantime, what do we do with these students who cannot go on in school?" This statement implies that it is the government's job to figure out how to solve this problem. At the same time, other personal testimonies of people in this situation imply that it is the person's job to take it upon himself to better the country by learning and studying more. For example, an article in the People's Daily tells the story of an illiterate old man who learned to read all on his own by memorizing a few characters a day. This story, and the way he is portrayed as a hero, seems to exalt self motivation and learning during private time, with absolutely no governmental help. This is a tension that should be addressed in all studies about the communist era: the role of the government and the place of the government as opposed to the individual. I think we often believe that the communist government did everything it could to be in constant control of everything, that it found everything within its rights. However, after reading Eddie U's book, I think we need to accept that a lot of our assumptions about both Communist policies and their efficacy are quite false.
However, at this point, this is a difficult measure to make, not only because of a lack of data but also for a lack of measuring. I just think it is an important point to bring up among all these other points. I also think it will be interesting to explore what was going on in this arena before 1949. I found some self-study help books, which mention things like self study groups, often organized by book stores. But this seems to have less of a feel of learning basic skills to increase production, and more like the way we see book clubs in the states today, as embracing personal interests on ones' own. As I read more, I can find out the accuracy of this generalization.
One of these options is to join the work force. Obviously, one would not need a high level of education to work in a factory, and as the government worked towards higher and higher productivity, laborers were needed. This posed a problem, however. As the government consolidated factories and brought them under state control, there was a surplus of factory workers who found themselves unemployed. Ironically, a lot of these laborers ended up working as teachers, as Eddie U pointed out in his book, as of all the jobs in the PRC, teachers were in the highest demand. It would be interesting to find out if a lot of these 不能升学 students ended up being recycled right back into schools.
A very long article published in the People's Daily sought to solve this problem. They claimed that, indeed, factories in cities were being overrun with people, but the countryside could always use help 种地. The article explained that all of the attitudes towards a future in agriculture in the countryside were false: it was an honorable future with a lot of potential (as the main complaint was that such jobs had no future). In fact, those with some schooling from the cities could bring their knowledge to the countryside, thus making the entire country better.
Another option for these students is to self study, a subject I have brought up quite a bit in these last few posts. There are quite a few government documents and newspaper articles about this, and that a person can actually have a very bright future in the world of self study. Another article in the People's Daily pointed out that many experts in many fields never went to college and still made a difference to the field and to the country. For more on this topic, see the post below.
Along with self study, and self made experts, the government put together a series of supplemental learning options together, called either "work education" or "free time education." Another document includes nearly 200 pages of schedules for workers of different companies, demonstrating when they could partake in this freetime education and what kinds of classes they can take. These will usually be "skill" classes related to their work, but others also included culture classes. According to the People's Daily, culture classes (文化）are crucial because it contributes to the improvement of the socialist country and contributes to the betterment of production.
Even with all these options, this problem is a huge problem. It also raises the question of government responsibility. Of all the newspaper articles that address this subject (and there are quite a few) almost all of them begin with: "the education system after liberation has improved quite a bit, but there is still work to be done. In the meantime, what do we do with these students who cannot go on in school?" This statement implies that it is the government's job to figure out how to solve this problem. At the same time, other personal testimonies of people in this situation imply that it is the person's job to take it upon himself to better the country by learning and studying more. For example, an article in the People's Daily tells the story of an illiterate old man who learned to read all on his own by memorizing a few characters a day. This story, and the way he is portrayed as a hero, seems to exalt self motivation and learning during private time, with absolutely no governmental help. This is a tension that should be addressed in all studies about the communist era: the role of the government and the place of the government as opposed to the individual. I think we often believe that the communist government did everything it could to be in constant control of everything, that it found everything within its rights. However, after reading Eddie U's book, I think we need to accept that a lot of our assumptions about both Communist policies and their efficacy are quite false.
