liking china to another home

Evidently the Uyghur woman who was caught with gasoline in a can on a Beijing-bound plane confessed to attempting a "terrorist act" yesterday. As of, what was it, March 6?, liquids are not allowed carry-on, meaning I had to check my small bag from Chengdu. Reports say as of this week airplane passengers have to remove their shoes at security. Yep, China is almost as fear-filled as the US.

On the other hand, it's still so NOT the US, and that's why I live here. Walking back from good Indian food the other night we passed a truck collecting food waste for pigs. About eight of the five-foot-tall black garbage plastic bins were lined up on the truck bed, and lined with the gathered grease of the nightly collection. It always disgusts me a bit to pass these trucks, but I'm also slightly relieved to know that the great amounts of uneaten restaurant food gets eaten (even if it is by pigs getting significant amounts of, well, pork for dinner.) I asked the visiting US restaurant owner what they do with their waste. Throw it away, he said. Can't even give it to the homeless; there'd be liability if they got sick.

It's hard to believe that Justin will go soon. The month has flown away. We'll get in a few more movies on the big screen at work, eat some "beer-roasted-duck", and if it's nice tomorrow, maybe buy tickets to be tourists on the mountain.

sometimes it hurts

When I come back from Sichuan, my colleagues say, "You look good, happy. Sichuan made you prettier. You should go more often."

(These pictures are by Justin Unrau.)
I can't really argue. Fresh canola plants and pea shoots fried Sichuan style are good for the soul. A Saturday morning group bicycle ride - me, Deb, and Michelle on the three-seater - bumping past fields of bright yellow canola flowers. Our spirits were hardly dampened when the people at the soy sauce factory (after a call to their boss) couldn't give us a tour. We played and walked until we exhausted ourselves, then ate like we had earned it. The Muslim restaurant on Saturday night had crispy spring rolls that tasted like tacos. Easter lunch was noodles at another Muslim restaurant.

In the morning there were absolutely no seats inside the tiny brick church. The old ladies tried to force us to take theirs, but I followed stood with William outside and we stood our ground. A man seated on a folding chair in the doorway near us carried the makings of a lunch in a sturdy plastic shopping bag that read, in English, "Graceful."

The 33-hour train ride, apart from my minor depression (sparked by the news that I would be three hours from ZX and not seeing him) was more or less unremarkable. We didn't really talk to anyone, though the hallway seats were lined all day and into the night with chatter.
The girl who slept above me, a migrant worker I put at about 22, was strangely both polite and obnoxious. Once when she wanted to walk between our bunks to grab her cellphone from the second bunk, she asked our permission. I was so confused I didn't answer.

She bought food from the train attendants, and once, a noisy hand-held video game in plastic to play an hour or two. She talked non-stop, mostly about her boyfriend and how beautiful he said she was. She wore bright pink high heeled shoes that looked like they were made of plastic. At night when they rested under my bunk next to the aisle it was easy to find my way back from the bathroom. In the morning of the second day she applied full make-up, mostly in pinks and blues. I assumed she would get off soon, but apparently it was just for the short sloppy guy in the compartment next to ours. They joked and flirted by flinging insults the whole day and into the evening after the man had changed into his long underwear and was holding court on (from what little I could understand of his dialect) all affairs economic and political. I kept hearing "Taiwan" and "US" popping up in heated discussion. I didn't find out until the next day that elections (though it was called "leadership selection" or something by Beijing) in Taiwan had been held and the non-pro-independence party won, much to all of China's delight.

A prisoner with an empty eye socket was handcuffed to the lower bunk two compartments down for the length of the ride. Every few hours he'd be released to shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, shackles dragging along, his guard trailing behind him. Once when they passed I took the opportunity to go fill my water bottle when I wouldn't have to go by them. It made me uncomfortable to pass the staring red eye cavity.

Tibet. Still makes me want to cry. It's clear that the protest/riots have spread and involved a lot of people and places, and it's clear that there's been a lot of violence against the Han people and property. Apart from that, not much is clear, and for me that's frustrating, and scary. China has basically closed down everything west of Chengdu, and shipped in LOTS of troops. They claim that there are far more Han people being hurt than Tibetans, and that six hundred protesters have "turned themselves in" but how is anyone to know?

