Tag Archives: gaokao

anxious masses: Thinking about Gu Wenda´s Ink Alchemy

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Yesterday at the opening for experimental ink artist Gu Wenda, I was struck by the unfolding of scale in his work. His early work could be completed by one person. There were large paintings, like Surreal Horizon (超现实地平线) or images from Lost Empires (遗失的王朝) but nevertheless the actual works themselves conformed to a human-sized world as I have come to know it. I felt myself and the art to be at the same scale. Indeed, often I was larger than the pieces and some, like the Red Heart Series (红心系列) of seals on small, abstract ink paintings, I could hold in my hand. However the later work, such as the Ink Alchemy Series (水墨炼金术系列 – above image) was large scale industrial. As such, these pieces could not be completed by any one person or even by a group of people working with their hands. Instead, the artist became both an industrial designer and an organizer of human labor and machines over time.

Made entirely of died braids of human hair, Gu Wenda’s most recent installation Black Gold (黑金)  fills the entire OCT Art Terminal. In the middle of the cavernous room, a large rectangle of ink powder lies flat beneath a canopy of black braids. To the left and right of the canopy, evenly spaced sections of died braids hang from ceiling to floor in fine, delicate loops. The installation is deceptively simple – blocks of color shimmering neatly beneath gallery lights. However, Black Gold took three years (2008-2010) to complete and thinking about what would be necessary to complete such a project left me feeling both frightened and exhilarated. Frightened because I imaged thousands of woman, who had given several years of their lives to grow their hair, scalped to make an epic statement. Exhilarated because the level of coordinated precision needed to execute Black Gold spoke to me of how one might go about representing Chinese society – massive blocks that from a distance seem a well-organized whole, but which upon closer inspection dissolve into idiosyncratic anonymity.

Neatness or tidiness (整齐) of large groups or objects is one of the mass aesthetic values that I have had difficulty appreciating. Not that I don´t enjoy watching several thousands of people making the same motion at precisely the same time, but when I think about the level of work that is necessary to achieve such precision, I feel the same anxiety that I felt upon seeing Black Gold. Several examples of mass coordination come to mind: military marching, classrooms full of Chinese students taking tests over and over and over again to prepare for the gaokao, highways full of cars, miles of grazing pasture in the American West and wheat fields in the Mid. Massive, national bureaucracies. Each of these instances of mass coordination exemplifies the human potential to submit to external hierarchies that take sameness and repetition to be the signs of unity and belonging.

And here´s the rub: one what?

Military marching and mass test-taking provide living metonyms for the modern, industrial state. Nevertheless, these mass exercises also remind me of feudal traditions, in which being born into oneś place enabled large societies to hold their form for generations. In other words, for many to become one, for each to find her ¨place¨ takes a lifetime of practice. This taking one´s place in a larger order is natural insofar as to be human is to belong to various groups of various sizes. Indeed, as far as I can tell, this is the whole point of education – helping young people figure out how to inhabit diverse sets of coordinated relationships.

The anxiety I feel when thinking about Black Gold, specifically and mass coordination, more generally has to do with the means and goals of mass practices. Military marching, mass test-taking, driving on the highway, planting acres of wheat: each of these practices takes an abstract idea of what it means to be human and imposes it on the diversity of the world, creating conditions of idiosyncratic anonymity. Moreover, these practices aren´t particularly healthy. Armies go to war, Chinese students become test-taking machines, carbon monoxide kills as do the pesticides necessary to maintain wheat fields.

In contrast, if there is such a ¨one¨ out there, I’m Buddhist enough to believe that the point is to create conditions of mutual recognition. Creative collaboration rather than mass coordination, so to speak. I’m not sure what this means in terms of reorganizing nations or highway systems or college entrance requirements. Yet I trust the process. When I take the time to understand each of my students, something happens between us. And that state of sharing between – elusive, delicate, and quite beautiful – could transform mass culture in unexpected and wonderful ways.