However, at this point, this is a difficult measure to make, not only because of a lack of data but also for a lack of measuring. I just think it is an important point to bring up among all these other points. I also think it will be interesting to explore what was going on in this arena before 1949. I found some self-study help books, which mention things like self study groups, often organized by book stores. But this seems to have less of a feel of learning basic skills to increase production, and more like the way we see book clubs in the states today, as embracing personal interests on ones' own. As I read more, I can find out the accuracy of this generalization.
3/30/2009
Research Notes: What do we do with hooligans?
A few months ago, I went to a conference held at East China Normal University about visual histories of Shanghai. One of the presentations that stuck out in my mind was about representations of "Ah Fei" or the quintessential "Chinese Hooligan." I found this presentation interesting because I had never seen this stereotype before, and I also found it amusing that representations Ah Fei often looked like John Travolta in Grease.
While doing research in the past few days, Ah Fei once again reared his ugly head, this time in documents about self study habits. This new topic I have been exploring has brought to light some important topics in the study of education and the study of culture in the PRC. In this document about the importance of self study, the author claimed that filling up workers' time with supplementary learning and self study habits will keep them from becoming Ah Fei. Similarly, another document mentioned that self study practices are important for keeping people from hanging out and doing nothing on the streets. In American terms, basically, teaching kids to study on their own keeps them "off the streets." However, it is more than keeping kids off the streets, simply because Chinese workers (those participating in self study) had a lot less free time than school children in America today. One document outlined the average schedule of a Chinese worker, filled with 12 hour days and self criticism/pary politics meetings. The government, however, was still concerned with fillin the one free evening these workers had with self study practices. Thus, the control or influence the government has on free time is much larger than what we see in America.
This is not the only reason that the PRC encouraged its citizens to self study. One of the main topics that came up both in documents and in newspaper articles is the problem of students who do not 升学， or "move up in school" (I guess would be the best translation). Basically, according to statistics from Shanghai, there are only so many places in high school after graduation from primary or middle school, and there are more students who have graduated than can continue on. Thus, the government came up with a series of plans that put these graduated students into various programs that would efficiently use their productive capabilities. One of these plans is self study small groups, allowing those who could not continue in school to continue their education. As a young girl whose success story in self study landed her in the Peoples' Daily claimed, if you can't 升学, self study is the next best thing.
Self study also solves other problems for the government. There were a series of people who graduated from elementary school or high school before the revolution, and therefore did not receive the political education that those who were growing up post 1949 received. Therefore, the government encouraged workers to take "free time classes" or "supplementary classes" to not only improve their knowledge in areas like math and science, but also improve their political and cultural knowledge in light of the new Chinese government. More practically, self study allowed these people to learn practical skills, namely Mandarin Chinese. I had a chat with a professor who grew up in the late 1950s and early 1960s. While her reasons for self study were due to the Cultural Revolution rather than being to old to receive a post 1949 education, she actively used radio programs to improve her Mandarin. She told me that her Mandarin today is quite good because she took it upon herself to study it from radio broadcasting.
Another reason that the government advocated self study in the 1950s is that it encourages or cultivates the self study "attitude" or "desire." For a government highly concerned with productivity, an attitude of going above and beyond expecations would certainly be beneficial. Many of the government documents mention the importance of the "自学心" or the "自学性," although not much more detail is given. However, other government documents purport that a certain amount of independence, especially in overcoming hardship, is important because "China's problems are big, Shanghai's problems are also big, and individual problems are comparatively small." Therefore, an individual's ability to take his destiny into his own hands is important in a country in reform, which inevitably leads back to the "self study attitude."
We can extract a few major themes from this premilinary evidence. First of all, the government is highly concerned with filling up people's time so as to increase productivity and development. The self study radio broadcasts and other materials focus on two main classes: Mandarin and Math. One implies a desire to create cultural homogeny, and the other implies a desire to improve engineering and technical development among the work force. However, even while a "national language" creates a certain amount of national adhesion in a theoretical and emotional sense, it is also practical: if a country's people can all speak the same language, national production is that much more efficient. Another document clarifies this objective further. Self study classes in Mandarin should promote literacy and putonghua; algebra classes should teach knowledge relevant to factory and labor production; and natural science classes should teach information relevant to agricultural production. Clearly, the government wanted to use these classes so as to improve productivity in every way possible.
