What’s your experience?

Yesterday, a journalist interviewed me about differences between US and Chinese education systems. The heart of the matter was how might Chinese students apply successfully for US university and college admissions. I blah-blahed for a while – on the different social functions of testing, on the relative importance of excelling in one subject, rather than having good grades in all subjects, and on the advantages of finding an environment that fits the student, rather than choosing a college based on how famous it happens to be in China. Thus far, a rather ordinary interview. Or so I thought.

At the point when I was blathering on about how the ideal function of a US college education was for students to figure out their intellectual interests and then professionalize at the graduate level (as opposed to many other post-secondary systems, where professionalization happens at the undergraduate level because many countries track students into the humanities or sciences as early as high school), the journalist sighed (?!) and said, “You’re really idealistic.”

I’ve heard this. Frequently. It’s as if idealism was a bad, bad thing. My stock answer du jour is, “In the context of the US college system, it’s practical to assume that students will change majors once or twice, may transfer to another school, or could take time off to follow other passions. It’s safe to say, most will stumble into a job after college and then professionalize on the job (and even more likely professionalize through a series of jobs) with a possible detour through grad school.

“That’s just it,” the journalist jumped in. “In China we don’t have so many choices. It’s even worse when you reach middle age. Then the job chooses you. Living for one’s passions is a luxury that Chinese people don’t have.” And then he added the zinger designed to end the conversation, “You don’t have this experience of living for other people because you’re not Chinese.”

Bracketing the fact that the journalist was younger than me and I haven’t yet admitted to middle age-dom, his rebuttal was similar to other responses (especially from parents) that I’ve heard. What’s interesting to me is what makes my response seem “American”. On the face of it, the journalist’s rebuttal assumed that realism means getting a secure, high-paying job right-out-of-college. This seems to me a pretty standard response to capitalism as we know it wherever we happen to live. Specifically, I think Chinese and American parents share this definition of realism, especially about their children’s college education, because they are anxious about what will happen to their children once launched and they know that it’s harder to make a living in an uncertain economy.

Making college “about” getting a job is actually magical realism (of an albeit cross-cultural kind), rather than hopefully and practically idealistic. Imagine parents stirring the pot of destiny, thinking, “If I can control what college my child attends, then I can protect them from unemployment, debt, and exploitation. My child will never experience the humiliation of unemployment and the sadness of insufficient medical care.” Fingers wiggle, green smoke appears –Poof – “You won’t ever have to suffer the arrows of outrageous multi-national fortunes.” In contrast, it seems to me that protection from the injustices of an economy out-of-control (and I think that’s a constant state of being, rather than a momentary aberration) is more likely to come from discovering and nourishing passions that will make our lives more meaningful, and by extension, make the world more beautiful than it is to come from placing one’s faith in name-brand schools and top-ten jobs.

So I return to the question of what made my understanding American, rather than optimistically idealistic within a global context. I believe my American-ness hinged on the journalist’s belief that “Chinese” people live for other people and “Americans” live for themselves. Unsurprisingly, I’ve also had this conversation with other Chinese friends. When it’s pointed out to me that “Chinese” people live for others, the examples tend to be about sacrificing oneself for the greater good. – 牺牲你一个,幸福千万人 and 舍小家为大家 being two recent contributions to the debate. When I counter that I’m not opposed to living helpfully, I just don’t see how my unhappiness (and even death should sacrifice go so far) would improve the world, I have heard, that this is precisely the cultural difference that they are talking about. The sacrifice of a few for the many does lead to greater happiness. If I had the experience (体验 – which I understand to emphasize embodied knowledge of the walked-a-mile-in-a-man’s-shoes variety) of living for others I would know in my bones that this was true.

And yet. Throughout the public sphere, Shenzhen inhabitants butt in line to get on the bus, cut off other drivers to make a U-turn, and push themselves in front of me to buy breakfast buns. Why don’t the activities of lining up and waiting for one’s turn count as “living for others”? This kind of living for others I do quite well. However, my Chinese friends tell me these behaviors are examples of 素质 and 文明 – breeding and civilization. In contrast, living for others is about one’s relationships to 自己人 – one’s people. On this explanation, “living for others” defines degrees of intimacy; it is not about one’s relationships with strangers. So two points. First, what makes me American is an unwillingness to participate in forms of intimacy that are defined by a willingness to sacrifice myself for my family and friends. Second, in those contexts defined by a lack of intimacy, what makes one Chinese is full throttle “living for oneself” and giving over to one’s (unlimited) desires.