Gu Wendaś Ink Alchemy retrospective is currently up at the He Xiangning Museum of Art and the OCT Contemporary Art Terminal. Worth a visit.

the cultural work of tests

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grafitti-3

Originally uploaded by maryannodonnell

the gaokao is over and shenzhen feels more relaxed. it’s as if the entire city has sighed and thoughts turned to summer. of course, the zhongkao still hovers darkly, but for the rest of us, life is good.

this gaokao season, i’ve been thinking about the cultural significance of tests and testing because so many students have asked me about the SATs and TOEFL. these students are particularly interested in perfect marks and, in order to achieve those scores, are willing not only to spend weeks of their summer locked away in cram schools, but also to retake the tests 5, 6, and yes 7 times. inquiring minds want to know: why is a perfect score so important? Continue reading →

revolutionary shenzhen

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the revolution haunts shenzhen. revolutionary promises, kept and disregarded, successes and defeats erupt in conversation in part because we are still only sixty years from the revolution and in part because so many revolutionaries came to shenzhen a mere thirty years ago. the present only feels worlds away from mao. in fact, traces of socialist dreams still infuse everyday life.

just yesterday after yoga, for example, i chatted with a classmate named ‘ming’. i had thought he was shiny bright ming, but it turns out he was ‘free airing of voices and expression’ ming (大鸣大放). mao had encouraged free airing of views and expression at the beginning of the anti-rightist campaign (57-59) and my friend ming was born in 1958 and named accordingly. indeed, off the top of his head, he could name four friends, who shared his name. Continue reading →

what’s the point of college?

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last night, went to cameron indoor stadium to watch the lady blue devils defeat the nc state wolfpack. well, we watched the first half and then returned home. mascot basketball at halftime was a bit much, even for my father who was thrilled to be there because (rumor has it) cameron is a shrine of sorts. certainly, yang qian found the pageantry fun. in contrast, nico (by way of italy) was somewhat nonplussed: how is such a display possible? he seemed to wonder and this was only a women’s game?! yes, those were students camping outside the stadium to purchase tickets for men’s home games, which do sellout. every time. i mentioned that in “utopian verses” wang anyi described her sense of alienation and acute loneliness when attending a university of iowa football game. nico nodded wisely, but remained silent.

watching a duke basketball game with two non-americans made me viscerally aware of the distance between the cultural meaning of “preparing for college” in the u.s. and china. Continue reading →

futures – yuanling 2

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jijian kindergarten

Originally uploaded by maryannodonnell

even as yuanling’s factories are upgraded to retail storefronts, the old neighborhoods – especially the old courtyard residential areas – are being razed to make way for highrise developments.

watching the chickens feed in the courtyard of new yuanling village remind us (1) that shenzhen was imagined and built in a very different social economy and (2) that value is not simply a matter of upgrades, but nevertheless remains tied to how we imagine the future.

new yuanling village is not an actual village, but an example of the first generation of work unit courtyard residences in shenzhen. in the early 80s, homes here appear in some of the first corruption scandals as early cadres scrambled for homes, which they used as investments and rewards (in turn).

housing in yuanling is still some of the most expensive in the city because with each home comes one elementary and one middle school seat (学位). this is important because yuanling schools are ranked first provincial (省一级), a ranking that suggests students from yuanling do well in the national college entrance exam (高考).

although much of the old housing is rented out, those school seats are coveted and circulate not only with the sale of the house, but part of rental negotiations. not unexpectedly, many have bought in yuanling, but live elsewhere, simply so their children can go to school there.

in addition, the area has been approved for redevelopment, which means that within the next two years, all this will be razed and new housing built. homeowners in yuanling will be compensated with replacement housing (based on square footage conversions, but i’m not sure what precisely the terms are.)

housing and education are two of the great goods in shenzhen. indeed, many women will not marry unless they have a home; many parents spend time, energy, and money trying to provide for their child’s education. consequently, it is useful to think about what new yuanling village signified to early shenzhen residents because housing and education are sites where we actively and vigorously create the future.

