Jottings from the Granite Studio

A horrific story out of Guizhou this past weekend, as riots grip a county there over the death of a teenage girl and the severe beating of her uncle.  AFP has the details and Richard at TPD offers some thoughts and a space for discussion by the usual suspects inhabiting his duck pond.

It’s always tough to judge motivation in acts of collective violence, as several of Richard’s commentators have noted.  That said, latent anger or frustration can react with the catalyst of rumors or events in explosive ways if no other means are available to address ongoing problems or vent grievances.  Perhaps this case strikes me because of a slight similarity to my own dissertation research on the “Tianjin Massacre” 天津教案. In that case, as in this one, perceptions of justice obstructed or denied by the powers that be resulted in people taking matters into their own hands.  Then as now, long standing hostilities–in Tianjin 1870 it was the high-handedness of the foreign powers–find an outlet through acts of violence in a mighty yawp of vengeance.

(Ah, there’s a working title: “A Mighty Yawp of Vengeance,” flows better than what I’m currently using: “A Lynchin’ in Tientsin”)

Whatever the current status of this case, what is perhaps most interesting is the perception by the people that the local government is sufficiently corrupt so as to make the rumors–as yet unsubstantiated–plausible, plausible enough that when mixed with opportunity and given support by numbers, it can allow the participants to justify to themselves acts of violence in the name of justice.

It’s a tragic story, even more so if the charges against county officials prove to be true, and it is a situation that bears watching in the week ahead.

We’re old. Not chronologically per se, but simply in our habits.  Nevertheless, we decided to fight the gravitational pull of our couch and go out for the evening on the town with our friends B. & V.

Dinner was at El Fogoncito over by Wanda Plaza.  I grew up in New Hampshire, so I can hardly claim to be an expert on authentic Mexican food, but I do go to graduate school in the Central Valley of California and have probably had more dinners at the local taquerias than is healthy for my cholestorol level.  I have to say the food at Fogoncitos is pretty good. The taco shells and chips tasted a bit stale, but overall the rest of the dishes were decent and the relative authenticity was a nice shift from the Tex-Mex focus of the other Mexican offerings in town.  The service on the other hand was…hysterical.  Not funny–though there were moments–but bordering on actual hysteria.  The waitress took a few tries getting the order right, she was sweet and polite, but became progressively flustered as she forgot to serve certain dishes while doubling up on others.  The much-discussed mariachi musicians (who, to debunk a rumor, are actually from Mexico and not three Uighurs in sombreros) were top-notch and a nice touch, but the music was ill-suited to the size of the venue.  There’s something about the mariachi trumpet, like the bagpipes, that does not lend itself well to small, enclosed spaces.  As they wandered too close, we found ourselves shouting above the din to keep up with the conversation.

We finished dinner and meandered down to Stone Boat to catch a bit of Woodie Alan.  The Stone Boat is easily my favorite place for live music in the city: outside, under the trees, and by the lake with the relative tranquility of the park, listening to a night split by the sounds of folk or jazz is a real treat.  Yeah, the bugs can come out and there was a light rain, but…okay, so those two things can suck, but I still love the place.

Finally, at the insistence of our wives, we ended up at Kro’s Nest for their charity bachelor auction.  (YJ asked if they would have a bachelorette auction as well.  I suggested that Beijing already has a number of establishments along those lines, much to the chagrin of BOCOG, but I digress.)  It was a lively little affair and all for a good cause, but nevertheless could have done with some streamlining.  For those of us not there to bid but simply to watch the spectacle, the decision to stall and stretch the thing out for two hours was a little annoying.  We ended up leaving well before the end, but not before a member of the Mexico Olympic Men’s Beach Volleyball team was auctioned off for 4000 RMB to a small cartel of lasses.  The applause elicited by his ripped, shirtless torso (particularly the applause from some in my general vicinity) was a strong reminder that I probably shouldn’t have ordered a second round of tacos at dinner and might want to instead start seriously considering sit-ups…Ah well, such is.

