Tag Archives: exegesis

Confucious on the bus

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At dinner, a friend tells the following story:

She was on a bus with her two year old son. Suddenly, she looked down to see him scurrying away. He had seen an empty seat and immediately darted over. This story was told with great pride because it demonstrated her son’s independence and ability-he knows what he wants, goes after it, and succeeds. The story was met with laughter and smiles-yes, an all round great kid.

My a-ha moment: my mother never told such stories about me and thus I continue to line up and wait for others even when this strategy for boarding buses has long proven ineffective.

Indeed, I sometimes fear that I all I ever do in China is un-learn everything I learned in kindergarten. According to Confucian wisdom: at thirty one establishes oneself, at forty no doubts, at fifty know the will of heaven, at sixty everything sounds good, and at seventy, follow one’s heart and make no mistakes (30而立，40而不惑，50而知天命，60而耳顺，70从心所欲而不逾矩). But what if one changed lives at thirty? Can one actually become established and start over at the same time? Or is everything delayed? Or more likely, do we never quite get it right and doubt at 40, wonder about the will of heaven at 50, still become annoyed by chatter at 60, and make all sorts of mistakes when we follow our hearts into our 70s?

Sigh. Because I also know how difficult it is to go home and get back on track to a retirement of effortless grace.

great dividers

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Yesterday, a colleague handed me a photocopy of a recent South China Morning Post Post Magazine article “Pass Masters” by Simon Parry. Unfortunately, the photocopy didn’t have the publication date and I haven’t been able to find an online link to the article. I apologize for responding without proper citation. If anyone does have the link, please let me know.

Uncontextualized translation seems to be one of the great dividers between Chinese and English readers of news both virtual and printed. At the very least, uncontextualized translation seems to add fuel to stereotypical fires, such as “China can’t be trusted”. Reporters often translate “words” in order to explain a situation. However, rarely to they remind readers that the histories and cultural schemes in which the orignal words operate are different from those in which the translation operates.

For example, in his expose Pass Masters, Simon Parry uses “shooter” to translate 枪手. Thus:

Stand-in candidates, known as “shooters”, claim to be able to exploit loopholes in a globally respected examination system to help students with weak English skills get the qualification the need, along with a home-country degree, to secure university places.

Testimony suggests IELTS exams are being infiltrated by shooters on a nationwide scale, potentially earning places in overseas universities at the expense of properly qualified students.

A speaker of American English, I understand Parry’s use of “shooter” to refer to a vague, kind of random criminal. His usage also inflames a sense of unscrupulous goings on in China and that these nefarious dealings pose a threat to British education and by extension Western civilization as we know it.

However, a better translation of 枪手 would be “hired gun”, which points to the specificity of what is happening. And this is precisely where and why contextualized translation becomes necessary: in Mandarin a 枪手 is anyone hired to write something for another person. Thus, 枪手 also translates as “ghostwriter”, a respectable career in English-speaking worlds. Continue reading →

i’m just a symptom of the moral decay…

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If I didn’t realize it in college, when I happily sang The Sinking Feeling by The The, I know it now – I’m just a symptom of the moral decay, that’s gnawing at the heart of the country…

My interlocutor explained that of the three ways to be unfilial, not having children was the worst (不孝有三，无后为大).

I laughed. He turned serious, “This is what’s wrong with foreigners. You have no sense of responsibility.”

I admitted that I didn’t want to raise a child and pointly asked, “Does China really need more people (中国真缺人吗)?”

He counterpointed that, “Every family needs their own (每个家庭都缺自己的).”

I laughed again.

He went on to explain that I had failed to continue my family line. Chinese abroad and at home have geneaologies that clearly mark generational differences. For thousands of years, each generation has followed the next. He himself had two children, three grandchildren, and hoped to hold a fourth.

I congratulated him on his happiness (幸福).

He nodded soberly and encouraged me to reconsider, “Maybe your mother-in-law can take care of the child and you can continue your carefree [and irresponsible] life.”

This truly is an argument I didn’t know I was in and can’t win anyway.

starter teapot

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starter teapot

Originally uploaded by maryannodonnell

72 hours into the rain, rain go away and I am taking pictures of the starter teapot that Xiao Chen recommended, rather than go outside.

Xiao Chen had told me that if I “raise/nurture (养-yang)” a teapot then I will develop affection for it (发展感情). Even if it’s a relatively cheap teapot, like a 20 rmb machine producedteapot or a 180 rmb handmade starter (pictured), the act of caring for the teapot will become affection for it. Lo and behold, it’s true.  A week into the process and I’m considering naming my teapot, Terrance T. Pot, or something equally ridiculous.