At the same time, however, it is important to note that the government encourages the "self study attitude" within the bounds of government control. The government is not encouraging people to simply go out and study as they wish with whatever materials they can find; instead, the government created a series of options from which people can choose: radio broadcasts, government published materials, and self study small groups or supplemental classes. Thus, what we see here is not a continuation of the early 1900s May Fourth self created Renaissance Man-like thinkers, but instead a very narrow field within which people can explore their own talents. This is not the only narrative, but it is the main one. There are times where the government emphasizes that it is lacking in its responsibilities in education, and that individuals must pick up the slack. Therefore, there is this balance between individual work ethic and government help (a balance we are struggling with in the US right now)
I must note, however, that the above view may be slightly biased, since the only places I have looked for evidence is state controlled newspapers and government documents. It is natural, therefore, for this evidence to focus on state created material rather than independent scholars and self created experts. Perhaps interviews or personal testimonies would tell a different story.
While doing research in the past few days, Ah Fei once again reared his ugly head, this time in documents about self study habits. This new topic I have been exploring has brought to light some important topics in the study of education and the study of culture in the PRC. In this document about the importance of self study, the author claimed that filling up workers' time with supplementary learning and self study habits will keep them from becoming Ah Fei. Similarly, another document mentioned that self study practices are important for keeping people from hanging out and doing nothing on the streets. In American terms, basically, teaching kids to study on their own keeps them "off the streets." However, it is more than keeping kids off the streets, simply because Chinese workers (those participating in self study) had a lot less free time than school children in America today. One document outlined the average schedule of a Chinese worker, filled with 12 hour days and self criticism/pary politics meetings. The government, however, was still concerned with fillin the one free evening these workers had with self study practices. Thus, the control or influence the government has on free time is much larger than what we see in America.
This is not the only reason that the PRC encouraged its citizens to self study. One of the main topics that came up both in documents and in newspaper articles is the problem of students who do not 升学， or "move up in school" (I guess would be the best translation). Basically, according to statistics from Shanghai, there are only so many places in high school after graduation from primary or middle school, and there are more students who have graduated than can continue on. Thus, the government came up with a series of plans that put these graduated students into various programs that would efficiently use their productive capabilities. One of these plans is self study small groups, allowing those who could not continue in school to continue their education. As a young girl whose success story in self study landed her in the Peoples' Daily claimed, if you can't 升学, self study is the next best thing.
Self study also solves other problems for the government. There were a series of people who graduated from elementary school or high school before the revolution, and therefore did not receive the political education that those who were growing up post 1949 received. Therefore, the government encouraged workers to take "free time classes" or "supplementary classes" to not only improve their knowledge in areas like math and science, but also improve their political and cultural knowledge in light of the new Chinese government. More practically, self study allowed these people to learn practical skills, namely Mandarin Chinese. I had a chat with a professor who grew up in the late 1950s and early 1960s. While her reasons for self study were due to the Cultural Revolution rather than being to old to receive a post 1949 education, she actively used radio programs to improve her Mandarin. She told me that her Mandarin today is quite good because she took it upon herself to study it from radio broadcasting.
Another reason that the government advocated self study in the 1950s is that it encourages or cultivates the self study "attitude" or "desire." For a government highly concerned with productivity, an attitude of going above and beyond expecations would certainly be beneficial. Many of the government documents mention the importance of the "自学心" or the "自学性," although not much more detail is given. However, other government documents purport that a certain amount of independence, especially in overcoming hardship, is important because "China's problems are big, Shanghai's problems are also big, and individual problems are comparatively small." Therefore, an individual's ability to take his destiny into his own hands is important in a country in reform, which inevitably leads back to the "self study attitude."