It seems to me that in defining cultural difference between Chinese and Americans, it’s more important to establish where and when self-expression (defined as giving over to one’s desires) is socially acceptable, rather than positing “selfless” Chinese and “selfish” Americans. Certainly, many Chinese have experienced the liberating effects of Shenzhen in terms of being unconstrained by the desires of family and friends back home. Indeed, this lack of constraint is what makes Shenzhen seem “un-Chinese”. My experience has been that the more friends I make, the more is asked of me in terms of social commitments. So that despite a zero intimacy starting point, I have been and continued to be socialized according to Chinese norms that are tempered with the “knowledge” that I am American and hence of the selfish ilk.

What’s your experience?

O Sole mio – or who can stop the sun?

Shenzhen buses have televisions that broadcast flash cartoon versions of popular skits (小品). Two days ago, Yang Qian and I saw Pan Changjiang and Wang Ping’s skit “O Sole Mio (我的太阳-regular performance)”.

The skit quit obviously spoofs blind infatuation with high western culture. Pan Changjiang plays “Pavaroti’s student’s student’s student’s student” whose English name is derived from his teacher’s teacher’s teacher’s teacher’s name” – hence 帕瓦罗蒂’s student’s student’s student’s student’s English name is 帕瓦罗锅 or “Pava Hunchback”.

Hunchback comes dressed in a tux to sing “O Sole Mio” to a Chinese audience. His accompanist, 二锅头 (played by Wang Ping, the “guo” in liquor picks up the “guo” in Hunchback) is dressed in a grey scholar’s robe. The differences between the two includes hairstyle. Hunchback frequently finger-combs his shoulder length, while Wang Ping’s short hair is neatly brushed away from his face in the style of middle management and party leaders.

Hunchback and Liquor quite literally can’t get on the same page. Hunchback keeps trying to sing “My Sun” – “His Sun” – “No, My Sun” – “Your Sun” – yes, shades of “Who’s on First”.  Then, Wang Ping keeps playing a song I don’t recognize but includes the lines “The stars are still those stars…” The reason? When it’s sunny in “your” Italy, it’s starry in “our” China. Hunchback insists that it’s already today, so Liquor packs up to leave. Work is over.

A bribe of water (“It’s actually water!?”) later and Liquor starts playing the trumpet. He begins with O Sole Mio and then goes through a variety of songs. At each change in tempo, Hunchback follows with the appropriate dance or song. Any thinking that Hunchback does is always of the “Wait a minute” variety as he tries to keep up with the curveballs that Liquor keeps throwing.

This skit prompted a discussion about “The top has directives and the bottem has countermeasures (上有政策,下有对策)”. There’s never direct confrontation, but constant unending non-cooperation in the most obsequesiouly annoying manner possible.

Which in turn prompted another joke (loosely translated):

Reporters asked Pukin, what  should be done about Bin Laden? –Blast him away with bombs.

They asked Bush — Deploy Israeli forces to destroy him.

Then, they asked Jiang Zemin who said — Why use such complicated measures? Send the “Three Representatives” to annoy him to death. heh!

As friends constantly remind me – no one has it easy (谁也不简单)!

text message education

the following two text messages recently popped up. they play with two core chinese values – education and proper social relationships. the humor in the first is self-explanatory. in the second, the humor hinges on the multiple meanings of 忽悠 (huyou), a northeastern expression that was introduced into national discourse through the skit, 卖拐 (selling a cane). the comic 赵本山‘s portrayal of a con artist who traded a cane for a bicycle by convincing his mark that he couldn’t walk, let alone ride a bicycle spoofed snake oil salesmen and gullible health nuts alike. the satire also established huyou‘s moral ambiguity; it’s not right to sell snake oil, but if the mark is so willing to buy . . . here note the characterization of 百姓 (the people/comman man).

最大的杀手配顺基地:驾校;最大的失业配顺基地:高校;最大的妓女配顺基地:艺校;最大的流氓配顺基地:警校;最大的腐败配顺基地:党校。

the biggest training ground for assasins: driving school;  the biggest training ground for unemployment: high school;  the biggest training ground for prostitutes: art school;  the biggest training ground for hooligans: police school;  the biggest training ground for corruption: party school.