To make my tea, I first rinse Terrance with hot water, then add the leaves, which I wash twice, before I pour myself a cup of fragrent pu’er tea. I don’t discard the rinse water, but pour it over Terrance so that it will become 润 (run), a word which may be translated as moist, or smooth, but might be usefully thought of as “flush” as  run also describes the characteristics of well-cared for skin. With each rinsing, Terrance’s color subtly changes and I find myself fascinated by the new colors and different textures; I even note the gradual change in temperature, from too hot to touch to cool smoothness.

This long weekend of intense communion with my teapot and I now understand how is it possible to develop feelings for an online pet – just check in with it every now and again and 养 it. In fact, it is also possible to buy various clay “pets” for your tea set. To yang a tea-pet, give it frequent tea-baths, much as you would a beloved teapot.

Throughout Shenzhen, many have hobbies that are, in fact, yang-ing an inanimate object. I have friends who take care of jade objects by frequently handling them; the oil on their skin nurishes the jade, which like a teapot also becomes run through care.  Others prefer to yang a living creature – a plant, a pet, or even a mistress.

What and how one yang-s is culturally coded and recognized; it is a way of creating an identity. Cultivated people yang things like teapots, jade, potted plants, and tropical fish. Many spoil dogs of various kinds, giving them names reminicent of childrens’ nicknames, Precious and Treasure and Baby. Others yang projects and relationships. Signicantly, the number of mistresses that a man can yang is a symbol of his ability (能力).

There are, of course, deeper implications – caring for a goldfish, or your house, or small patch of earth will lead to love for your goldfish, your home, and your world. Parents, of course, yang their children, who in turn will yang their parents in old age. I believe that this is precisely where 玩儿 (wan’er/playing) seems to diverge from yang. Wan’er is just for fun. In fact, it’s possible to say 养着玩儿 or “nurishing for fun”. In this sense, a person or an object – like a teapot – is just a plaything.

anywhere but here

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Recently, Lyn Jeffrey pointed to an article in the Christian Science Monitor on the reverse brain drain, where elite US trained Indian and Chinese scientists are opting to take their children back home for  a higher quality education.

In Shenzhen, parents place their children in international schools and pay for all sorts of cram schooling because yes, they want them to receive a higher quality education.

The question of where a child will receive a better education seems to me to be about the institutionalization of educational values as much as it is a grass is greener situation. Continue reading →

xiao chen – thoughts on how to do “small” business

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xiaochen tea

Originally uploaded by maryannodonnell

More thoughts on how Shenzhen does and does not work, this time inspired by a conversation with Xiao Chen, my tea vendor.

Yesterday afternoon I went to Nanshan Tea City, where Xiao Chen and her husband have a tea stall. They are from Fujian and sell amazing Iron Guanyin (the new tea is in and fragrant) and different grades of pu’er, which is what I usually drink. Pu’er is a fermented tea, and, like red wine, becomes richer and more complex with time.

Xiao Chen had just received an order of 13 year old pu’er that she wanted me to try. We sat at the table, where she prepared the tea, washing the leaves three times instead of two, poured the tea from the clay teapot into a class pot, and then into my small teacup.

As she has taken it upon herself to educate me about tea, Xiao Chen explained the importance of each step. Washing the tea leaves insures that one drinks the best taste, the small clay teapot preserves the fragrance and quality of the leaves, moreover it achieves these high quality results without wasting tea leaves. A glass pot is necessary because when the tea is poured out of the clay teapot the tea does not have uniform flavor. Instead, the first tea is relatively weak and the last tea is relatively strong.

While we were sipping the tea, Xiao Chen explained how she and her husband do “small” business (做小生意). Unlike big business, she said, small business depends upon “renyuan (人缘)”. According to Xiao Chen, renyuan is about the trust that people have within a human relationship. For their business to succeed, she and her husband need return custumers. To maintain the trust, the vendor and the custumer have to believe that the other has their best interest at heart: the custumer wants the vendor to earn enough money to make a living, and the vendor wants the customer to purchase high quality goods at the most reasonable price. Continue reading →

阳光家庭 – Sunny Families on a Rainy Day

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social work

Originally uploaded by maryannodonnell

Sometimes the anthropological moment comes to me.

This morning, I was hanging clothes despite the drizzle when a bullhorn announced the opening of a Nanshan District Sunny Family Pre-School Haiyue Community Event in our housing development. Specifically, the group was recruitng for its summer program, which would run from June 6 through July 4. From the information I gathered, it looks like more kindergarten. From the children dancing in gold costumes, it still looks like a summer of more kindergarten. SF also announced a program they will be holding on Household Relationship Management for the Professional Woman (职业女性家庭关系经营). Continue reading →

taxi talk

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A few days ago, during rush hour, I was in a cab heading east on Binhai Road. We had just darted onto the expressway, when traffic slowed. And slowed. Until we were inching our way forward in a simmering mass of cars, many of which were trying to push their way forward by straddling lanes. Which in turn, slowed us further.