yuanling looks battered and worn, but the shenzhen dreams of a house and providing for one’s only child still resonate. moreover, the importance of this future to shenzhen identity explains how corruption may have been built into the city. it is hard to imagine how communist cadres may have been reduced to scrambling for moldy bits of concrete and in retrospect, the object of their scrambling appears ridiculous. however, it is more than easy to understand how private hopes and dreams for their families’ future might have gotten entangled in what those cadres saw when they drew up blueprints, laid foundations, and built a post-mao, post cold war future at yuanling.

when i asked if there were any other benefits to buying a house in yuanling, the salesman looked at me somewhat confused – after all, is there anything more important than a new house (even if many years down the road) and a child’s education? – and offered lamely, “you could open a ground floor store.”

i like yuanling in its current incarnation. the streets are narrow, quiet, and clean, the buildings shaded by banyan trees, and the occasional palm tree straggles into the sky above working class residents. pictures, here.

Choices PK 机会

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This year, I began working as a college counselor, advising bright and talented students on the value of a liberal arts education and the concept of fit, as well as more mundane matters such as crafting essays that answer the question and making sure that an application is filled out correctly. My students willingly do homework, take tests, join clubs, and volunteer in order to craft themselves into highly desirable candidates. They are, no question, great students. Yet as the semester has progressed, I have found myself angry, frustrated, and screaming at my husband because the telephone is ringing.

Why the pissy attitude?

At first, I attributed all this unpleasentness to stress, comforting myself with wishful thoughts that after the first rush of applications, I would calm down, teachers would submit recommendations in a timely manner, and students would follow instructions. The question, as I first saw it, was procedural; all we had to do was figure out how to cooperate and everything else would fall into place. Nevertheless, despite major adjustments, minor tweaks, and a general policy of bribing and bullying students as necessary, my irritation only increased.

Several days ago, a student came to me and said, “I want to apply early decision.”

I asked, “What school are you thinking about?”

He replied, “What school do you think I have the best chance of getting in?”

I rolled my eyes and repeated, “Where do you want to go?”

“Recently, the University of X has admitted many Chinese students. Do you think I have a chance?”

“Why do you want to go there?”

“I want a good study environment and it has a high ranking.”

“But what’s special about this University?”

He stared at me. I rephrased, “How will you answer the application question – Why do you want to attend University of X?”

He reassured me, “That’s an easy question to answer. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll have something to say.”

Another college application standoff. I wanted to convince him to choose a college that fit him, he wanted me to get him into the highest ranking college possible.

This student typifies how my students have approached looking at US colleges and universities. They look at college rankings with an eye to how famous a school is in China and then compare the requirements for attending that university with what they have thus far achieved. They apply to a range of colleges based on these criteria – how highly ranked, how famous, how likely am I to get in? This is a highly rational approach to selecting a college and it has bothered me no end.

Only in retrospect have I unpacked my frustration in how my students have approached US college applications. I believe, unthinkingly, that which college a student attends is a choice. I maintain that the proper way of making a choice entails reflecting on one’s values, passions, and intellectual stregths. In this sense, academic achievements are necessary but insufficient to make a choice. The deciding factor is how a student wants to live. Moreover, it is the responsibility of the student to understand who she is and choose accordingly. This is a crude definition of “fit” – the idea that schools have different strengths, allowing students to flourish in different ways.

My understanding of “choosing a college” is based on a larger American valuation of choice in general. To my mind, a “good” person makes choices, a “bad” person opportunistically maximizes options. I value choice because it is where I express my commitments, ethics, and personality. I believe that society should be structured in such a way as to provide fair and equal opportunities to make choices. Indeed, I understand “freedom” to be defined through choice, experiencing the absence of choice as not only emotionally intolerable, but also unjustly oppressive. Moreover, I interpret other people’s actions with respect to my valuation of choice. I understand critical moments in a life to be defined by the choices that an individual has made – the choice of friends, the choice of where to go to college (or not), the choice of a spouse (or not), the choice of jobs… At each moment, I see that the self must express itself by making choices. A not B, C rather than D.