国家忽悠国家,叫外交;政府忽悠百姓,叫政策;百姓忽悠国家,叫犯罪;领导忽悠百姓,叫号召;百姓忽悠领导,叫捣乱;领导忽悠领导,叫交易;百姓忽悠百姓,叫生意;父母忽悠孩子,叫教育;孩子忽悠父母,叫欺骗;男人忽悠女人,叫调戏;女人忽悠男人,叫勾引;男女互相忽悠,叫爱情;我也忽悠一下,叫祝福;忽悠我的朋友,天天快乐。朋友,天天快乐!

when a country huyous another country, it’s called foreign affairs; when a government huyous the people, it’s called policy; when the people huyou the country, it’s called crime; when a leader huyou‘s the common man, it called an appeal; when the common man huyou‘s a leader, it’s called stirring up trouble; when a leader huyou‘s another leader, it’s called exchange; when the common man huyou‘s another common man, it’s called business; when parents huyou a child, it’s called education; when a child huyous her parents, it’s called lying; when a man huyous a woman, its called flirting; when a woman huyous a man, it’s called seduction; when a man and woman huyou each other, it’s called love; when i huyou, it’s called a blessing; the friends who huyou me are happy everyday. friend, be happy.

Are we there yet?

Yesterday over coffee, a friend and I talked about how vast the houhai reclamation project actually is. She mentioned that her daughters love to drive on roads in the reclaimed area because their GPS (global positioning system) locates them in the ocean, rather than on land. Apparently, the system misreads their location because the maps that the system is accessing do not represent the new landscape. It’s true. Plans really can’t keep up with change (计划跟不上变化).

Delta or Estuary? What’s in a Name?

Googling for information about environmental conditions in Shenzhen, I noticed that the distinction between delta and estuary has facilitated a disturbing separation between conversations about economic miracles and ecological disasters in Southern China. When I googled Pearl River Delta, I stumbled upon articles about economic development. In contrast, when I googled Pearl River Estuary, I came upon articles about the seriousness of our situation.  

Here’s the rhetorical rub: Ecologically, deltas and estuaries co-evolve. However, through linguistic convention, the words delta and estuary refer to different aspects of this process. The word delta draws our attention to what’s happening on land, while the word estuary reminds us what happens in places where fresh and salt water mix. In other words, how we locate Shenzhen – either in an estuary or on a delta – has already determined whether our conversation will most likely be about environmental or economic issues.

So, by emphasizing the Delta in conversations about South China, what do English speakers leave out? The fact that in an October 19, 2006 press release, the United Nations Environment Programme announced that the Pearl River Estuary was a newly listed dead zone, where nutrients from fertilizer, runoff, sewage, animal waste, and the burning of fossil fuels trigger algal blooms. The most common algal bloom in the Pearl River Estuary is “red tide”, a colloquial way of saying HAB – harmful algal bloom of which the most conspicuous effects are the associated wildlife mortalities among marine and coastal species of fish, birds, marine mammals and other organisms.

What else do we English speakers miss? The ongoing houhai land reclamation and associated siltation, which is damaging coastal Mangrove forests. In the panel Gilded Coast from Prosthetic Cosmologies, I used images from the NASA Scientific Visualization Studio to draw attention to this process.  The SVS images were taken in 1988, 1996, and 2001. Taken in December 2008, a recent Earth Snapshot from Chelyis shows how more has changed in the past seven years. The Chelyis image also contextualizes the SVS images within the delta/estuary. Compare the levels of siltation and environmental transformation below:

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20081211-hongkong-thumb4

 

More importantly, the Cheylis explanation identifies both Guangzhou and Hong Kong, but not Shenzhen. This omission is disturbing not only because Shenzhenhas been the most active land reclaimer in the region, but also because it pre-empts inclusion of Shenzhen – as well as Dongguan, Foshan, Zhongshan, and Macau – in conversations about how to both clean-up and enrich the region. (This omission dovetails into dim sum with the Swiss writers, who were shocked by how developed Shenzhen actually is. I keep asking myself: how do westerners miss Shenzhen? And it keeps happening…)

Incidently, the Chinese character 洲 (zhou) further muddies rather than bridges waters between English and Chinese conversations about the environmental consequences of economic development. The two parts of zhou are: the three-dot radical for water and  州 (zhou), a sound component which is composed of the pictograph for river with three dots. According to my dictionary, a  洲 is a continent or an island, so a delta/estuary is actually a three-cornered continent island or 三角洲, while the character is two-thirds full of water. This means googling 珠江三角洲 brings up a different mix of economic and environmental articles than does an English attempt.