We can extract a few major themes from this premilinary evidence. First of all, the government is highly concerned with filling up people's time so as to increase productivity and development. The self study radio broadcasts and other materials focus on two main classes: Mandarin and Math. One implies a desire to create cultural homogeny, and the other implies a desire to improve engineering and technical development among the work force. However, even while a "national language" creates a certain amount of national adhesion in a theoretical and emotional sense, it is also practical: if a country's people can all speak the same language, national production is that much more efficient. Another document clarifies this objective further. Self study classes in Mandarin should promote literacy and putonghua; algebra classes should teach knowledge relevant to factory and labor production; and natural science classes should teach information relevant to agricultural production. Clearly, the government wanted to use these classes so as to improve productivity in every way possible.
At the same time, however, it is important to note that the government encourages the "self study attitude" within the bounds of government control. The government is not encouraging people to simply go out and study as they wish with whatever materials they can find; instead, the government created a series of options from which people can choose: radio broadcasts, government published materials, and self study small groups or supplemental classes. Thus, what we see here is not a continuation of the early 1900s May Fourth self created Renaissance Man-like thinkers, but instead a very narrow field within which people can explore their own talents. This is not the only narrative, but it is the main one. There are times where the government emphasizes that it is lacking in its responsibilities in education, and that individuals must pick up the slack. Therefore, there is this balance between individual work ethic and government help (a balance we are struggling with in the US right now)
I must note, however, that the above view may be slightly biased, since the only places I have looked for evidence is state controlled newspapers and government documents. It is natural, therefore, for this evidence to focus on state created material rather than independent scholars and self created experts. Perhaps interviews or personal testimonies would tell a different story.
3/21/2009
China's often forgotten SAR
When I was in Hong Kong a year ago, there was a great art exhibit called "Made in Hong Kong." The introduction began by debunking a common assumption: "Made in Hong Kong" always refers to Hong Kong's important economic status as a deep water port and the center of production for the Pearl River Delta, but is often considered a "cultural wasteland." Still today, I hear many people (often from the mainland) refer to Hong Kong as a cultural wasteland. The preface to this exhibit claimed that this assumption is false, and that in many ways, Hong Kong is a very unique place with a very unique local culture. It is Asia's most "international city" but in some ways is "more Chinese" than mainland China itself since it managed to escape the Communists' assault on all things traditional. The exhibit included sculptures, paintings, photos, and installation art inspired by living in Hong Kong. This included sculptures of all the people one would meet on the subway (including children with backpacks with Japanese characters, or the stereotypical salesman going to and from Shenzhen with the giant red plaid bags), photos of people who still live in those 10 square meter apartments, and traditional Chinese paintings about local Hong Kong news, such as the alligator swimming about the pearl river that no foreigner could catch. My personal favorite was a series of paintings in which the author had copied scenes from movies that he thought represented Hong Kong culture; one scene he painted was a Jackie Chan movie where a bunch of men were playing cards, and the subtitles read "all I know is that I have six passports."
For the past few years, ever since I lived in Hong Kong, I have always been fascinated with Hong Kong identity, especially in relation to mainland China. I've read a few books and articles, but more than anything, I've made my own observations about how Hong Kongers see themselves based upon conversations with locals. I once read a theory (I can't remember where) that Hong Kong is a unique place because they "missed out" on nationalism; while the rest of the world was solidifying their own national identity, Hong Kong was solidifying its place in the global market. This is where Hong Kong remains today: the center of the market but outside the world of national politics. Yet there is more to Hong Kong identity than just its place in the world economy. A recent speech I heard in Hong Kong at a conference addressed this issue. The speaker, a local Hong Konger, asserted that Hong Kong became what it was because of the failure of the mainland in the past half century, and therefore their own sense of identity is centered around how they are not like mainland China (mainland China is the "other" if you will). We can even see this in the way that Hong Kong people approach public health: we don't want another SARS scare like we saw in the 1990s due to the failure of the Communist government. I was actually surprised at the blunt way the speaker called the mainland "backwards" multiple times throughout the speech as he made distinctions between the mainland and Hong Kong.