We rode the bus through the Tibetan area of Chengdu, and there were, literally, police cars on every corner. I asked two taxi drivers what they thought (taxi drivers are usually pretty honest and willing to talk) what they thought of the situation, and both of them just spewed prejudice against Tibetan people. When the meter reads 15 Y, they want to give 10 Y, one said. I can only take four people, and they demand that I take five. "Sounds pretty normal to me," I said. "I'm guilty of the same thing," and he laughed with me.

"We help them so much," I keep hearing over and over, "they get even more privileges than the other minorities." You don't get in a fight with a Tibetan, because they get more leniency than everybody else. That and how it's all under control.

ZX and I discuss Tibet almost nightly. Both of us bring hard core concern for justice . . . and the gigantic assumptions of our cultures. I want no government "protecting me." I argue that its our responsibility as world citizens to care about what's happening to other world citizens. For him avoiding chaos trumps a lot of things, and the hypocrisy of the Western governments and media is as bad as that of China. A lot of people here are pissed about the Western media's biased reporting, and I would agree that a lot of it is biased. I've been impressed with what The Guardian's been doing, and that's what I read. I don't go near something like CNN, and will not defend it.

really?

Now it seems that Facebook is blocked. Even using a proxy server I can't get on. Thank you China, greatly appreciated.

who's not smiling?

Since foreign journalists are not allowed into Tibet, ambassadors can't get into courtrooms, and finding news about anything in Chinese takes a whole lot of effort and maybe some special knowledge, it's depressing to think about how long it might take all of us to find out what's really happening.

But don't worry. CCTV will keep us up to date. Two quotes from prime minister Wen Jia Bao from within the last day are classic examples of how Beijing believes that reality is actually determined by the picture it paints.

Regarding the riots in which thousands of Tibetans are revealing deep anger towards China through some pretty big numbers and, sadly, violence:

Wen insisted the conflict would not disrupt the games: "I have confidence the smiles of 1.3 billion Chinese people ... will be reciprocated by the smiles of people from all over the world," he said.

Regarding the arrest, political charges, and trial of an environmental/AIDS activist . . .

"China is a country ruled by law, and all these issues will be dealt with in accordance with law," he said. "As far as the critics' view that China is trying to arrest dissidents before the Olympics, there is no such issue at all."

The sad thing - especially on the Tibet issue - is that my friends mostly believe what they're told - that a small group of "splitists" led by the Dalai Lama is responsible for all of the protests and riots . . . while your average Tibetan is overwhelmingly grateful for the TVs and and the train.

as hazy as hate

Oh no. Now I'm reading this unsubstantiated but easy to believe its true "eyewitness account" from somebody in Lhasa who says the streets really gotten violent - Tibetans using stones, knives, and even guns to attack Han Chinese. That sounds scary. I guess I'm now praying with the US official statements that both sides will exercise constraint . . .

scarlet robes on a shanghai-bound train

What can I say except Justin (and Cheryl, Hee-Jin, and Naomi this weekend) have kept me busy? I'm gonna try playing catch-up a bit. Hold off on writing about yesterday's fun and try to drag up early-March memories.

I liked Shanghai more than I thought I would. On Sunday afternoon, upon arrival, I wondered completely lost around the huge many-squared train station, enjoyed a donut!!! and coffee with The History of Love, wondered what the helpful traffic police meant when they used the word "daba" for bus, and eventually (sort of accidently) ended up riding the Maglev (magnetic levitation)train to the airport just in time to meet him. The train, which except for a small group of Japanese tourists was mostly deserted, took eight minutes to get to the airport. Yep, it was pretty fast. And I promise, Dad, that next time you come to China, we will ride on this thing.

pic from: www.monorails.org/tmspages/MagShang.html

I have these phrases scribbled in my yellow notebook, with stars and exclamation points:

Justin is coming!
I'm in Shanghai!
I'm eating a donut!
I'm going 431 km/hr!
The Yao Ming on that giant Visa card ad is wearing lipstick!

Earlier in the Nanjing train station I had written:

The class isn't as exclusively high for this fast train as I imagined it might be. The ubitiquous plaid-striped bags, and one of those huge shapeless fake-jean backpacks that Jesse Bauman bought in Nanchong.

I don't know why people get up and pile up in the lines. We'll all get there eventually, won't we?

Across from me two Tibetan monks in full scarlet robes. One wears zip-up boots that look really warm. Too warm maybe. He has a deep cough. A long-haired companion too, not in robes. I wonder who they will meet in Shanghai. Or are they headed international?