变通: thoughts from chengde

This was written on July 23.

Biantong (变通): the ability to apply successfully knowledge about A to B. The two characters constituting this word—bian (变) and tong (通)—suggest an understanding of intelligence as a capacity to adapt past knowledge and experience to and thus pass smoothly through the challenges of the present. At the level of cultural history, biantong simultaneously reproduces and changes tradition, creating new worlds where vestiges of the old not only have salience, but also continue function. Visiting Chengde these past few days has helped me deepen my understanding of the establishment of Shenzhen as an instance of biantong. Specifically, Chinese Emperors and socialist leaders have continuously established new cities to initiate political change or diversify administrative s policies while maintaining stability in the capital.

Qing hegemony rested on obtaining legitimacy within both Han and non-Han ethnic communities. On the one hand, the Qing were Manchurians, but governed an Empire that was primarily Han. Indeed, in the state apparatus that the Qing took over from the Ming, Beijing signified the centrality of Han ethnic identity for state building and identity formation. As a first step to securing their hegemony, the Qing occupied the forbidden city (故宫), the former center of the Ming Empire. However, to redeploy the Ming state apparatus for their own ends, the Qing Emperors mastered Han culture, presenting themselves as the embodiment of the Mandate of Heaven. The Qianlong Emperor’s mastery of Han calligraphy and poetry forms, for example, fueled rumors that he was actually a Han Chinese, rather than a Manchurian.

On the other hand, to appeal to non-Han and non-Manchurian ethnic groups, the Qing court promulgated Tibetan Buddhism (密宗), which was practiced throughout much of the non-Han Empire (Mongolia, Xinjiang, Tibet, Yunnan, and western Sichuan in addition to Manchuria). In contemporary jargon, the Qing located “minority affairs” in Chengde, where they resided in Chengde for five months a year—from May through October. More to the point of this blog entry, Chengde enabled the Qing to place Tibetan Buddhism at the center of imperial policy, something that could not be easily achieved in Beijing, which was already built to reflect Han cosmology. Once Tibetan Buddhism had been firmly established as the court religion, it could be transferred to Beijing. For example, the Yongzheng Emperor donated his pre-ascension Beijing residence, the Yonghe Palace to Tibetan Buddhist monks.

Clearly, minority affairs not only constituted a key element of Qing administration, but also necessitated what was effectively a second capital, begging the question: how much change can be ordered from the capitol, but not implemented there? Many people, myself included, have ascribed the success of reforms in Guangdong, generally and Shenzhen, specifically as an instance of “the Emperor is far away and the mountains high (山高皇帝远)”. However, the fact that the Qing needed a second capitol to administer a multi-ethnic empire complicates this description of change from below. Instead, it seems that political change in China has also occurred because the constraints that Beijing’s bureaucracy have imposed on the Emperor can be mediated by spatial distance. In other words, the Emperor deployed and the Communists continue to biantong urban space with an eye to transforming Beijing and by extension the country.

I have elsewhere discussed Shenzhen’s establishment in terms of the Maoist policy of “important cities (重点城市)”. While in Chengde, I became aware the extent to which the establishment of the Qing’s “Mountain Resort (避暑山庄: the Chinese includes the idea of ‘summer retreat’)” enabled them to govern the Empire through means that would have been both difficult and ineffective in Beijing. Yet once in place in Chengde, these same policies could be re-imported to the capital as national policy. Suddenly, the establishment of Shenzhen appears to be well within Chinese administrative –both imperial and Maoist—history. Cultural continuity through biantong . More importantly, thinking about Shenzhen through Chengde firmly situates the SEZ’s so-called lack of history within Chinese cultural-political history. From the height of Chengde’s mountains, it seems ignorant to argue that Shenzhen doesn’t have a history. Indeed, such arguments appear to be motivated disinformation; who benefits and how when Shenzhen is described as being without history or culture?