The next day at the conference, however, we set off for Macao. While its gambling institutions have made it world famous, still oftentimes we forget about Macao, lost in Hong Kong's shadow. At the conference, we were given a "crash course" about Macao's history, economics and politics. One of the presenting professors said, in passing, that Macao has often had closer ties with the mainland, both culturally and politically, than Hong Kong had ever been. In a private conversation afterward, the professor elaborated on this point. He explained that because of Hong Kong and Macao's diverging history, their relative connection to the mainland has manifested quite differently. While Hong Kong had their great migration from the mainland in the 1960s, mostly people escaping the Cultural Revolution, Macao didn't see its large Mainland migration until the 1980s, thus making Macao's new immigrant population much closer to the mainland. And furthermore, since these immigrants were not escaping political persecution, they did not have the same desire to stay as removed as possible from politics like those escaping to Hong Kong in the 1960s.
Another reason for these digressing trajectories is their relative colonial histories. Both were European colonies well into the end of the 20th century, some of the last territories to gain their independence from Europe. However, while Britain took a very large interest in the general welfare of Hong Kong (such as health care and education) especially throughout the last half century, political turmoil in Portugal left Macao largely forgotten. Hong Kong found their identity in their own burgeoning economy and status as a world economic hub, Macao had to find their own way without the help of their colonizer, and naturally they looked to the mainland.
Obviously, this is an incredibly short and inchoate explanation as to why Hong Kong stays politically alienated (purposefully so) from the mainland, embracing their national identity only when it is positive for them (for example: "Oh we are so proud of being Chinese during the Olympics" but "Oh that habit is so dirty, must be those mainlanders) and why those in Macao seem to feel a closer tie to their now "nation." But as the 2003 protests show (and various conversations with local Hong Kongers) Hong Kong people are quite opinionated when it comes to fear of political domination from their neighbor. I think this would be a fascinating topic to address. Perhaps a comparison would be too ambitious, but a deep analysis of the history of the relations of Hong Kong, Macao, and mainland China throughout the last half of the 20th century could tell a lot about their populations today. I have always wanted to explore Hong Kong identity, as I find it a unique place due to its economic development but loss of national identity. But the truth is, Hong Kong is not unique, as Macao followed a similar history. If I don't get the chance to explore these ideas, someone should.
For the past few years, ever since I lived in Hong Kong, I have always been fascinated with Hong Kong identity, especially in relation to mainland China. I've read a few books and articles, but more than anything, I've made my own observations about how Hong Kongers see themselves based upon conversations with locals. I once read a theory (I can't remember where) that Hong Kong is a unique place because they "missed out" on nationalism; while the rest of the world was solidifying their own national identity, Hong Kong was solidifying its place in the global market. This is where Hong Kong remains today: the center of the market but outside the world of national politics. Yet there is more to Hong Kong identity than just its place in the world economy. A recent speech I heard in Hong Kong at a conference addressed this issue. The speaker, a local Hong Konger, asserted that Hong Kong became what it was because of the failure of the mainland in the past half century, and therefore their own sense of identity is centered around how they are not like mainland China (mainland China is the "other" if you will). We can even see this in the way that Hong Kong people approach public health: we don't want another SARS scare like we saw in the 1990s due to the failure of the Communist government. I was actually surprised at the blunt way the speaker called the mainland "backwards" multiple times throughout the speech as he made distinctions between the mainland and Hong Kong.
The next day at the conference, however, we set off for Macao. While its gambling institutions have made it world famous, still oftentimes we forget about Macao, lost in Hong Kong's shadow. At the conference, we were given a "crash course" about Macao's history, economics and politics. One of the presenting professors said, in passing, that Macao has often had closer ties with the mainland, both culturally and politically, than Hong Kong had ever been. In a private conversation afterward, the professor elaborated on this point. He explained that because of Hong Kong and Macao's diverging history, their relative connection to the mainland has manifested quite differently. While Hong Kong had their great migration from the mainland in the 1960s, mostly people escaping the Cultural Revolution, Macao didn't see its large Mainland migration until the 1980s, thus making Macao's new immigrant population much closer to the mainland. And furthermore, since these immigrants were not escaping political persecution, they did not have the same desire to stay as removed as possible from politics like those escaping to Hong Kong in the 1960s.