Here’s the cross-cultural rub: My Chinese students don’t operate out of the same valuation of choice. Instead, they value contexts of possibility. They understand that if they attend a certain high school, they will have the possibility to meet a particular set of friends, attend a given set of colleges, and find a related job. At each moment, they see that one’s options are context dependent. Consequently, they work to make ensure that at any moment they have as many options as possible. Indeed, they see the greatness and expansiveness of the self in terms of endless possibility.

Clearly, choice and opportunity as organizing principles have different consequences, both good and bad. On the upside, those of us who value choice making, craft highly defined selves. We also tend to see ourselves as shaping the world. [Good morning, America!] Those of us who value an array of options, craft highly fluid selves. We also tend to see ourselves as adapting to an already formed world. [Hello, China!] On the downside, Americans who value choice making, often miss opportunities to live and experience the world otherwise because our selves are so firmly fixed through definitions of what “I” should choose. Likewise, Chinese who maximize opportunities, often live passively and without passion, taking what is offered as if it were an unchangeable fate.

可想而知 – as can be well imagined – when I, a muddled and American teacher meet up with bright but Chinese students to discuss the future, we often talk at cross purposes. Fortunately, we become vexed when the misunderstandings become too obvious to ignore. In turn, this irritation allows us to re-think how different points of departure might nevertheless lead to common ground.

Another highly speculative post from the depths of Shenzhen. What do you think?

three more text messages

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Recent text messages on gaokao blues, the meaning of life, and lived common sense.

高考失意？前途渺茫？[出国通]帮你上加南大名校（免英语），更有机会拿绿卡！6月20日下午两点半招生面试，电话：XXXXX

Gaokao got you down? Future prospects uncertain? [Go abroad connections] will help you get into a famous Canadian University (no English necessary), and have a better chance for a green card! Student interviews on July 20 at 2:30, tel: XXXXX

中国汉子仅有三个，即可涵盖人生要领。尖字既是能大能小，斌字既是能文能武，卡字既是能上能下。真可谓：人生太复杂，三字既道明。

Only three Chinese characters gloss all the important points of a human life. The character for sharp (尖) can be both big （大）and small （小）; the character for refinement （斌）can be both cultured （文）and martial （武）; the character ka (卡) can go both up (上) and down（下）: human life is complicated, three characters make it clear.

把简单是搞复杂是文化，把复杂石膏件大事科学。把明白事搞糊涂是哲学，把糊涂事搞明白是法律。稀里糊涂把人治好的是中医，明明白白把人医死的叫西医。把糊涂人搞明白叫老师，把明白人搞糊涂交领导。

To complicate simple matters is culture, to simplify complicated matters is science. To muddle obvious matters is philosophy, to clarify muddled matters is law. To brainlessly cure a patient is Chinese medicine, to wisely medicate a patient to death is Western medicine. A teacher is someone who straightens out the confused, a leader is someone who confuses those who know what’s what.

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 →

classical shenzhen

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Last night had dinner with Lai Guoqiang (赖国强), his wife and Miss Liang, a friend, who organized the dinner. Miss Liang is from Hunan, where she was an area (地区) first place (状元) and provincial subject first place in the college entrance exam. She graduated with a degree in French from Fudan University and now works in an international company. Mr. Lai was a Jiangxi district second place, but because his family was poor, he studied IT at a military school and was then assigned a job in Guangxi, where he met his wife. In terms of the gaokao system, both Miss Liang and Mr. Lai succeeded (出成绩).

Nevertheless, Miss Liang and Mr. Lai share a sense that their education failed to teach them how to be human (做人). They said that Chinese classical education prepared students to understand their place in the world, their obligations, and how to handle unexpected challenges. In contrast, modern education only prepared them to handle technical problems, but left them feeling empty. In different ways, both have spent the past decade trying to figure out how they can remedy this situation and help the next generation avoid a similar tragedy.