My regrettably fast tour of Chengde included visits to Puning Temple (普宁寺), the little Potala Palace (普陀宗乘之庙; the Mandarin refers to Tibetan Buddhism as Tantric Buddhism), the Mountain Resort, and Sledgehammer Peak (磬椎峰). While there, I enjoyed the cooling beauty of Chengde’s trees.

all seeing eyes

several days ago, i read naomi klein’s article china’s all-seeing eye and viewed the accompanying photographs by thomas lee. since then, i have been thinking about how seriously to take her claims, how shenzhen functions in her argument, how shenzhen appears in lee’s images, and the cultural politics of guan (管), which are importantly similar to and different from the cultural politics of foucault’s panopticism.

in “all-seeing eye”, klein discusses globalization in terms of the cooperation between u.s. and chinese companies to develop and integrate surveillance technologies. according to the article, the goal of “golden shield” is to make it possible to cross-reference data from cellphones, computers, cameras, facilitating the surveillance of chinese citizens and, in institutions, workers. in turn, the goal of these companies is to sell the technology back to the united states, where it would be used.

shenzhen functions in this argument as the new kind of place that makes this kind of development possible. neither chinese nor american, but rather the place where china becomes more like the united states and the united states more like china, shenzhen is the place where capitalism and totalitarianism are reworked into “market stalinism,” which is then redeployed throughout the rest of china and exported to the united states. on klein’s reading, “market stalism” combines the worst excesses of both socialism and capitalism and is the inner logic of globalism. in this argument china stands for socialism and the united states for capitalism.

rolling stone published lee’s photos to illustrate klein’s report. the photographs’ formal composition and klein’s article become a reader’s primary tools for interpreting shenzhen. however, here’s the rub: in an interview, klein states that her goal is to “show how u.s. and china more and more alike, creation of a middle ground”. however, the photographer, thomas lee invoked the aesthetic conventions of creative photography to organize photographic composition. in these pictures, people in the foreground are blurred, while the background is in focus. consequently, the images show a shenzhen that is depersonalized and off-kilter. for an american viewer, these pictures do not provide common ground, rather its opposite—a looming gulf that threatens to swallow anyone who would dare cross over.

for foucault, jeremy bentham’s panopticon is the paradigm of how surveillance technologies secure modern power. the panopticon is not a thing, but rather a particular organization of space, specifically a prison. at the center of panoptic space is a tower, which is surrounded by buildings, divided into cells, where large windows allow the supervisor to observe the inmates of the prison. importantly, although the inmates can see the tower, they cannot see the supervisor. moreover, the arrangement of the cells insures that the inmates are isolated from one another.

the panopticon illustrates several important aspects of modern power. first, it operates even if no one is in the tower; inmates cannot know when they are and are not being watched. this means that they must act as if they are always being watched. second, the supervisor is also placed in power relations; the supervisor must also assume that he is being watched at all times. indeed, it is more likely the case that the supervisor is always being watched than any one inmate. third, the environment is designed so that no one individual can assume power, instead the inmates and the supervisor are placed within a physical environment that is itself the form of power; both the supervisor and the inmates are subordinated to the requirements of the environment.

the connections between klein’s “all-seeing eye” and the panopticon are relatively clear. the new surveillance technologies enable government officials, police officers, and management to use the built environment to monitor citizens and workers. in addition to cameras, these technologies include accessing individuals through their cell phones, internet practices, credit card records, and digitalized data banks. in addition, those positioned as “supervisors” are themselves also subject to surveillance. finally, the ability to monitor others is diffused throughout the system, making all members of society variously positioned supervisors and inmates. thus, the key distinction between citizens is how deeply one is embedded in these relationships and, by extension, how much control over the use of these technologies one has. however, no one member of society has absolute access to and therefore absolute control over the surveillance apparatus.

how do the cultural politics of panopticism (so glossed) differ from the cultural politics of guan (to be glossed)? in shenzhen, guan refers to practices of taking charge, ranging from teaching a student how to hold a pen through organizing social events to directing traffic and enforcing laws. like panoptic methods, guan practices target human bodies. teachers routinely hold a student’s hands when she is learning to write; the organization of events often entails mass calisthenics or the performance of many bodies in coordinated action—at our school, marching is considered one of the signs of effective pedagogy; directing traffic and law enforcement both entail the placement of bodies with respect to each other within a given environment. this is important: like panopticism, guan authorizes certain forms of violence in order to bring bodies into alignment with society. both tian’anmen and currently, tibet are examples of guan. moreover, like panopticism, guan practices presuppose constant monitoring. the image of chinese students doing homework, while their mother, father, and grandparents watch and intervene exemplifies guan.