Another reason for these digressing trajectories is their relative colonial histories. Both were European colonies well into the end of the 20th century, some of the last territories to gain their independence from Europe. However, while Britain took a very large interest in the general welfare of Hong Kong (such as health care and education) especially throughout the last half century, political turmoil in Portugal left Macao largely forgotten. Hong Kong found their identity in their own burgeoning economy and status as a world economic hub, Macao had to find their own way without the help of their colonizer, and naturally they looked to the mainland.
Obviously, this is an incredibly short and inchoate explanation as to why Hong Kong stays politically alienated (purposefully so) from the mainland, embracing their national identity only when it is positive for them (for example: "Oh we are so proud of being Chinese during the Olympics" but "Oh that habit is so dirty, must be those mainlanders) and why those in Macao seem to feel a closer tie to their now "nation." But as the 2003 protests show (and various conversations with local Hong Kongers) Hong Kong people are quite opinionated when it comes to fear of political domination from their neighbor. I think this would be a fascinating topic to address. Perhaps a comparison would be too ambitious, but a deep analysis of the history of the relations of Hong Kong, Macao, and mainland China throughout the last half of the 20th century could tell a lot about their populations today. I have always wanted to explore Hong Kong identity, as I find it a unique place due to its economic development but loss of national identity. But the truth is, Hong Kong is not unique, as Macao followed a similar history. If I don't get the chance to explore these ideas, someone should.
3/20/2009
Research Notes: The Chunjie problem
I have a Fulbrighter friend who is doing research on the return of migrant workers in Beijing back to their home rural villages. Originally, he had planned to research why certain workers decided voluntarily to leave city life for their families in the countryside, but due to the current economic crisis, he has instead switched his project so that he could focus on forced migrations back to the countryside because of unemployment. Similarly, another friend who looks at migrant education was fascinated to find out how many of the migrant children would return after Chinese New Year, since many of them, after the holiday, had no jobs to come back to.
This migration back and forth, from urban Shanghai and Beijing to the rural west, has been a concern of the party since 1949, although for different reasons. While the current concern of the movement of migrant workers is tied to the economic crisis and the threat of unrest among the population, concern in the 1950s was tied to the psychological effect of moving between city and countryside. A long document in a series from the Shanghai Communist Party branch discussed the possible effects of the chunjie (Chinese New Year) migration. It included statistics of how many migrant workers moved back and forth in the year 1955 for the holiday (their estimates are 225,000 people, about 25% of the working class population) as well as the possible risks of allowing this huge migration. Their fears included the possibility that when the migrant workers return, they may not have the same "energetic spirit" that they had before chunjie. Furthermore, when they see life in the countryside after seeing life in the city, they may have one of two reactions: one may be further faith in the revolution, but another may be disappointment. Many of these concerns are related to a possible lapse in productivity, but also echo a fear of revolt or a loss of faith in the party. Nevertheless, the documents come to the conclusion that as far as 1955, the effect of the chunjie migration was nothing but positive; productivity did not decrease at all, and it seems that there is even higher participation in party sponsored meetings and activities.
What this points to, besides a continued concern about rural/urban migration, is a Communist party concern with the private lives of Chinese people. It is considered perfectly acceptable to worry about workers going home for the holidays and to take record of possible effects a holiday family visit could have on the psyche of the entire country (imagine this in America: documents about the possible effects of Christmas breaks on the success of the government). There is also an assumed responsibility of the government to control the free time of its people. This is furthered by the fact that this document is in a larger set about the problem of laborer's "free time." The documents include research about how workers spend their free time as well as how to fill up that free time with more party activities.
A professor and I were discussing this "free time" issue, and he told me that he had come across an article in the People's Daily about the "free time" issue. The article concluded that free time was state owned, and given to the people. The concern of the government with chunjie holidays seems to point to this conclusion as well, as any free time could feasibly contribute to the failure of the revolution. And while we may attribute this to Communism itself, I'm not sure that this issue is not necessarily a universal one. We even have daylight savings time so as to increase productivity, implying government involvement in our free time (what if I wanted more time at night?). This will be an interesting problem to explore.