The cabbie had his radio dial turned to the morning traffic report. I was craning my neck, trying to figure out just why the snail’s pace. We inched. We sweltered.

He said, “Probably another accident.”

I grunted. He took a swig from his water bottle. We oozed forward another three inches.

At the Mangrove Park bus station, we saw the accident. Two cars were parked at the  divider between the expressway and the station offramp, effictively closing down two lanes – the offramp and the southern most lane. This caused major congestion because there were drivers who, in order to arrive at Mangrove faster, had straddled their way over four lanes to the lane furthest north, and then needed to force their way back to the exit lane to get to the bus station. Yes, because those two cars had blocked the offramp, those who weren’t already in the exit lane were having difficulty getting back, creating more back up and generalized highway irritation. The cars’ drivers were talking on cellphones, glaring at each other.

We had past the accident and were moving a bit faster when the traffic report announced that there was a serious traffic jam at the Mangrove Park bus station because the traffic police had yet to arrive, make the accident report, and have the cars removed. In Shenzhen, cars in accidents are not moved from where the accident takes place until after the accident report is made, otherwise, neither can make insurance claims. According to the report, the cars had been at the offramp for over two hours, which meant that the traffic police had not yet shown up.

“That explains it,” I said, although we still hadn’t picked up all that much speed.”Where do you think they are?”

The cabbi nodded thoughtfully and then made five key points about the nature of corruption in Shenzhen:

  1. High-ranking Shenzhen leaders all have two jobs (兼 – jian is one of those fabulous words that refers to the way that Chinese bureaucracies are knit together).  Clearly, it’s difficult to do both well.  The Municipal Party Secretary, Liu Yupu (刘玉浦) for example, is also one of the Guangdong Provincial Party vice secretaries. According to the cabbie, the Secretary was just biding his time until he was promoted.  “As long as he doesn’t make any mistakes, he’ll be fine.” On that note, Liu Yupu replaced Li Hongzhong (李鸿忠), who after five years in Shenzhen is now the governor of Hubei 兼/jian vice Party Secretary of Hubei Province.
  2. The Shenzhen government is too polite. Back in the cabbie’s home county, the county boss doesn’t back down from anything he’s said, even when he’s wrong. Then, if someone goes against the county boss, well the court does what the court needs to do (该怎么判断，就怎么判断！). In contrast, the Shenzhen government allows the people to talk back. For example, he noted the ongoing 操 contraversy in the Futian court, which was itself a hot topic on the traffic report that day.
  3. The Shenzhen government only pays attention to big events, like preparing for the Universiade in 2011. It doesn’t pay attention to the everyday lives of the people.  The Shenzhen government is, he said, a show for outsiders. And, he added growing increasingly vehement, now they want us to promote Shenzhen to visitors. He then gestured contemptuously at the traffic outside and asked rhetorically, “How in good conscious can I promote THAT?!”
  4. The police take bribes. So if there’s no benefit to coming to the scene of an accident, they won’t come. Just like this morning, he mused, they’re probably having dim sum at a 5-star hotel.
  5. Shenzhen people are themselves morally bankrupt. Everyone with a driver’s liscence knows the traffic laws and everyone has passed the test. In fact, he muttered, they probably could quote all the relevant laws. However, once they’re on the street, they don’t have the breeding and temperment (教养 and 素质) to do what they should.

His discourse lasted about thirty minutes, or the time it took us to crawl from the Mangrove Station offramp to another accident at the entry to Xiasha New Village. Like most populist worldviews, his was a fascinating mix of fact and fiction, liberalism and conservatism. It was also much more entertaining that the traffic report.

sudden insight into 以人为本

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A first insight after my trip to Switzerland: I now have visceral understanding of the ubiquitous phrase “以人为本” or “make people the basis”.

While in Switzerland, I was impressed, shocked, and actually somewhat confused by the precision of their clocks. My friend’s watch, the clock on the bus, the clock in the plaza, the clock in the bell tower – all kept the same time. I watched an empty bus pull away from a stop while two girls ran across the street to catch it. Had the driver waited another minute, the girls could have caught the bus and been on their way. Instead, they had to wait precisely 16 minutes for the next bus.

Back at my post at the school, I began to notice that none of the clocks on campus, none of our wristwatches, and few of our cellphones kept the same time. Instead, the time that matters is the time kept by the highest ranking person in the classroom or office. So if there’s a meeting, we all gather more or less at the same time, but start when the leader says to start not when the clock shows a “time”. Likewise, in the classroom, students arrive at more or less the same time, but classes start when the teacher starts teaching. The upside of this 以人为本 arrangement is that bus drivers to wait and often stop (even after they’ve started to pull away from the stop) for running passengers. The downside is that whether or not a student or staff member is “late” is highly arbitrary.