Yep, we’re a long way from South Bar Street, Toto.

Our lease is not up until after the Olympics, but we’re taking some time this month to look around and see what’s out there.  Even though I first thought it insane to even be looking at places right now, given the general avarice of the Landlord class with the big games around the corner, circumstances are working a bit in the renter’s favor.

First, the hordes of foreigners who were expected to crest like a wave of human ATMs through the city next month filling man purses from Haidian to Hebei with rental fees (some ambitiously priced at 100,000 RMB for the two-week period) seem to be staying home.  Perhaps they couldn’t get visas.  Who knows?

But like the Beijing municipal official who wanders bleary-eyed out of a 24-hour KTV parlor into the dusky light of a Beijing Sunday morning, and realizes that the slim young thing he has been alternately serenading and lewdly groping all evening was really a dude, it is dawning on the landlord class in Beijing that the “lao wai as cash piñata” strategy of real estate success might not pan out as well as expected.

Additionally, there are rumors of apartments left behind in the wake of the Great Beijing Visa Exodus of 2008.  Seriously.  This summer has seen an awful lot of landlords left holding leases when their tenants were forced home by the change in visa enforcement policy.

That’s not to say it’s all smooth sailing.  Like the waters off Qingdao, even a clear day can bring unexpected snafus which require patience and humor.  So, I am offering up one of my more cathartic little essays from last year: The Pulp Fiction Guide to Beijing Apartment Rentals (first posted February 13, 2007)

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Yeah, this post is a little out of character and a bit too long but it’s….cathartic.

YJ and I just spent four days in Beijing apartment-hunting. It did not go well. After trying to decide between two apartments (the cozy love nest or the mack daddy shack) we decided to stall a bit and look some more. One of our agents, Miriam, called us on Saturday, the day we were to leave, with news of a great apartment that would be perfect for us. The following series of events takes place over the course of 24 hours and is so banal and yet so twisted and stupefying that I thought I would let the master, Quentin Tarantino, take a crack at scripting what took place:

I’m American, honey. Our names don’t mean shit.

Our agent Miriam was wonderful, sweet, and honest which meant she was a really good person and totally unqualified to work in the Chinese real estate market. Her default expression in conflict/negotiation situations could only be described as “Rabbit versus Mack truck.” She also had the annoyingly common habit of asking YJ questions about me in the third person. This after we had long established on the phone and in person that I spoke Chinese AND that she spoke English. “What is his name, again?” “Where is he from?” Hello? I’m standing right next to you: Big, dumb, white dude, second from the left.

Hamburgers! The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast!

God I hate McDonald’s but when you’re running from appointment to appointment it’s the only guaranteed “fast” food in the city. The only time we broke this rule was when we ducked into a little jia chang cai place for a quick lunch between meetings. Sure enough, two bowls of noodles took over 40 minutes to make and we were half and hour late for our next appointment. From then on out, it was McD’s all the way. By the end of the weekend I felt like I was carrying Verne Troyer around in my colon.

Normally, both of your sorry asses would be deader than f——-g fried chicken by now, but you happened to pull this shit while I’m in a transitional period so I don’t wanna kill you, I wanna help you.

Before Miriam, we worked with an agent from “Very Large Chinese Agency” and she was great. She was a woman in her late 50s who was…actually both honest AND efficient or maybe she just felt sorry for us. The problem was she had no taste in apartments. She was the one who showed us “Mack Daddy Pad” that I liked, but which YJ said looked like the decorator had been fired from the set of “Boogie Nights.” God bless this particular agent, she’s still calling us with suggestions. In fact, right now, she’s the ONLY agent we’ve worked with in Beijing who is still returning our calls.

Warm… warmer… DIsco.

Saturday afternoon, Miriam calls us about a new apartment near Wangfujing.

“Wangfujing,” I say, “That’s thirty minutes away. I’ll be there in ten.” We walk in and it is perfect: Five minute walk to the archives but off in a quiet hutong with both north and south windows and every inch of the place brand new, all for the same price as some of the older places we looked at in Dongcheng and much less expensive than “Mack Daddy.” We were stoked.