This migration back and forth, from urban Shanghai and Beijing to the rural west, has been a concern of the party since 1949, although for different reasons. While the current concern of the movement of migrant workers is tied to the economic crisis and the threat of unrest among the population, concern in the 1950s was tied to the psychological effect of moving between city and countryside. A long document in a series from the Shanghai Communist Party branch discussed the possible effects of the chunjie (Chinese New Year) migration. It included statistics of how many migrant workers moved back and forth in the year 1955 for the holiday (their estimates are 225,000 people, about 25% of the working class population) as well as the possible risks of allowing this huge migration. Their fears included the possibility that when the migrant workers return, they may not have the same "energetic spirit" that they had before chunjie. Furthermore, when they see life in the countryside after seeing life in the city, they may have one of two reactions: one may be further faith in the revolution, but another may be disappointment. Many of these concerns are related to a possible lapse in productivity, but also echo a fear of revolt or a loss of faith in the party. Nevertheless, the documents come to the conclusion that as far as 1955, the effect of the chunjie migration was nothing but positive; productivity did not decrease at all, and it seems that there is even higher participation in party sponsored meetings and activities.
What this points to, besides a continued concern about rural/urban migration, is a Communist party concern with the private lives of Chinese people. It is considered perfectly acceptable to worry about workers going home for the holidays and to take record of possible effects a holiday family visit could have on the psyche of the entire country (imagine this in America: documents about the possible effects of Christmas breaks on the success of the government). There is also an assumed responsibility of the government to control the free time of its people. This is furthered by the fact that this document is in a larger set about the problem of laborer's "free time." The documents include research about how workers spend their free time as well as how to fill up that free time with more party activities.
A professor and I were discussing this "free time" issue, and he told me that he had come across an article in the People's Daily about the "free time" issue. The article concluded that free time was state owned, and given to the people. The concern of the government with chunjie holidays seems to point to this conclusion as well, as any free time could feasibly contribute to the failure of the revolution. And while we may attribute this to Communism itself, I'm not sure that this issue is not necessarily a universal one. We even have daylight savings time so as to increase productivity, implying government involvement in our free time (what if I wanted more time at night?). This will be an interesting problem to explore.
Research Notes: Radio schooling
While I was taking a cab in Harbin, the driver was listening to a radio program I found quite funny. It began with an advertisement about how "we must make our country and our city proud by studying English very well!" A friend in the car made a joke about how this was so important for us, but the cab driver listened quite intently. He then practiced with us, telling us "nice to meet you" and "it is very cold outside" (an appropriate English phrase considering the weather in Harbin in February).
In America in the last 20 years, "video killed the radio star" but educational programs in China still overwhelm the airwaves, and they have for nearly 60 years. Because of a tip from a reliable source, I have been looking into informal education practices in the 50s and 60s, or "self study" practices. This is important not only because no one has really looked at it, but also because during China's turbulent 50s-70s, this type of education became more and more important. The Communist regime attempted (more successfully than most governments) to attain universal education and universal literacy, but because of practicality, oftentimes the official schooling system was quite lacking. Eddie U's book about bureacracy in China and the USSR showed the failures of teacher recruitment in Shanghai in the early 50s: as factories consolidated and became state-owned and the number of students in school increased exponentially, there was a shortage of teachers; in order to deal with this shortage, the government recruited just about everyone to become teachers, including housewives and laborers with little to no education, and even people who had been repeatedly fired from old jobs and had forged their qualifications. Even a friend at the archives told me that his mandarin teacher could hardly speak mandarin herself, causing a lacking in the education system. Furthermore, by the time of the cultural revolution, formal education stopped completely, forcing studious youth to create their own ways to learn new skills. This became crucial come 1976, when the college entrance exam was reestablished.
While these self study practices relied largely on students, they were highly encouraged by government through radio programs. I came aross a series of documents from 1954 which outlined radio shows to teach students who had already graduated from elementary and middle school about language, politics, math, and science. As far as the language lessons, the documents explain that the purpose of these documents is not only to improve reading skills and speaking skills, but also to nurture the "self study attitude." The lessons were also not only political, but also talked about nature, famous artists, and foreign countries (from Moscow to China).