Mr. Lai’s quest began with the birth of his daughter. When she was three years old, he began having her listen to classical recitations. However, he realized that these recitations didn’t help children learn because there wasn’t a space for imitating the adult. Instead, Mr. Lai transferred these recitations from tapes onto computer and then slowed them down, leaving spaces in which his daughter could repeat after the adult. After nine years, his daughter can recite from memory, the Dao De Jing, the Yi Jing, many Tang poems and Song ci, in addition to many other classics from the four books and five classics (四书五经). Mr. Lai says that when children are young, they can memorize. When they are older they will realize (悟) the rich meaning of these classics. According to Mr. Lai, if students don’t memorize the classics when they are young, they have missed the window of opportunity, and will grow up in a state of ignorance similar to the one in which he finds himself.

This situation motivated Mr. Lai to develop a series of classics on CD that are recorded to facilitate memorization. The accompanying text has characters and pinyin. Importantly, this method of education does not require the students to understand or write the characters of the classics. Instead, the first step to learning is to memorize. And that is all they have to do. Individual lessons are organized to be completed within five minutes. Students listen and repeat (跟读; literally follow recite) for five minutes everyday, each lesson is repeated for one week, and then they move onto the next lesson. There is no pressure to recite, to write, or to interpret the texts. Mr. Lai has divided the lessons into three three-year chunks, so that after nine years, students will have the classics in their hearts, waiting to blossom as students’ understanding deepens over time. His company, 育心经典 is online.

I have been thinking about the implications of this method for pedagogy. It seems appropriate for texts that were originally transmitted orally, and indeed, were written parallel couplets that are easily memorized and beautifully recited. The goal, of course, is 变通 (biangtong: to adapt one method to different contexts) and (by implication) solve problems (处理事情). I remember when I was first learning Chinese in college. My teacher, Mr. Jiang told me that if I memorized poems, reciting them every morning, there would come a day, when I would be sitting on a park bench and a poem would come to mind. I would 悟 (wu) the poem’s 意境 (yijing, a word that has been badly translated as “artistic concept”, but seems to me to be more “the imaginary world” of a poem or painting). This experience would be both the interpretation and fulfillment of the poem; I would truly understand. At stake in this understanding of education is not simply a moral order, but also an understanding of creativity as being able to apply the lessons of the past to the present; this is biantong.

Nevertheless, I’m not sure how easily this pedagogy enables biantong. My uncertainty arises because this kind of learning too easily becomes rote memorization for tests, such as the gaokao and not because biantong isn’t a form of creativity often used in the arts and scientific discovery. Clearly, memorization is an important element of any pedagogy. The question is whether or not it is the only or highest form of learning. That said, the detrimental effects of the gaokao system are part of the problem that Mr. Lai is trying to solve through this turn to the classics.

More significantly, both Mr. Lai and Miss Liang understand memorization of the classics to be a method for rectifying current social problems. They see corruption, disillusion, cynicism, and indifference to be symptoms of a society that has lost its moral bearings. In order to live prosperous and happy lives (幸福), people must understand their place in the moral order. Once they have understood their place in the moral order, any job that they take, any role that they assume will be a vehicle for expressing this truth and society will naturally become harmonious.

I have discussed this conversation with two friends, both of who were educated abroad and have Master’s degrees. They agree that Mr. Lai’s understanding of and proposed solution to the problem of childhood education makes sense (有道理). They agree that to understand Chinese philosophy and history it is necessary to wu and the precondition of wu is having memorized the texts. They also agree that China’s social problems arise from a fundamental failing of the educational system to teach moral values. Generally speaking, they believe that the system succeeds in teaching fundamentals, but fails to prepare students for life.

So grassroots neo-Confucianism has come to Shenzhen, city without recognizable and therefore recoverable history. Ironies abound.