Get it straight, Buster. I’m not here to say please. I’m here to tell you what to do. And if self-preservation is an instinct you possess, you better f——g do it and do it quick. I’m here to help. If my help’s not appreciated, lots of luck, gentlemen.

I like to compliment people on their homes, pointing out nice features as a way to make our hosts feel more comfortable. DO NOT DO THIS WHEN LOOKING AT APARTMENTS IN BEIJING. Earlier that weekend, Miriam had said, to YJ not me of course, “Every time he says something nice, the price goes up.” Did I listen? Of course not. Why? Did I mention that I am, in fact, an idiot?

Bring out the Gimp.

The landlord was sweet as pie. She was wonderful. Her boyfriend was charming, all smiles, a real modern guy with “Starbucks” latte in hand. And then in walked “Auntie.” She was a dumpy, troll-like figure with a sour, peasant visage which betrayed no sense of warmth or mirth. It was quite a miracle when I saw her face actually begin to brighten into a grin when she met me…if only I knew.

Zed? Maynard. Spider just caught a couple of flies.

YJ and I looked at each other and said this is the place. Smiles all around. I turned around to tell YJ to go into the bedroom, call our other house agent and to tell her that we’d found a place and she wouldn’t need to hold the other apartment any longer. Just then I felt a tingling sensation that ran from the back of my neck down to my toes. It was the old lady: mentally greasing up my backside…and aiming for penetration.

Well, let’s not start sucking each other’s d–ks quite yet

First of all the apartment lacked some of the basics, and when we suggested that these would need to be provided, the old lady began to fidget and twitch at our unreasonable demands for things like a refrigerator and to turn on the water. It was a new apartment and hadn’t been lived in yet so it had a kind of “clean but unfinished feel” that should have made us more cautious. Miriam said that she could take care of these details later and that we should leave. I should have listened. Actually, I should have taken Miriam, shaken her, and asked questions like, “Do you think we can get this place?” and “Do they actually OWN the apartment?” But I didn’t. Yeah, I know, I am an idiot.

English, motherf—-r! Do you speak it?!

I’ve decided that it is in my best interest to never use Chinese in any situation involving negotiations. I think it’s better if I just sit there and pretend to be a Wookie. I have absolute faith that if YJ and the agent had gone into another room and left me standing there with a dumb grin on my face, the auntie and her family would have gone on talking about how best to screw the idiot foreigner and his hai gui girlfriend. This would have saved us a lot of trouble. But no, I like to show off that I can speak Chinese by saying helpful things like “Wow, this place is really convenient to where I do my research” and “What great light! I really want to live here.” (Sound of forehead hitting desk over and over again.)

I Love You Pumpkin. I love you, too Honey Bunny.

Finally, Miriam hurried us out of the apartment and down the stairs. Not good times, bad times. We had bailed on two apartments we liked and which were already in the bag for a really cool place, the deal for which fell apart about 75 seconds after we said we would take it. YJ and I went to the Novotel Hotel to drown our despondency. As I was giving my despondency its second drowning in five minutes, Miriam called. The landlords had agreed to all of our requests (for a fridge, a television, a washing machine, etc).  It was like winning PowerBall. We had successfully negotiated a sweet apartment at a sweet price only 30 minutes after we had practically been tossed from the building by the landlord’s aunt. They didn’t even bother with a counter-offer on the rent, all we had to do was meet with them in the morning. We changed our train, booked a second night at the Home Inn, and ordered another round to celebrate.

Now, anyone who has done business in China (or seen the movie Goodfellas) knew what was about to happen. Of course they agreed; they never had any intention of renting us the apartment. They’d have agreed, in principle, to letting us plant the auntie in a tub of loam as a Christmas tree…‘coz they knew they were never going to see us again. Oh yeah, did I mention they neglected to set a time to meet us in the morning? Yeah. I know.

“Does Marcellus Wallace look like a bitch?” “No.” “Then WHY are you trying to f–k him like a bitch, Brett?”