And now I'm drug back to this morning, when I was so sobered by more news about protests in Tibet and in other parts of Western China. Protesters being arrested and killed. Looting, burning, and rock-throwing, while not helpful I agree, are not nearly as scary to me as the stories offered as explanations, and the way that even cynical friends here believe that yes, China is one, and anyone who dares to say otherwise is just asking for (read:deserves) trouble.

(And yes, I appreciate the irony of, in one post, loving on the Maglev and hating on the policies that build face like that.)

Borrowed these pictures are from a good blog by a guy who lives in Xinjiang.

spring resolution

I’ve gotta stop listening to other people. If you take other people’s words of cautions seriously, I’ve decided (especially in this country), you’ll never do anything. Getting to the yoga place is a perfect excuse to buy a bike – I’m sure I could fly there in half the time it takes the bus at rush hour, and with spring here*, it makes me want to cry to get on a bus when I could be riding.

When I needed a new iPod to PC connecting cord in the fall, I bought it online, with some help from my colleagues . . . and a whole lot more discouragement. They were sure that it would certainly be a fake, if it actually got here at all, and that I was an idiot for marching to the bank and depositing 22 kuai in the account of a "LuckyHarry", who had only assured me online that he'd send the cord as soon as I made the deposit. My students told me, however, that they do almost all their shopping on Taobao, which is the Chinese version of Ebay (with plenty of it's own unique characteristics), so I was determined to give it a try. A few days (and twenty-two kuai later), the little box with my cord arrived at our office, and I was glad I had.

I would have bought a bike long ago if it weren’t for the advice from my colleagues. I saw a decent one just around the corner, that, though a bit overpriced, would have been fine. It was pink, with the swooping up handlebars that are so fun. I would have gone back and bought it in the afternoon but at lunch my bubble was burst.

“You can’t buy a used bike!” they said. “It’s stolen!” (which I knew) . . .“which means that it’s more likely to be stolen again!” (huh?) At least one line of that logic had to do with the old owner stealing it back, which to me seems less likely than just another thief getting the bike. They told me to go to Wal-mart and buy a bike. I went and looked at the prices and wondered how I was supposed to test them out when the tires were all deflated and there was no attendant (for once) to help. I left Wal-mart. I still have no bike.

Next week, after Justin comes, Zhang has promised to take me to the used bike market. I will choose a bike that I like, and I will buy it for a price that I like, and I will not care what anyone else thinks or says. Then I will sail through the traffic (laughing at all the car owners) to yoga class and next week I will tell beautiful dark-skinned girl, the one who said yesterday that she carries a swimsuit in her bag at almost all times, that the next time she goes up to the lake on the mountain, the one that has the name that sounds like “suicide”, where all the locals swim, that I want to go too. And will she please call me, because she looks like the kind of girl that I would like to be friends with.

But the lake is deep. People drown there every year. There are swirling cold water pools that will suck you down. As ominous as this sounds (and it gives me the shivers) I have decided to ignore well-intentioned cautionary advice, and go on living my life, and go swimming at the earliest opportunity.

Tomorrow I’m headed to Shanghai (my first trip ever! scandalous, considering that the fast trains take two hours) to meet Justin. Justin is going to spend a month in China hanging out with me. That still kind of shocks me when I let it roll through my head. How did it come to be that I have a friend that would fly to China to visit me? for a month? Granted, he is escaping cold weather, and I know China itself does pull a bit, but still, I’m pretty humbled by the undeservedness of the gift.

* I said this last week too, about spring being here, and a day later I got a killer headache from the wind and a lecture for taking off too many layers too early)

left behind

I've been this morning looking at statistics. Mostly about urban/rural population (the "urbanization of cities is not really happening since a lot of the "new urban residents" are actually not settling permanently. ) The migrant population is estimated at 140 million. Shaffer said according to the articles he's read in the newspaper 50% of kids in the country have two parents out working! and 80% have one. That's high and scary and sad. Volumes could be written on all the social problems linked with this phenomenon. But here's an especially sad example.

Sun told me yesterday about an article she read in the newspaper. A twelve-year-old boy. Fifth grade, same as her son, hung himself a few days ago. He left all his books stacked neatly on his desk at school. Came home and asked his grandfather, who was playing mahjong at the time, and was surprised and moved, if he could kiss him on the cheek. Wrote a note to his parents, who are both migrant workers out somewhere. The note talked about how sad he was each time they left.

And here's a recent article and video from the national Chinese English news program about the kids being left behind in the countryside.