however, unlike panopticism, guan practices draw legitimacy from the understanding that disciplining bodies is a form of caretaking. in this sense, guan requires the physical presence of those who guan and those who are guan-ed. as such, there are many instances of people excessively guan-ing those in their charge. excessive guan-ing makes for tiring social relations. both the guan-er and the guan-ed find themselves in constant negotiation. for many teachers and students at my school, for example, guan-ing a student’s homework is a necessary evil. nevertheless, guan is unquestionably better than the alternative, which would be “not to guan,” leaving the child to do whatever she wanted to, but failing to help prepare her to take high school and college entrance exams. a similar logic characterizes many chinese criticisms of the government. if schools collapse in an earthquake; it is a result of a failure to guan. if those who failed to guan continue in power, it is also a failure to guan. hunger, unemployment, social unrest—all are symptoms of governmental failure to guan.

on foucault’s reading, guan is not a modern form of power. however, most of my Chinese friends don’t trust abstract monitoring; they believe in the physical absence of a guan-er is an untenable. they point to the fact that many of the surveillance cameras don’t work, cellphone sim cards are bought, sold, and disposed of at unregulated street kiosks (i.e. cellphone numbers are unregistered in china), and its relatively easy to hack around the great firewall. in other words, the clearest difference between the cultural politics of panopticism and guan is the assumption of how successful surveillance actually can be. insofar as the underlying metaphor of panopticism is incarceration, it presupposes human bodies are always already at the disposal of surveillance operations. in contrast, guan presupposes that human bodies constantly allude surveillance operations.

chinese parents and teachers repeatedly lament that little bodies may be placed at desks and isolated from other little bodies, and yet the supervisors still cannot guan their charges, whose “hearts are not in place (心不在焉)” and “spirits absent themselves (出神)”. at the social level, it is even more difficult to ensure proper guan-ing. most of my friends assume that if something is being guan-ed, it is because someone has a penchant for excessive guan-ing (like a busybody), has been forced to take charge (by public opinion), or has a private agenda (internal politics). indeed, many have resigned themselves to the impossibility of successfully guan-ing children and colleagues, let alone the country. “can you guan it (管得了吗)?” they frequently sigh in a social world where peasants frequently protest change, students and netizens argue for increasing freedoms, and tibetans continue to protest han rule.

panopticism infuses klein’s interpretation of new surveillance technologies. her critique draws its power from the fact that no one wants to be locked up, monitored, and isolated from human companionship. indeed, the panopticon provides a working model of how to deny human beings our humanity. in contrast, the underlying metaphor of guan is disciplinary care-taking; as a form of social power it draws legitimacy from the fact that all of us has been guan-ed. indeed, guan provides a working model of how to transform babies into social beings, and individuals into “company men” and “citizens”.

as an american, i have a visceral aversion to the world that klein describes in “all seeing eye”. as a resident of shenzhen, i wonder how likely it is that such a world can come into existence. i have difficulty imaging how many supervisors would be needed to actually make such supervision effective. after red lights have been run, cellphone numbers regularly changed, and great firewalls hacked, it seems interesting to ask how effective surveillance technologies can be in the absence of social support for them. i find it easier to imagine that these technologies might be used to target certain individuals and groups.

that is to say, that in order for surveillance technologies to function, one must also circumscribe freedom of movement in order to successfully monitor and through this monitoring, control the actions of a group of people. when moving surveillance into an undefined space, it seems necessary to limit the number of surveillance targets an institution can successfully monitor. i can imagine searching for one or two people; i have difficulty imagining how one would monitor several thousand, or ten thousand, or three million. consequently, i believe that the successful use of surveillance technologies necessitates the concomitant targeting, monitoring and isolating specific groups of people such as workers in a factory, students in a plaza, monks in a monastery, travelers on an airplane, residents of apartment complexes. in this sense, effective surveillance requires some form of social consent in addition to the construction of an environment in which everyone might monitor everyone else–a time and place more like a cultural revolutionary chinese work unit than it is like contemporary shenzhen.

in shenzhen, the most blatant and pervasive surveillance abuses occur at work, where supervisors control workers’ bodies by placing them on assembly lines or at desks. supervisors further control these bodies through compulsory overtime. factory dormitories also give supervisors off the clock access to worker lives. but again, on the clock, if supervisors physically leave the premises, workers talk, relax, head off to the restaurant. in mandarin, they say “superiors have policy, inferiors have counter policy (上有政策,下有对策)”. and, of course, off the clock, workers leave the factories and head into unsupervised spaces.