The next morning we call Miriam to find out when we can sign the papers and she tells us that the morning will be “inconvenient” because the Aunt is in the hospital. I’m not buying this so I call back.  Actually the apartment certificate (proving that they really own and can rent the place) is in the uncle’s house, but when they went to the uncle’s house the aunt was sick so they couldn’t get it. Three hours later, they said that they couldn’t provide the apartment certificate because it is not convenient today. By the second call, I knew we were getting screwed around. By the third, I asked Miriam point blank: “We’re not getting this apartment, right?” Miriam: “Probably not.” Standing right at the top of Wangfujing I let fly with a loud exclamation that rhymes vaguely with “another trucker.” YJ tells curious passers-by that I am a lao wai interested in the Chinese practice of lian sangzi.

Yeah, we cool. Two things. Don’t tell nobody about this. This shit is between me, you, and Mr. Soon-To-Be-Living-The-Rest-of-His-Short-Ass-Life-In-Agonizing-Pain Rapist here. It ain’t nobody else’s business. Two: you leave town tonight, right now. And when you’re gone, you stay gone, or you be gone.

After I had raged on the sidewalk for a few moments, I slumped to the curb and realized that nothing could be done. Yes, the old woman and her ‘nice’ relatives were lying and conniving peasants. Somehow, YJ and I had convinced ourselves that since Beijing was so much cleaner and had a decent bagel place with prompt friendly service and everything that things had changed. No, not really. The three of them never had any intention of giving us such a good deal, certainly not with a lao wai involved, but neither were they ever going to lose face and actually tell us this. Why bother? Just string us along like the dupes we are. It was, in fact, almost an epiphany. So I picked myself up, wiped the spittle off of my clothes, and we took a taxi to that center of Zen-like relaxation: The Beijing Train Station on the Sunday before Chunjie. Oh yeah, we’re coming right back in two weeks to do it all over again. Pretty smart, eh? Yeah, pretty smart.

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Epilogue: We actually moved into “mack daddy” apartment two weeks later and have been living there ever since.  After re-reading this just now, I’m having a hard time figuring out why I would want to move and subject myself to this torment again, but as the essay does a good job of demonstrating: I’m an idiot.

Many, if not both, of my regular readers know that I am both a history geek AND a bit of a sports nerd, and one of the biggest events of the year for sports nerds was last night…the NBA draft.  As part of the tradition, ESPN columnist Bill Simmons does an annual ‘running diary‘ which–if you follow the NBA or NCAA basketball even a little–is a guaranteed chuckle.

A couple of related notes…

1) YJ went to Yao Ming’s press conference yesterday and reported that the first question from a Chinese journalist took the form of an inane and asinine pop quiz for the sports icon.

Chinese Reporter: “Do you know what day tomorrow is?”

Yao: “Uh, June 27?”

CR: “Correct. Do you know what happened six years ago that day?”

Yao: “Um…”

CR: “You were drafted number one by the American NBA. How does that make you feel?”

(Shot of Yao looking at his watch and wondering why Tim Duncan doesn’t have to put up with this shit…)

2) Yi Jianlian finally got his wish and was traded out of Milwaukee.  Apparently the Bucks got tired of him whining about finding Chinese food in Wisconsin.

Last year, Simmons had this to say on the Yi pick:

I’m starting to come around on Yi — the thought of him shoveling out his car in minus-10 degree weather in January while fighting back tears and screaming, “Why????? Why?????” in Chinese is delightful for some reason. Too bad they’ll trade him. If the Chinese government can torture Jack Bauer for two years, it can definitely break the Bucks.