This has me thinking about how communities build our assumptions into the world, which thereby continues to confirm them at even the most minute level of experience, begging the question: what does it take to escape from cultural presuppositions and “know” something else? Yes, this is a rather quaint anthropological insight suddenly made fresh in light of the juxtaposition of times (!) experienced in Switzerland.

Here’s the point: Yesterday afternoon, I encountered  my cultural unconscious in a way which has suggested that I only begin to question my “instincts” when they have failed consistantly for an extended period of time.  What’s more I suspect my response time (15 years to figure this out) falls somewhere in the middle of a cultural learning curve, which means many of us live our cross cultural lives in potentially destructive ignorance.

At work, I sit at a desk in an office to which students have free access. I am fortunate to have warm relations with many of my students and so they come and go at will. However, lately, I have been busier than usual, which has meant that when they come to see me more often than not they interrupt my work. Yesterday, five minutes before class started (according to my office clock) and 90 minutes before I would give an hour lecture to over 200 students, one of my favorite students swept in, dropped his books on my desk, and asked me if I wanted to look at some of the paintings from his father’s portfolio.

I snapped, “I don’t sell steamed buns!”

He, in retrospect, looked understandablyconfused.

Me, in retrospect, felt understandably irrate and grumped, “Every morning, I line up for steamed bums at the stand just outside my housing estate gate. Every morning, someone pushes ahead of me and shouts at the bun vendor, ‘quicker, I’m in a hurry.’ Every morning, the vendor calmly serves the volatile customer and then returns to me. Cutting in line is rude and disrespectful both to me and the vendor.”

He, still confused, asked, “What did I do wrong?”

Me, still irate, said, “In the United States it’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re busy. You should first say ‘excuse me’ or wait for them to finish what they are doing before speaking.”

He, “Can’t you work and speak at the same time?”

Me, “No.”

He, “Why not? Chinese people just keep working when someone talks to us.”

Me, internally, “A-hah.”

Me, trying to be conciliatory but probably coming off as pedantic, “In the United States, when someone speaks to me, it is considered polite to stop what I am doing and give them my full attention. This means that when someone, like a student, just starts talking to me, I experience it as a command to stop what I am doing and listen. When student number three or four issues the same command, I become angry.”

He, “Oh. So its a cultural difference.”

Me, “Yes.”

He, “Do you want to see my father’s paintings.”

Me, exasperated, “We have class in five minutes!”

He, “I’m leaving.”

As I write this post, I’m wondering how power relations also contribute to my experience of being interrupted. I don’t become as angry when my boss interrupts me. At the same time, my current boss is British and tends to interrupt in a way that conforms to my expectations of how interruptions should occur. There’s also my vanity. When I said, “I don’t sell steamed buns,” I clearly (well maybe not crystal clearly) implied that my status as teacher needed to be recognized through corresponding forms of student courtesy. More soberingly, I wonder how much of my reluctance or disinclination to reflect on my anger at students has arrisen out of my “experience” that Chinese people tend to “live for others” within intimate circles and  “live for themselves” outside those circles. What part of my unconscious was comfortable glossing my students’ behavior as collective rudeness, rather than trying to understand why a particular action by usually considerate and well-intentioned youth made me uncomfortable?

Sigh. Fifteen years in Shenzhen, 8 months in a new job, and a 2-week trip to Switzerland later, I have 1 sudden insight: if I am going to live in Shenzhen, I need to “make people the basis” of my daily interactions, rather than uncritically following the  “陈习陋俗 (outdated habits and despicable customs)” of my native land.

exotic dubai

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dubai

Originally uploaded by maryannodonnell

the dubai-shenzhen connection reaches new levels of irony on the houhai land reclamation area, where “exotic dubai” is now an architectural style to be bought and sold in a soon-to-be-completed trés upscale residential area.

“exotic” is one interpretation of 风情 , which when refering to gender usually refers to the spiritual aspect of a woman’s sex appeal e.g. 多指女性.风情是女人的韵味，与性感有联系，两者的不同之处是：风情来自於“神”而性感来自於 “形” . likewise, when refering to place 风情 usually connotes whatever it is that makes minority groups “attractive”. this new marketing strategy not only begs the question: what other city has turned a bay into a desert in less than 10 years? but also has inquiring minds wondering: are they building artificial seas in dubai?

on that note, does anyone know if “shenzhen” is now or has ever been used as an adjective to describe real estate elsewhere?