高考: gaokao blues

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the dreaded college entrance exam （高考）has just concluded. there are multiple sites dedicated to the exams, but for a sense of the complexity visit one of the many gaokao sites. china today has also published a brief introduction to system. unlike the sats, where students take the test and then apply to various colleges. in the gaokao, students sign up to compete for a limited number of positions in departments in particular universities and then hope that their scores are high enough for that department. how high you have to score depends on where you’re from, because each province is alloted a number of positions, as are the cities in which a given university is located. this means that beijing students need much lower scores to test into a university located in beijing, than do students from other cities and localities.

chinese parents start worrying about the gaokao even before the first day of elementary school. in fact, most of the elementary curriculum is oriented to teaching what students will need to know for the gaokao and how to take the tests. the focus on test-taking increases every year, so that graduating seniors (high school 3) are taking tests all the time. in places like shenzhen, where only two high schools have a reputation for getting students into good colleges, the high school entrance exam is said to be even more competative than the gaokao.

i’ve been earning my living teaching english in an elementary school. consequently, the gaokao impinges on my life because the english exam has become a kind of filter, where the otherwise equally qualified in mathematics and physics get distinguished. however, making standardized tests the goal of foreign language learning has predictable results–even after ten years of studying english, students can take tests, but have difficulty communicating, reading for comprehension, and using english in creative ways. i have been fighting for a chance to reform the curriculum and teach a more language arts based curriculum, including reading stories and experimenting with poetry and musical theatre as means for learning language.

chinese parents affirm the goal of making foreign language study about using the language to accomplish tasks (ranging from asking directions to writing a book report), but insist that these skills will not help their children compete on the gaokao. they consistantly point out that foreigners cannot compete with chinese on the standardized english tests. when i point to the problems of standardized tests for developing analytic skills (other than the skill of guessing what the test-writer meant) and self-expression, again, parents agree, but say these skills can be developed later, after the students have tested into a good college. the only time that they see a more comprehensive appraoch to learning english as being desirable is if the student is preparing to go abroad for college.

yesterday, i ended up in a quite heated argument with a very good friend about the gaokao. i expressed disgust at a system that requires memorization of thousands of words, but doesn’t actually introduce students to anything remotely interesting in english. students can study for years without reading a poem, a short-story, a comic book, let alone a report or textbook in english. instead, they are introduced into grammatical forms and then tested on those forms repeatedly, without ever seeing the forms used in context.

my friend said it couldn’t be helped; this was chinese reality.

i countered that chinese reality hadn’t produced a decent education system.

she agreed, but argued that the gaokao was the most egalitarian system in china.

no, i said, if you’re born in the countryside, odds are you won’t get into college. indeed, odds are you won’t finish high school and will end up working in shenzhen or dongguan.

but, she replied, it’s still more fair than any other system in china. she pointed to the arts system, where getting into the national conservatory or school of the arts requires students to accept someone as a teacher, even before they take the entrance exam. because it’s based on subjective criteria, there is no possibility for a fair competition. for example, she continued, shenzhen organized a national oboe competition. all the teachers came and brought their students. the teachers were also the judges. so the organizing committee asked that there be a curtain between the judges and the competators so that the judging could be unbiased. many of the teachers refused, and in the end, the judges were allowed to see who was competing. according to my friend, it was no surprise that every teacher gave his or her student the highest score.

by this time she was furious at the injustice of the system and angry at my lack of understanding of chinese reality.

so then why, i continued, also getting upset that everything was coming down to standardized test scores and competitions, should anyone want to teach in china? i really dislike the way parents drag their children over to talk to me and, when the child remains silent, scold them in front of me, saying, why aren’t you practicing english? this is a really good opportunity. and me standing there, thinking, i’m a person, not an opportunity, and if you left your child alone, maybe he would speak. more likely he’d be playing soccer, but children wasting their time playing is another issue, and i stopped talking after expressing my anger at being seen as just an opportunity.

she sighed. that’s the problem, chinese people are just too worried about the future. but once students get to college, they just want to relax and their teachers don’t really want to teach. so it’s a mess.

i’m still thinking, and why do i want to continue teaching in this system? but at this point, neither of us wanted to continue arguing because clearly we weren’t angry at each other, but rather frustrated by the inhumanity of the gaokao. me because it made parents and educators nervous about any kind of creative teaching, and her because her son will take the high school entrance exams in two years.