Anyway, Yi got sent to New Jersey where he will get paid by Jay-Z and has a 99.99% chance of playing with Lebron James in two years.  Good for Yi, but it ruined what could have been a beautiful chance for cross-straits reconciliation when the Bucks selected Joe Alexander with the 8th pick.  Alexander grew up a Laowai,: born in Taiwan and raised all over Asia.  ESPN analyst Stu Scott reacted to the pick by barking out “He speaks Mandarin!” as if that somehow makes him an exotic form of Labradoodle.  With all of this in mind, one of Simmons’ readers provided this scenario:

5:37: E-mail of the night so far, courtesy of Duke in Pasadena, Calif.: “After hearing that Joe Alexander was born in Taiwan, I’m really upset about the Nets trade. How sweet would it have been to have a native Chinese player on the same team with a “native” Taiwanese player? Who would have played the role of the U.S. on the Bucks? Would Alexander claim independence from Yi, only to have Yi go to team management and tell them that there’ll be trouble if Alexander tries to move his locker away? This is a missed opportunity for a real-life sitcom … and this would have never happened if you were the GM, Simmons.” Hey, maybe there’s still time. Can we get Alexander on the Nets somehow?

Finally, on the subject of Yao and the Olympics: I figure that foot injuries are always bad news for big men with the career of Rik Smits a cautionary tale.  Yesterday, Yao said his foot was 80% healed with 20% still requiring at least a year to get back to normal.  That’s not exactly reassuring, and if you’re the Houston Rockets must be positively terrifying.  Anyway…my guess is that Yao will play “symbolic minutes” this August.  He’ll start, and play a little each game, but everybody knows that China isn’t going anywhere in the basketball competition, and Yao is better off sitting on the sidelines and acting as a mentor to the other guys rather than risk seriously messing up his career.  It’s a killer decision to have to make, though, I’m sure.

The always whimiscal Beijing Review this month extolls the importance of translators in bridging the cultural gap between East and West.  Given the stilted nature of the Review’s English-language articles, we were all wondering when they’d notice how important a good translator can be, but I digress:

The harmonious coexistence of different nations owes much to translation work, which at its best is able to remove linguistic barriers and facilitate communication between societies, cultures, regions and countries. The result of successful communication is inspiring, allowing new thoughts, wisdom and perspectives to seep into society.

Previously, China has experienced three main upsurges in its translation history: the surge of Buddhist sutra translation that began during the Eastern Han Dynasty (25-220) and continued through the Tang and Song dynasties (AD 618-1279), the sci-tech document translation work that took place in the early 17th century during the late Ming and early Qing dynasties, and the translation of Western Studies between the Opium War and the May 4 Movement (1840-1919). All three periods have one thing in common: these translations played a leading role in the cultural and ideological progress of their respective eras.

Since the introduction of China’s reform and opening-up policies 30 years ago, translation in China has experienced a fourth upsurge, unmatched in its scale, quality or contribution to the country. Translation is no longer simply an instrument for conducting foreign affairs, or the preserve of literature and theoretical studies. It has also played a central role in the political, economic, cultural, scientific, technological and military domains. Translations provide a bridge in every sense for exchanges between China and the rest of the world.

All true as well as it goes, but it seems that now more than ever (can anyone guess why?) a few good men/women are needed to step forward and rescue the lost with translation:

The Olympics provide an example of the demand for translators major international events can create. Over 100 professional translators are needed for the Games in Beijing, says an official from the Beijing Olympic Organizing Committee, and over 7,000 reports and speeches are waiting to be translated. Some 150 interpreters in over 140 languages are required for press conferences and award-issuing ceremonies. Needless to say, there will also be a big demand for translators to deal with the huge influx of foreign delegations and tourists during the event.

Which would be fine…except the translation community of Beijing is dwindling by the day as their visas go unrenewed.  Some of the best translators–including, for my money, THE best translator, have been forced to take unexpected and expensive visa holidays, and a few won’t be returning until after the games. 

Ah, Beijing Review, thy name is whimsy, thy need is irony. 

It’s a disturbing trend that shouldn’t come as any shock to anyone in the circle of foreign-based China researchers: step over the line and risk losing your access.