what concerns me in klein’s argument is her assertion that becoming more like china means becoming more totalitarian. i believe her when she says that these technologies are being built. i believe her when she argues that their are chinese and american officials who want to install more effective surveillance technologies. however, i also believe that if one’s goal is to turn society into a prison, it is not enough simply to install these technologies. one must also convince a population to accept monitoring of themselves (at work or in an airport, for example) and of targeted individuals and groups (middle easterners and tibetans, for example). in this respect, totalitarianism is not only a set of architectural practices, but also and more fundamentally, a set of social practices that are not uniquely “chinese”.

i support klein’s anti-totalitarianism. however, i also hope that the effectiveness of her rhetoric does not depend upon reducing the diversity of chinese people to the stereotype of “unthinking subjects of a totalitarian state”. the united states can only become more totalitarian through the actions of our citizens and leaders, not through the actions of people anywhere else, our cultivated fear of them, notwithstanding.

thoughts on multi-culturalism

two events this week that have me thinking about the global mix in shenzhen.

event number one: a group of elementary teachers from xishuangbanna (yunnan) visited the school. this was interesting on several counts. first, they arrived in “native” costumes which they wore the entire week. as far as i could tell, they weren’t wearing traditional clothing, but actual costumes that one would wear on stage to perform one of china’s 56 ethnic groups. these costumes included christmas garland and plastic flowers to adorn the women’s hair. nevertheless, several of the han teachers told me that this is how ethnics dress, even when working in the fields. when i expressed sceptism, it was as if i had challenged something fundamental about being chinese.

“no, you don’t understand,” one of the teachers said, “they really are this simple and honest [my translation of the constant use of “朴实” to describe our guests].”

then, at dinner, the han official who led the delegation admitted that the yunnan minorities prefer to wear western clothing. he added that he constantly encouraged them to maintain their tradition in the face of modernization. now why ethnic minorities should be any different from the han, who don’t wear traditional clothing except when waitressing or making an artistic statement, i don’t know. however, i sensed that the official and his han audience felt an intense yearning for the minorities to be traditional.

so, during picture taking, the han all wanted their pictures taken with the minority teachers in costume. indeed, the han teachers borrowed the minority teachers’ hats for the pictures. for their part, the minority teachers wanted their picture taken with me, who wore chinos, a bright shirt with scalloped sleeves, and a hot pink scarf.

second, two fifth graders got into a fistfight because a mainland student called a korean student “hanguolao (韩国佬).” the teacher who reported this event to me was shocked.

“i thought our school was innocent and naive [my translation of “天真,简单” to describe children],” she said.

i was more surprised by her shock and obvious distress than i was by the fight. not surprised by the fight because (a) i’m a foreigner and so have more understanding of how foreigners experience chinese stereotyping than do chinese, (b) i read my students’ journals and know that many students have naturalized their mutual resentments through cultural difference, and (c) some little boys do try to resolve problems by fighting.

i was surprised by the teacher’s shock because i hadn’t realized how separate many of our teachers remain from the foreign students and teachers at the school. our student population is half foreign (including hong kong and taiwanese students), and there are eleven foreign teachers at the school. yet, it seems many of the han teachers really have no idea about the strangers in their midst. (this is of course the inverse on the foreigners who have no idea where they are!)

the xishuangbanna visit has me wondering about the ways in which we deploy stereotypes to bring coherence to new experiences that might otherwise open new understanding. for the xishuangbanna delegation as well as for the school’s teachers, this visit was something new. however, tourism to xishuangbanna informed how the minority teachers self-presented and were received. this emphasis was confirmed in the songs and dances that the teachers performed during their stay. most of the songs had already been translated into mandarin, and the dances were all “typical” of a generalized minority rather than specific to any one minority.

the fighting boys have me wondering about what lessons we are actually teaching our children. both knew the character “lao” was less human than “ren”. both experienced themselves as culturally distinct even though both had been classmates for several years, communicating in native mandarin. and neither had been taught more appropriate ways of handling conflict other than name calling and punching.

the other thing that i’ve noticed is that with the influx of foreigners and more ethnic minorities in shenzhen, there is emerging a more coherent sense of what a stereotypic shenzhener is: primarily mandarin speaking but fluent in cantonese; hip and urbane; aware of europe and america rather than the rest of asia. indeed, as far as i can tell, hong kong is no longer the shining star it once was and shenzheners are aiming to build a city that is vaguely western. previously, the fact that most migrants were han chinese from other provinces (or cities in guangdong) meant that most residents self-identified through hometowns. however a generation later, their children have a sense of themselves as belonging to an overarching chinese community that is defined mandarin (and therefore most do not think of themselves as being from guangdong), urban culture, and global dreams. this new identity is being simultaneously defined against stereotypes about rural china, guangdong, ethnic minorities, and large number of asian sojourners, whose presence is everyday stronger.