The natural science classes were meant to teach basic geology, chemistry, health, and biology. It was also meant to teach listeners about the fundamentals of science and the scientific method. The math classes were meant to teach "practical" math, and also to cultivate "self study practice." (According to Eddie U's book, while it might be hard to teach math over the radio, this class could be important; he reported from interviews some of thes untrained teachers writing on the board "41 x 1 =1"). The math class over all others seems to focus on giving laborers and the workforce "practical knowledge" that could serve to "increase productivity."
The documents on the politics class seem to, more than the others, address the intended audience for these radio shows. The documents explain that previous classes in politics, under the KMT, didn't give students a full understanding of the true political system or their place within it. Therefore, they couldn't understand the politics classes. These classes seem to have the goal of teaching former students educated under the KMT a proper understanding of the political system of their own government. Obviously, the communist party had many other institutions in place to address this issue, but this also emphasizes the role of the listener to engage in his own learning.
I hope to write more on this issues of self study practice, as this is just one part of it. Since currently I am looking at government documents, and self study implies practice outside of traditional institutions, I have not yet explored the full picture. I hope to, through other sources, delve deeper into this.
In America in the last 20 years, "video killed the radio star" but educational programs in China still overwhelm the airwaves, and they have for nearly 60 years. Because of a tip from a reliable source, I have been looking into informal education practices in the 50s and 60s, or "self study" practices. This is important not only because no one has really looked at it, but also because during China's turbulent 50s-70s, this type of education became more and more important. The Communist regime attempted (more successfully than most governments) to attain universal education and universal literacy, but because of practicality, oftentimes the official schooling system was quite lacking. Eddie U's book about bureacracy in China and the USSR showed the failures of teacher recruitment in Shanghai in the early 50s: as factories consolidated and became state-owned and the number of students in school increased exponentially, there was a shortage of teachers; in order to deal with this shortage, the government recruited just about everyone to become teachers, including housewives and laborers with little to no education, and even people who had been repeatedly fired from old jobs and had forged their qualifications. Even a friend at the archives told me that his mandarin teacher could hardly speak mandarin herself, causing a lacking in the education system. Furthermore, by the time of the cultural revolution, formal education stopped completely, forcing studious youth to create their own ways to learn new skills. This became crucial come 1976, when the college entrance exam was reestablished.
While these self study practices relied largely on students, they were highly encouraged by government through radio programs. I came aross a series of documents from 1954 which outlined radio shows to teach students who had already graduated from elementary and middle school about language, politics, math, and science. As far as the language lessons, the documents explain that the purpose of these documents is not only to improve reading skills and speaking skills, but also to nurture the "self study attitude." The lessons were also not only political, but also talked about nature, famous artists, and foreign countries (from Moscow to China).
The natural science classes were meant to teach basic geology, chemistry, health, and biology. It was also meant to teach listeners about the fundamentals of science and the scientific method. The math classes were meant to teach "practical" math, and also to cultivate "self study practice." (According to Eddie U's book, while it might be hard to teach math over the radio, this class could be important; he reported from interviews some of thes untrained teachers writing on the board "41 x 1 =1"). The math class over all others seems to focus on giving laborers and the workforce "practical knowledge" that could serve to "increase productivity."
The documents on the politics class seem to, more than the others, address the intended audience for these radio shows. The documents explain that previous classes in politics, under the KMT, didn't give students a full understanding of the true political system or their place within it. Therefore, they couldn't understand the politics classes. These classes seem to have the goal of teaching former students educated under the KMT a proper understanding of the political system of their own government. Obviously, the communist party had many other institutions in place to address this issue, but this also emphasizes the role of the listener to engage in his own learning.
I hope to write more on this issues of self study practice, as this is just one part of it. Since currently I am looking at government documents, and self study implies practice outside of traditional institutions, I have not yet explored the full picture. I hope to, through other sources, delve deeper into this.
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