Paul Mooney writes in The National (h/t CDT) about the problems certain academics face when they run afoul of the anti-intellectual hacks generally in charge of such things here in the PRC.  The article cites a number of prominent scholars, including Perry Link and a personal favorite of mine, James Millward, whose Beyond the Pass is one of the great accounts of the Qing conquest of Χinjiang.  It was not Professor Millward’s historical work which got him in trouble, but rather his contributions to the book Χinjiang: China’s Muslim Borderland which landed him, four years later and counting, on the outside looking in:

“It’s far easier to put the kibosh on someone than to lift it,” said James Millward, a professor of history at Georgetown University and a contributor to the book.

All of the scholars, with the exception of one, have been refused visas to China, with only a few exceptions for special circumstances.

The message - which worried China scholars around the world - was clear. There are topics China will not tolerate discussion on and the government is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep a lid on them.

Foreign scholars are finding the China field an increasingly dangerous territory to navigate, and some readily admit to avoiding certain topics and to tweaking their research. And the situation is getting worse as China grows more economically and politically powerful.

One of the authors of the banned book - titled Χinjiang: China’s Muslim Borderland - who declined to use his name, said Beijing is stepping up efforts to control how China is perceived internationally. “We’re in a period where China’s influence is expanding and they’re seeking ways to control the message outside of China just as they do inside China.”

In research, access can be everything.  Are researchers pulling their punches or switching topics to preserve their ability to do research inside the PRC?

My own research focuses on anti-foreign violence, nationalism, and colonialism in the late-19th century.  I’ve never had trouble accessing materials.  I doubt anything I write professionally will have me facing the possibility of being 86′d from the country, but what if I were working on 19th-century colonialism in Tibet or on rising nationalism in the late-1980s?

In many ways, China is less free today academically than it was 20 years ago, and China’s increasing economic and political resources are providing the government with the means–and the desire–to control information beyond the borders as well.

Professor Edward Friedman (another Granite Studio fave) of the University of Wisconsin is quoted as saying:

“There’s a sort of Damocles sword hanging above your head and you are aware of it all the time,” Mr Friedman said. “The way it works is if the sword falls, the question is ‘Why was your neck stretched out?’ rather than why did the sword fall.” He said some members of the China-watching community actually blame colleagues who have been barred.

It’s a situation that is both disturbing and worth following.  With so much control over research agendas inside the PRC, any attempts to manage or manipulate the research of the foreign-based academic community is grave indeed.

From a speech given at the PEN World Voices Festival of International Literature, on April 29, 2008, at Flourence Gould Hall in NYC, and republished in the June issue of Guernica:

In a few words—and maybe we will discuss this more deeply in the conversation later—we are here facing a sort of perverse effect of three great modern ideas. A sort of paradoxical and counter-effect of three great ideas, which are: anti-racism, anti-colonialism, and the fight against imperialism, three great ideas—among the best which have been produced in the 20th century. In this case, by a sort of ruse of history, they [have] produced a very strange effect.

Anti-racism: you have a huge part of the population in America and in Europe, who believe, as a sort of Pavlovian reflex, that these sort of murders, these sort of genocides, can only be committed by ugly, stupid, white men. As we did: white men in Auschwitz, in the Gulag, and so on, which is undoubtedly true. There is the idea that such mass murders committed by people who were themselves victims of racism [for] such a long time is a sort of contradiction in terms.

Anti-colonialism: we have been bred in the idea, in the conviction that colonialism—and it is true—is a crime, is something we have to get rid of; intervention in the affairs of a country of the third world is something we have to avoid absolutely because it produced such ill effects in the past, colonialism. This is true. And it produces the idea that when a country of the third world which was colonized (as was Sudan), commits such bloodbaths, commits such crimes, to stop this, to try to prevent this, to intervene in order to make it stop, could be an act of colonialism.

And in America and in France, you have a lot of people [of] the Left, to which I belong, [who believe that] we cannot interfere in the internal affairs of Sudan. Let’s be careful not to impose under the flag of human rights the old rule of Western superiority. The result of which is that we are abandoning to that [idea] the worst death, these unnumbered lots of people. And in the end: anti-racism, anti-colonialism, and anti-imperialism. We are prisoners of a scheme of thought in which, if you are a victim and if you don’t play a role, if you don’t have a part on the big stage, in the big history, in the big tale of the opposition of the evil empire and the good anti-imperialist forces, you don’t really deserve attention.