fat bird update: more shenzhen culture

in order to create interest in poetry and theatre publications, book city (书城) will be holding monthly poetry readings and performances. the series will be called 诗歌人间 (poetry in the world).  

the original idea for the series came from 刘静文 (liu jingwen), a culture journalist at shenzhen’s 晶报. when asked, liu explained that the inspiration for “poetry in the world”, was the 99th anniversary of new chinese poetry. as a journalist, he has written on new poetry and interviewed many poets, however, he feels that it would be a pity to limit the celebratation of new poetry to the newspaper.

at the same time that liu was thinking about ways of bringing poetry to a new audience, managers at book city were brainstorming about ways of making poetry more viable. they decided to turn the store into a cultural stage and called liu to help them organize the event.

liu jingwen invited the poet lai’er (莱耳) to help organize the events because for the past 8 years, lai’er has edited poemlife 诗生活 one of the more successful online poetry magazines in the prc. liu explained that the internet has become one of the main venues for poetry in the mainland. moreover, one of the most exciting things about internet poetry has been the variety and conversations it has inspired. when he started planning, liu decided to bring the energy and influence of poetry to the readings.

liu jingwen then contacted fat bird because he sees a natural affinity between the theatre and poetry. he used greek tragedy to illustrate how in the past, theatre and poetry were the same. moreover, liu believes that from the point of view of the audience actors are more interesting than poets. “poetry readings tend to be very much the same,” he said, “but actors bring different meanings and understanding to words. this will encourage more interest in poetry.”

the first event is 回归 (return). return in this context has two meanings. the first, describes the fact that many poets have had to leave poetry in order to earn money. return will be an opportunity for them to re-enter the world of poetry.

the second meaning is a tacit comment on the role of poetry in the world. throughout the socialist era and early years of reform, poetry was directly implicated in politics. this was as true of the poetry of guo moruo (郭沫若) as that of bei dao(北岛) and huang beilin (黄贝岭). however, lai’er and other contemporary poets now see a trend for poetry to return to its proper place: the private worlds of individuals.

there is of course an irony here. by organizing public poetry readings, liu jingwen is advocating the importance of poetry to everyday life. perhaps, as many would have us believe, the differences between the politics of “poetry in the world” and earlier socialist poetry are both of degree and kind. but perhaps not. the human heart may be as moved by the explicitly political as it is by beauty. when yang qian was a child, he was sent to a factory to learn from workers. during poetry writing lessons, his master taught the children that true socialist poetry came from the heart. he then recited one of his own poems:

党是母亲我是孩,一头扑进母亲怀,咕咚咕咚喝娘奶,谁拉我也不起来

(very loosely translated and without all the rhymes)

the party is mother, i her child
my head goes straight to her breast
gurgle, gurgle, mother’s milk
no one can pull me away

“poetry in the world” will be held on the second saturday of every month at 8:00 p.m. “return” is scheduled for november 10, 2007. in decemeber, “poetry in the world” will commemorate the 800th anniversary of the birth of rumi.

houhai land reclamation area, may 27, 2007


western corridor houhai land reclamation district

houhai, again. another encounter with that which became obsolete in less than ten years. another walk through the determined construction of an alternative world. several views of the same stretch of new road.

there’s a chinese proverb 沧海桑田 (the oceans become mulberry fields) that is used to describe largescale transformation. perhaps, 沧海楼盘 could be used to describe shenzhen’s development, or at least the policy of 移山填海 (move mountains, fill in the ocean), but it wouldn’t mean only massive change. something about the necessary scale of transformation to compete economically. something in keeping with another updated proverb i’ve heard: 谈金论股 (discuss money and debate the market)–a puny take on “discuss today and debate the past (谈今论古). or the rewrite of the national anthem:
起来还没有进股市的人们
把你们的资金全部变成神奇的股票
中国人民族到了最疯狂的时刻
每个人都激情发出震颠的吼声
涨停涨停涨停
怀着暴富的梦想
钱进钱进钱进进。 what other new proverbs have you heard?