I personally think what is happening in Darfur is a tragedy of immense scale, a horror whose continuance indicts us all.  I’m also, however, a bit of a skeptic when it comes to linking Darfur with the Beijing games.  China could certainly do more to improve the situation in Darfur, but sponsorship of rogue regimes committing atrocities against their own people is hardly a crime unique to the Chinese government.  I also suspect that if Darfur were fixed tomorrow, people would find somewhere  or something else (Mozambique, anyone?) as a suitable millstone for the Chinese neck.  Hell, I think the human rights situatuion inside China is sufficient to question the wisdom of giving Beijing the games, why go all the way to Africa?

I also want to be clear: China, being a major supporter of the Sudanese government as well as the principal impediment to a tougher, and more effective, international response, of course should take a more active and responsible role in ending the violence, but Darfur is a catastrophe for which the world is responsible.    While I think Professor Levy’s analysis may be a bit simplistic (no matter how ‘non-colonial’ our present-day interventions, the baggage of the past is ever with us) I do think his basic outline of the ’sins of the left’ is worth discussing.

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h/t: Arts & Letters Daily

And it has come down from On High…the Beijing municipal government today unveiled its long anticipated Olympic traffic plan set to start July 20 and run through September.  Odd number.  Even number. It won’t matter.  What does is that you can completely forget about getting a cab downtown on a weekday.  Just start walking now, you’ll get where you’re going eventually.

Buses and subways are another issue, but I see the taxi situation growing positively Darwinian as the weeks stretch into months.  Perhaps it’s time to start seriously consider dusting off the old bicycle…

On this date in 1972, the People’s Daily published an editorial urging the Chinese people to “Learn from Daqing,” a phrase first made famous by Mao Zedong in 1964. Repetitive? Sure, but by 1972 China’s industry was in complete shambles. Six years of Cultural Revolution had plunged the country into near total chaos, and what was left of the party leadership (not exactly the best and the brightest, let’s just say) called the only play they knew: A political campaign with moral exhortations, kicked off with an editorial, some posters, and a few thousand red banners for your home or office.

Starting in the early 1960s, Daqing, and its agricultural counterpart Dazhai, had been held up as models for other industrial and agricultural enterprises to follow. Why Daqing? Well, the Party claimed it was the spirit of hard work, self-reliance, plus selfless devotion to party, country, and Mao Zedong thought which was responsible for Daqing’s incredible productivity. That said, it probably didn’t hurt that they struck oil there in 1959. Seriously, Haiti would be a “model of industrial productivity” if they found a giant oil field under Cité Soleil.

Not that the oil wasn’t a big deal. In the 1950s, many in the West thought that the PRC was doomed to fail because it lacked access to sufficient petroleum stocks to sustain industrial development. Everybody (Read: “Especially the Japanese”) had known Manchuria was rich in natural resources, but after a decade of such brilliant industrial strategies as ‘buy all of our factories from Russia,’ ‘build one million backyard steel mills,’ and then resorting to the tried and true fall back plan of ’starve all the farmers so that the cities can eat’…well, nobody really believed the PRC could come up with the simple, yet elegant, solution of ’sink a well and see what we hit.’ That’s right: It’s The Jed Clampett Book of How to Build a Modern Industrial Economy.

Hey, it worked. It was actually (the original) ‘Iron Man,’ Wang Jinxi, who is credited with finding oil there in 1959. Since then, the Daqing oil fields have produced nearly 10 billion barrels of oil and a lot of poster material.

Throughout the 1970s, “In Industry, Learn from Daqing” posters called on Chinese workers to strive selflessly to increase industrial productivity and build the country, a campaign that lasted until Deng Xiaoping came into power and implemented more effective policies like “paying people.” Black cat, white cat, whatever works.

In 1980, Dazhai and Daqing were stripped of their paragon status, but ‘Learn from Daqing’ campaigns would occasionally be taken out of mothballs for special events: Bat Mitzvahs, birthdays, the aftermath of the 1989 student demonstrations, retirement parties, celebrity roasts…that sort of thing.

So, this being Friday, let’s all learn from Daqing (or at least the band Loverboy) and everybody work hard for the weekend.

Finally, by way of clumsy segue but in the spirit of industrial solidarity and proletariat struggle, don’t forget to check out the launch of Helen Couchman’s new book Workers, being held tonight at The Bookworm in Beijing, beginning at 7:30.
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Image top right from Stefan Landsberger’s Chinese Propaganda Poster Pages.

In an op-ed piece published in today’s International Herald Tribune, Philip Bowring warns that for all the attention paid to popular nationalism among Chinese youth, nationalism in Korea potentially could be just as damaging to regional stability.

While the recent flap over imports of U.S. beef dominates the headlines and the US-ROK strategic partnership remains a sore subject for many Koreans, I would argue that it is the relationship between Korea and its larger neighbor China that is the most fraught with the complications of extreme popular nationalism.

Korea and China have had long historic ties dating back to a time before there was even a “China” or a “Korea” as we understand those terms today, and that gets us to the crux of the problem: the extension back through time of present day national boundaries, definitions of ethnicity, and geopolitical concerns.

For all their historical links with China, Koreans sometimes like to see themselves as kin, however distant, of the non-Han peoples of mainland Northeast Asia now under Chinese and Russian rule.

The surge in national sentiment owes much to the fact that few southerners now see North Korea as a real threat. Pity has replaced fear. But China itself also must take some blame. Its recent attempt to claim ethnic Korean landmarks - notably the semi-sacred Mount Paekdu - and ancient Manchurian kingdoms as part of China’s cultural history has naturally helped spur Korean sensitivities and remind Koreans that what was once their heartland is now a part of China. Koreans were in Manchuria centuries before the region became part of China with the Manchu conquest in the 17th century.

The surge in national sentiment owes much to the fact that few southerners now see North Korea as a real threat. Pity has replaced fear. But China itself also must take some blame. Its recent attempt to claim ethnic Korean landmarks - notably the semi-sacred Mount Paekdu - and ancient Manchurian kingdoms as part of China’s cultural history has naturally helped spur Korean sensitivities and remind Koreans that what was once their heartland is now a part of China. Koreans were in Manchuria centuries before the region became part of China with the Manchu conquest in the 17th century.

For all their historical links with China, Koreans sometimes like to see themselves as kin, however distant, of the non-Han peoples of mainland Northeast Asia now under Chinese and Russian rule.

Well, actually it became part of the Qing Empire in the 17th century, but who am I to quibble?

Nationalism is always an emotional topic, especially in East Asia where textbooks, religious shrines, and even figure skaters and soap operas can find their way into the scrum. Glancing through the flame war in the comments section of a recent clip from a PRC-ROK women’s soccer match, it’s clear to the extent to which nationalist sentiments run deep on both sides of the Yellow Sea/黄海 Huang Hai/황해 Hwang Hae.

As Bowring concludes, while these sentiments do not appear to directly threaten trade and investment relations between the two countries, the flashpoint of nationalism does have the potential to circumscribe the negotiating parameters for government leaders (as President Lee Myung-bak is discovering). China’s leadership, despite maintaining tighter controls on expressions of popular sentiment, are not immune from the need to consider public reaction, lest the government is seen by Chinese nationalists as not standing up to foreign powers–or dissenting elements within the PRC–with sufficient vigor.

Education policy in East Asia, and not only in the PRC, is often enlisted in the service of national unity and national pride. When history becomes merely a tool for the building of states, it is not only history which suffers.

The virulent forms of nationalism bubbling to the surface in China, and elsewhere, are examples of what happens when the chickens of educational indoctrination start coming home to roost, and it’s a situation that is worth following closely.